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Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His great mercy has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to obtain an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will not fade away, reserved in heaven for you, who are protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.
– 1 Peter 1:3-5
I inherited a terrible disease from my mother. It grows with age, and it has infected my daughters.
I love to collect stuff.
I fear for my granddaughters.
Although my mother was a prolific collector, and I have many things passed down to me from her mom, until recently I had only a few heirlooms from my paternal grandmother Jean. The one I treasure most I have had it for more than three decades, although I have nearly lost it more than once. It commands a lot of space, and it demands to be near a sunny window.
My “heirloom” is an angel-wing begonia, appropriately named for its large, waxy leaves that grow in the shape of an angel’s wing. It is a descendant of the original start Grandma Jean gave my mother decades ago. It’s fitting my most cherished possession from her is a living thing.
Grandma Jean was poor in possessions. She lived a hard life, married unwisely, worked at menial jobs, buried an infant son, endured illness and countless beatings from my grandfather, and still managed to raise three wonderful children: my dad and his two sisters.
Standing at four-foot-eleven with a soft, gray-tinged, orange fluff of hair framing her tiny Irish face, Grandma Jean was an unimposing figure. Tender-hearted and gentle, she never once raised her voice in my presence. She carried herself with a serene dignity that belied her diminutive appearance and harsh life.
In the days before my folks gave their lives to God, Grandma Jean was the most vocal ambassador of Jesus in our family. I was skeptical about Christianity during my teen years but intrigued by her joy, peace, and total assurance of God’s existence. The first time she and I talked about God, I assumed she was a sweet – but ignorant – elderly woman. God soon taught me the difference between humility and ignorance.
She was humble. I was ignorant. Our talks ignited my search for truth that would one day introduce me to my Savior.
Grandma Jean was fighting cancer the year I married; she died before learning that our first daughter would be named for her. I don’t remember the year that Mother gave me a start of Grandma Jean’s begonia. But over the years, that plant has alternately grown to the ceiling, withered back, and nearly died—only to flourish once again. When it’s become diseased, I’ve had to throw the plant away and start over with some cuttings from it.
The roots of our family have grown intertwined with it. It seems, over the years, to ebb and flow with us. When we are hurting, it wilts and turns yellow. When we break out into another season of soul-spring, the plant thrives once again, rewarding us with a display of tender pink blooms and turning its angel-face up to the sun.
Once when it was looking especially droopy, I muttered to our youngest daughter, “Sometimes I’m tempted to throw this thing away.”
Grace looked at me in alarm and exclaimed, “Mom, you can’t throw that plant away. It’s an heirloom.”
An heirloom. I was struck by the words. It was Grandma Jean’s treasure; the only one she had to give. It’s our reminder of a living faith, the thread which unites our family and draws us ever toward Him in love. Because of Grandma Jean’s faithful witness, I can look at that plant and be reminded to thank God for my beautiful inheritance—the gift of everlasting life.
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He has also set eternity in their heart: yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end.
– Ecclesiastes 3:11
We know it’s there. A gnawing restlessness springs from deep within man and testifies to a sobering truth: We are meant for more.
We just can’t figure out what more is. More sex? More money? More validation? More enlightenment? Throughout history, humanity has turned to a pantheon of pleasures and gods to feed the need. When the pleasures aren’t enough, we hunt for another deity to fill the void.
Society isn’t against gods, as a whole. One ancient city, in fact, covered their spiritual bases with altars to an assortment of gods. In Roman times, the learned men of Athens held council at the hulking rock formation known as the Areopagus, where the ruins still command a sweeping view of the city. Considered the religious center of Greece, Athens was filled with altars to various gods. To be on the safe side, they even erected an altar inscribed “TO AN UNKNOWN GOD,” in case they missed one. (Acts 17:23)
They worshipped every god they knew about, but they could not calm the restlessness in their souls. The accursed emptiness was still there. Eternity was in their hearts, but they didn’t know how to fill it.
It was to this place the apostle Paul was taken to defend his teaching about a God of whom they knew nothing.
That day at the Areopagus, Paul introduced them to the UNKNOWN GOD.
There he proclaimed to them what they worshiped in ignorance. He explained that the God who made the world and everything in it was the Lord of heaven and earth, too magnificent to dwell in temples made by human hands.
Paul then declared to them the gospel of Jesus Christ, the mystery revealed, the God who came in the flesh to pull back the veil on the UNKNOWN GOD.
We all have a place in our hearts only God can occupy. Nothing else fills that void. We try, though, in our ignorance. When that fails, we erect a fresh altar to a new obsession, hoping to ease the longing.
Still, it gnaws at us. All our money, time, energy, and emotions—enough to fill a city—can’t quench the thirst for the source of life.
We don’t have to live this way.
Two thousand years ago, a man stood on a rock and declared the revelation of God to humanity. He said, “Being then the children of God, we ought not to think that the Divine Nature is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and thought of man.”
Therefore having overlooked the times of ignorance, God is now declaring to men that all people everywhere should repent, because He has fixed a day in which He will judge the world in righteousness through a Man whom He has appointed, having furnished proof to all men by raising Him from the dead.
– Acts 17:29-31
Now we see. Now we know.
Today, right now, wherever we are, we can revel in the revelation of the Lord Jesus Christ. We have the privilege of knowing what billions of people have longed to understand: He is not THE UNKNOWN GOD. He is the Lord of the universe, and He’s waiting to reveal the majesty of His justice and grace to us.
He’s as close as the whisper of His name.
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The sun will be turned into darkness
And the moon into blood
Before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes.– Joel 2:31
They predicted a bad moon rising.
More specifically, a “blood moon.” I really didn’t want to awaken from a deep sleep to gaze at the skies. But I had asked my husband a few hours earlier to awaken me to see the lunar eclipse with him. So I stumbled downstairs to witness the rising of the blood moon everyone was talking about.
The fitful night sky cooperated with us, parting the occasional sea of clouds long enough for us to get a good look at the spectacle. It would have been an interesting sight at any time, but this one had been propelled into the news by a book connecting the tetrad phenomenon (a string of four partially or completely eclipsed moons) with the Jewish Passover and end-times events.
Scriptures from the book of Joel, Acts, Matthew 24:29-30, and Revelation 6:12 do warn of terrible signs and wonders in the sky, including references to the moon, as heralding the coming “day of the Lord,” the return of Christ. There is a problem, however, with connecting these Scriptures with a lunar eclipse.
The Bible makes it plain that during the traumatic last days before Christ’s return, the blood moon will only be a part of a cataclysmic judgment executed upon a rebel world. The earth will be in complete turmoil, reeling from war, pestilence, famine, and disasters on an epic scale.
Stars (probably meteors or asteroids) will fall to the earth. Much of the world’s water supply will be polluted. Many animals and people will die. There will be a great earthquake so powerful it will move islands and mountains out of their places.
It will be a time marked by fear for those who rejected the gift of redemption offered by God through His Son, Jesus Christ. They will not be standing on their porches admiring the moon. According to Revelation 6:15, they will be running into caves and praying to the mountains to fall on them and hide them from the wrath of the Lamb.
If anything, last night’s display is a solemn reminder the grace of God won’t last forever.
Today He is mocked and ignored by an arrogant generation. He waits in silence, holding out His hand and beckoning us to come to safety. But one day, without warning, the door will close.
And God will judge with a heavy heart.
The blood moon tetrad phenomenon is a beautiful display of God’s creative power. But if we’re looking for signs and wonders, we haven’t seen anything yet.
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I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.
– John 10:10
Morning has broken.
The day starts well enough. The earth is turning, the sun is shining, and I’m breathing.
So far, so good.
Then the battle begins. A stray word or a look of irritation from someone annoys me. A myriad troubles are dumped upon my path.
It never takes much to drive me from the beautiful world to which I awakened. It’s easy to embark on the bus to nowhere, revisiting old hurts and traveling painful roads that should have been long-abandoned.
I’m always over-packed for these trips because it requires so much baggage. It’s hard to travel light when you’re headed out the door to a pity party.
Before long, I’m out of gas. I’m all alone on a back road because no one wanted to make this trip with me.
Ironically, I’m holding the ticket to a better destination.
Since Jesus bought my way out of my private hell and reserved a place for me in His kingdom, I have no reason to ride the rails of self-pity. Every day can be a place of new discovery in a wonderland of His creation.
When my brain is overloaded, I can simply fly away into a place of freedom by thinking about God’s blessings. When my heart is hurting, I can be instantly at His throne of grace. When I am lost, I can find new direction by going no farther than to my knees. I can travel through time in God’s Word to new worlds of faith told in the great stories of past pilgrimages.
It’s amazing how much lost time I can make up by simply getting my eyes back on the right road. I’m tired of riding the bus to nowhere, going around in circles and wasting this beautiful life God has given me on side roads of worry and sorrow. God is calling me on a journey to the highlands. But it takes a special vehicle to get me there.
It’s a bus called Praise.
Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
– 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18
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Jerusalem, Jerusalem, who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, the way a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were unwilling.
– Matthew 23:37
What more vivid and tender picture of a protective momma can there be than a hen with her chicks?
When I was growing up, I had a calico cat named Roseanne. Roseanne was an outdoor cat who loved to roam our eight acres of Idaho countryside. Not spayed until her later years, she was one of the most prolific cats I have ever seen—much to the dismay of my parents. Roseanne had kittens everywhere: under old boards, in our aging pink DeSoto sedan, in a cozy box if I found her soon enough. One spring she gave birth in the ancient hay barn next to the chicken coop.
Then her kittens were discovered by a setting banty hen whose own nest had been destroyed by a predator. The hen’s mothering instincts took over and she immediately adopted them. She spread her wings and hovered over them as protectively as she would have her own chicks, pecking anyone who threatened her new brood. Roseanne sat nearby, either unwilling to take on the misguided hen or just enjoying the break.
God used the imagery of a mother hen repeatedly in the Old Testament to describe His love toward His people. God longed to have compassion on His people, to gather them up and protect them. Over and over, they rejected Him. They killed the prophets He sent to them. They scattered from under His protection and suffered at the brutal hands of their enemies.
Then God arrived in the flesh, pouring out Himself in their image in the ultimate act of compassion to His rebel world. Here was their King, their Protector, their Refuge, their Deliverer, standing before them.
Still, they didn’t understand.
Jesus wept at the hardness of their hearts.
It’s easy to look back on the people of Jerusalem and see what they missed.
And yet, how often do I wander like an errant chick out from under His protective wings and straight into the claws of the predator? Why is it so hard to trust in God’s goodness, His wisdom, His compassion?
Why do I think I can run my own life, when in God’s eyes I’m just as helpless?
The only job a chick has is to stay put and grow up. No one wants to think of themselves as weak. But acknowledging weakness is a good thing. It’s what God’s been waiting to receive from His people:
Confessing our weakness. Returning to His side. Staying put and maturing under His protection.
Be gracious to me, O God, be gracious to me,
For my soul takes refuge in You;
And in the shadow of Your wings I will take refuge
Until destruction passes by.
-Psalm 57:1
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Now, little children, abide in Him, so that when He appears, we may have confidence and not shrink away from Him in shame at His coming.
– 1 John 2:28
Are we really supposed to be watching for Christ’s return? What does it matter, as long as we’re saved?
One Christmas Eve the extended family was coming for the first time to our place for dinner, and I had worked myself into a frazzle getting the house ready. Late in the afternoon, when my nerves were frayed into sharp little spikes, I finally finished waxing the floor in the kitchen and entry. I declared to my poor family that anyone who set foot on the floor before it dried was in trouble.
Big Trouble.
I had barely walked upstairs when I caught sight of my husband throwing the rug back down on the wet and sticky floor at the front door entry. I literally screeched at him as I flew down the stairs to retrieve the rug.
Halfway down the stairs, I froze mid-screech.
Aaron had opened the door to visitors. Unexpected, important visitors.
I wanted to die. There was no way they could have missed my performance.
They graciously gave no indication they heard my freak-out on the stairs. But my embarrassment was complete and profound. I had totally shamed myself at their coming.
One day God is going to surprise us.
Jesus will appear without warning in the sky to claim His people. I can guarantee it will be unannounced. Although we can’t know the day or the hour, we can see the season coming upon us. We can feel the change in the air and know something is coming upon the earth.
Actually, Someone is coming. He is coming soon, and the more completely we have lived for Him, the more joy we will have at His coming.
The Bible urges us to conduct ourselves in such a way so if He should arrive at any moment, we will not be ashamed to see His face. Our hearts should always be packed and ready for the trip home.
On that Christmas years ago, my selfish efforts to impress my in-laws made my family miserable and embarrassed myself when it really mattered.
God doesn’t care about our efforts to impress Him and others. He sees our hearts. He cares about how we live in those moments when we think no one is looking. He longs for us to live every hour as if it were the moment He arrives for us.
He is coming. Be ready. Someone very important is at the door.
But if that servant says to himself, ‘My master is delayed in coming,’ and begins to beat the male and female servants, and to eat and drink and get drunk, the master of that servant will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour he does not know, and will cut him in pieces and put him with the unfaithful.
-Luke 42:45-47
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He looks at the earth, and it trembles;
He touches the mountains, and they smoke.– Psalm 104:32
Where do you run when your world shakes?
This week television cameras caught the moment a 4.4 quake rocked parts of Southern California. Newscasts were in progress when the quake hit. Replays of the footage showed newscasters caught off-guard in the middle of their broadcasts. Some sat with apprehension at their desks; others were overcome with fear and dove unceremoniously for cover.
Although California is used to occasional shocks, it’s been several years since the state has experienced a significant quake. This one was followed by smaller shocks. Experts have been warning for years a monster earthquake there is inevitable. No one knows when the Big One will hit.
But residents there know the damage done and the lives lost in previous quakes. They instinctively run for safety when the shaking starts.
A desk. A doorway. Anything offering protection for the moment.
It’s a striking visual of our reactions to inner trauma. Memories of past tragedies and failures are triggered by an event that shakes up our world. We react in fear and dive for any available emotional cover. Anything to give us the illusion of security.
Bad relationships. Drugs. Sex. Alcohol. Work. Dark places disguised as doorways to safety.
Then one day our world falls down. The Big One hits and everything crashes in around us. We’re crushed in the rubble of destroyed lives.
It doesn’t have to be this way.
There is a fortress, a refuge from the pain, a safe place from the enemy of our souls.
God has promised us security within His walls. Jesus Christ is our champion, our king, our advocate and fierce protector. He is the all-knowing, all-powerful, all-seeing God. Nothing can separate us from His love. Nothing. The earth can split in half beneath our feet, and God will deliver us safely into His kingdom.
Feel your world shaking? Never fear. Run to the fortress. God is waiting for you, and the door’s open.
God is our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change
And though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea.
-Psalm 46:1-2
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Skin for skin! Yes, all that a man has he will give for his life. However, put forth Your hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh; he will curse You to Your face.
– Satan to God (Job 2:4-5)
Do you ever wonder where God is when something bad happens to you? Does it feel like God doesn’t see what’s happening—or doesn’t care?
In one of the most fascinating reads in the Bible, the book of Job pulls back the veil on heaven to reveal a jaw-dropping discussion between God and Satan. The first two chapters alone tell us a lot about that other world beyond our natural senses. It says even more about the intimate way God orchestrates events in our lives. This revelation can help us understand and accept what we experience on this side of heaven. From these chapters we learn:
Satan still has access to God.
- The “sons of God” evidently came regularly to “present themselves” to God. Satan, the record says, came among them. God doesn’t seem to be surprised at his presence. This explains Revelation 12:10, in which Satan is called “the accuser of our brethren,” who “accuses them before our God day and night.”
Satan doesn’t sit around in hell awaiting souls to torture.
- He tells God he has been roaming about on the earth. This corresponds with 1 Peter 5:8, which tells us Satan “prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.”
God is the one who initiates the conversation with the devil about Job.
- This is our reminder nothing happens outside the knowledge of God. Romans 8:28 tells us all things work for good for those who love the Lord. God had a higher plan for Job and a message to all humanity through Job’s life. This was to be accomplished through Job’s suffering. The plan was God’s. The means was the devil.
Job’s trials had nothing to do with his sin.
- He was a righteous (though not perfect) man who served God in every way possible. He even offered sacrifices for his children in case they sinned. His life as a husband, father, and man of God was beyond reproach. God was not punishing him.
Satan accused Job of only serving God to get favor from Him.
- God allowed Job to be afflicted to prove Satan’s accusations wrong. In the rest of the book of Job, we discover Job ended up healed and restored. In the process, his eyes were opened to a new understanding of the God he served.
You may be going through terrible physical or emotional suffering today. As you pray, the silence from heaven is deafening. You’re sure God has totally forsaken you. You can’t possibly see what He is doing, or what you did to deserve it.
Take some time and read about Job, the man who proved Satan wrong.
I have declared that which I did not understand,
Things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.
I have heard you by the hearing of the ear;
But now my eye sees You; Therefore I retract,
And I repent in dust and ashes.
– Job 42:3, 5-6
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Then He said to them, ‘Then render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s; and to God the things that are God’s.’
– Matthew 22:21
Bow or Burn
The new statue of Nebuchadnezzar stood in all its golden ninety-foot glory, erected to honor the Babylonian king. Nebuchadnezzar planned a very special celebration for its dedication. A proclamation had been issued and sent throughout his kingdom: “O peoples, nations and men of every language, that at the moment you hear the sound of the horn, flute, lyre, trigon, psaltery bagpipe and all kinds of music, you are to fall down and worship the golden image that Nebuchadnezzar the king has set up.” (Daniel 3:4-5)
Nearby, a large furnace waited to execute a fiery end to anyone who dared to defy the king’s orders.
The day came. The music played. Everybody bowed.
Everyone, that is, except three young Hebrew men named Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. These men were among those taken from their homes as captives of Babylon and trained in service to the pagan king with the new names of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego.
In captivity these three men had served peacefully in the king’s court, administrating the kingdom for the very person who made them slaves. They lived out an unfathomable depth of trust in their God as they served under difficult circumstances.
Now they were presented with a dilemma.
They must feign worship to the image at the king’s command or face instant execution in a blazing furnace of fire. It would be easy to avoid the flames. They would not bow to a foreign sovereign, however, even in pretense.
They stood alone as the people fell before the idol.
The king, angered at their insolence, ordered the furnace heated seven times hotter than usual. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego were tied up and thrown into the furnace. The men who carried them to the furnace were themselves killed by the intense heat.
Then Nebuchadnezzar stood, astounded.
In the middle of the flames walked four men, unharmed and unbound. As for the three captives, the fire did not even singe their clothes. They walked out just as they entered, with one notable exception: they were free. The fire had done no damage except to burn their bonds.
Who was the fourth man? Nebuchadnezzar exclaimed that the fourth had the appearance of a son of the gods. Did he know he beheld the King of kings?
When others are bowing to the enemy of their souls, stand for Christ
If you are facing a trial by fire, and you feel the immense temptation to appease those around you, remember Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego. Stand for Christ. The flames heating up around you might simply be there to burn the ropes keeping you in bondage.
If you do not bow the knee to your enemy, you will emerge unsinged at the end of the day. And you will have walked with the Son.
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“Present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, which is your spiritual service of worship.”
– Romans 12:1
What is worship?
Three huge screens beam the words so everyone in the entire building can see them. The worship team moves seamlessly from one song to the next as the service begins. A few people scurry breathlessly in and find their seats as the music plays.
A young woman in the row in front of me combs through her purse. She glances down at her daughter, who squirms and bobs in and out of her chair. The girl and her mom talk in stage whispers, fidgeting in unison. I close my eyes, redirect my attention back to the music, and sigh.
Are we already on the last song?
Too soon, it’s over. We enjoyed a beautiful song service. But had I worshiped?
In the Bible, worship is associated with reverence, obedience, and submission. It often followed a moment of revelation of the greatness of God. It came as the people faced terrible enemies and sought His deliverance: an expression of awe, a sign of surrender, a declaration of trust.
I love the praise service at church. I enjoy the music, the heart of the worship leaders, the fidgeting children, and singing my heart out with my friends. I know, though, that the call to worship is so much more. It commands our attention. It requires a change in attitude. It demands a decision.
As Abraham prepared his beloved son for sacrifice in obedience to God’s command he told the others, “Stay here with the donkey, and I and the lad will go over there; and we will worship and return to you.” (Genesis 22:5)
As Moses interceded for the Israelites, he “made haste to bow low toward earth and worship” in the presence of God. (Ex. 34:8)
King Jehoshaphat and all of Judah fell on their faces to the ground and worshipped the Lord before going out to war against their enemies. (2 Chronicles 20:18)
The disciples worshipped Jesus when He walked on water to reach their boat and calm the storm. (Matthew 14:33).
The purest act of worship I was privileged to witness didn’t happen at church but in an intensive care unit.
The young man in the bed was paralyzed from the neck down. He lay limply against the sterile white sheets. The ventilator keeping him alive pumped air into his lungs, which were now infected with pneumonia. He had just survived a respiratory code in which he had nearly died and had to be resuscitated.
When I entered the room, his two brothers stood weeping at his feet. My husband and I walked to his bed. It was the first time I had seen our son since his transfer from the hospital in Canada after his devastating spinal cord injury.
As we reached his side, he whispered a request. He asked us to lift his hands to God. His father took his lifeless right arm, I took his left, and we stretched our son’s hands toward heaven. Toward His Father. Like a child reaches for his daddy. I don’t remember what we said or prayed that day. It didn’t matter.
We just worshiped.
God heard our cries and delivered our son. Eternity will not be long enough to serve such a King.
How has God captured your heart and brought you to a place of pure worship?
Image courtesy Erik Thorson
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Beware of practicing your righteousness before men to be noticed by them; otherwise you have no reward with your Father who is in heaven.
-Matthew 6:1
The need for validation is a powerful drug.
In today’s world, it often leads contrive a public profile not entirely realistic. A recent social media meme depicts a well-groomed cat sitting primly for the camera. The caption on the photo says, “Your profile pic.” The next picture is of the same cat, wild-eyed and frazzled. The caption reads, “The photo you are tagged in.”
Most of us who use social media eventually have at least one awful moment when our carefully constructed public image is shattered by a bad hair day immortalized by a “friend.” As technology gets better at chronicling our daily lives, it gets harder to control what others see about us.
It’s not that we want to deceive others. At least, not totally. We just want their approval, their validation of who we are. None of us likes to have our weaknesses and flaws revealed to the world. We want to impress the people who impress us. We think that the carefully constructed message we present to them will draw them to us.
We forget that in doing that, we distance ourselves from others and from reaching people in the darkest moments of their lives.
I hate to admit this, but I secretly felt smug years ago when Martha Stewart was arrested for obstructing justice and lying to investigators about insider trading on the stock market. Instead of being happy for her because she built a fantastic empire, I felt intimated by her. She was perfect. She made me feel inadequate.
My life was too messy to worry about how to fold a fitted sheet, make candles, or keep basil fresh. I needed someone who walked the edge of disaster every day. I longed to talk to another person who understood my struggles, who suffered through similar trials, who found answers to share with me.
I needed authenticity.
Being authentic doesn’t mean being crude, rude, or raw. It doesn’t mean dumping every sordid detail of our problems on anyone who will listen. It’s not about being the loudest voice on the block.
It’s about being vulnerable, resisting the need to impress others. An authentic faith listens before speaking and is willing to look the fool to encourage someone who’s hurting.
I want to know people who act the same way whether they are on the stage or in my living room. I need to see faith lived out loud in gentleness, holiness, and transparency. What impresses me is someone who sits with the new person at church, who gives without announcing it, who isn’t afraid to be the only one to respond to the altar call.
Only a secure person can live an authentic faith. When we find our identity in Christ, we don’t need to have the applause of men. When we are secure in God’s unconditional approval, we can let down our guard and let others see our humanity. There’s no need to impress, no fear in being ourselves.
Be true to your God. Let others see the bad hair. Be real. Be yourself.
Be authentic.
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For God so loved….
– John 3:16
Holidays are a set up for disappointment.
My mother used to say the only thing holidays were good for was to set people up for hurt and disappointment. It seems cynical, but unfortunately, it’s often true. The world’s expectations for these contrived celebrations definitely set us up for a letdown. Life just isn’t as magical as we would like it to be, although marketers want us to think that if we spend enough time, effort, and money, we can achieve it.
Commercialism sets a high bar: If we don’t buy the perfect gift to create a magical moment, or if we aren’t the perfect spouse, child, or parent on those special days, we are losers. So we spend the money, buy the stuff, and swallow down the sour taste the emptiness leaves in our mouths.
It’s never enough. Things can’t make us feel loved.
I will be the first to claim Loserhood. I am nothing without God. He doesn’t see me as a loser, thankfully. He sees me as a sinner; His beloved lost creation; a dear child needing a Father.
Jesus Christ came to give us the perfect gift: Himself. For a tired, hurting old world, He offers an eternal and supernatural love. In Him is the sweet taste of life. In Him, we can enjoy an existence that looks heavenward.
This world offers the rose but pierces the hand reaching for it. God offers a love that is pure, beautiful, and tender. If we trust in Him, we will never be disappointed.
One day of each year we honor the idea of love. Every hour of every day of the year, God demonstrates to us His exquisite love through His Word, His people, His creation, and His Spirit. Eternity won’t be long enough to tell Him thanks and give Him our hearts.
He is the rose without thorns.
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For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
– 2 Corinthians 5:1
He pulled into the nursing home parking lot with a heavy heart.
He opened the mechanical door and it engaged, swinging wide. Inside, the usual nursing home smells met him as he made his way to his mother’s darkened room. The curtains were pulled, and a deep silence shut out the sounds in the hall.
She was nearly ninety-one years old. The wreath of white hair framing her frail face belied her fierce nature and the long battle she had waged to live. She appeared to be sleeping, but her gnarled fingers picked at her sweater as if to straighten it out across her swollen belly.
He stood for a moment, debating whether to awaken her. He decided against it, prayed a quiet prayer over her, and tiptoed out of the room.
Less than an hour later, he received the call she was dead.
Nearly two weeks ago, we buried my mother-in-law, remembering her life with tears and reminded we never know what hour will be our last.
Most of us struggle to come to terms with our mortality. Some of us dread suffering. Others are tormented by the fear there is nothing beyond the grave.
The Apostle Paul was a tentmaker by trade. It was common for the nomadic people of the Middle East to live in tents at the time the New Testament was penned. In 2 Corinthians 5, Paul uses the imagery of tents to help us understand the nature of the physical body and immortality.
Our bodies, Paul tells us, are tents, like those portable dwellings we take with us on trips. They are built for travel, so they are lightweight—at the expense of durability. They offer some shelter against the elements, but they can’t protect us against all threats.
We live in tents. But we are not the tent. We’re just using the shelter until we return home.
From the outside, the tent is the only thing we see. When we move on, we leave the shell behind. It can be burned or buried or preserved, but it is only what’s left of the flimsy dwelling we used while we were here. If I came across an empty tent in one of our beautiful national parks, I would just assume the owner was elsewhere.
Not dead; just absent.
Living in a tent is not a comfortable existence. Paul acknowledged “while we are in this tent we groan, being burdened, because we do not want to be unclothed but to be clothed, so that what is mortal will be swallowed up by life.” (2 Corinthians 5:4) Because we have never seen anything other than the outward shell, we question and fear what lies beyond our physical bodies.
He is; we are.
Christ’s death and resurrection redeemed those who love Him from judgment, assuring us that death is not annihilation but a temporary separation. He is the great and eternal I AM, and we are made eternal in His image.
While you dwell in this tent, be encouraged that you are more than what is seen. In fact, you are.
The last enemy that will be abolished is death.
– 1 Corinthians 15:26
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When the Lord saw her, He felt compassion for her, and said to her, ‘Do not weep.’
– Luke 7:13
The widow shuffled behind the men who carried the body of her only son.
Despair gripped every line of her face. Her thin shoulders sagged under the weight of a life without hope.
Gone were the desperate prayers for God’s healing. Silenced were the frantic petitions, the faith in deliverance, the hope God would rescue them. There was only the sound of shuffling feet and a mother’s soft sobs as the procession made its way to the burial grounds.
Near the gate of the city, they encountered a group of people. A man in rough clothing emerged from the crowd and approached the woman.
She stiffened at this invasion of her grief. What did he want?
It was His voice that captured her attention. He only spoke a few words, but they stirred an undefinable longing in her soul.
“Do not weep.”
Do not weep? Was he blind? It was long past time for hope. There was nothing left but to grieve.
Then the man touched the coffin. According to Jewish law, the mere act would make him ceremonially impure for a time. He didn’t seem to care.
The next moment, it didn’t matter.
The dead man sat up and spoke.
In a single moment, life leapt from the grave. A man’s life was restored. A woman’s joy was resurrected. It had nothing to do with her faith or her good deeds. It was not because she said the right words or believed in a miracle.
It was, we are told, because the Lord Jesus Christ had compassion on her. He was touched by her grief, moved by her sorrow. In her moment of greatest loss, in an hour all hope was gone, God revealed His life-giving power.
Little did she know Jesus would soon be the son carried to the tomb, His own mother the grieving widow.
No one understood He was the Son born to die for their sins. He would not only rise from the dead under His own power, but He would break the hold of death forever for those who love Him.
When we encounter crushing trials, it’s tempting to believe we can call down a miracle if we incant the right prayers, keep a positive confession, or impress God with our faith. The truth is God can’t be manipulated. When He doesn’t answer a prayer in the way we want, it isn’t because we haven’t said the right words.
It’s because He’s God. He is sovereign Lord. His goal is our highest good. He often appears to leave us alone in our sorrows, only to come with power in an hour we are most broken, most lost, most hopeless. Along the way He has purified our motives, torn down our pride, and taught us the priceless lesson of trust.
You may be standing at the grave of something or someone very precious. Take heart. The Lord Jesus is here. He sees your heartache. He’s the God of compassion.
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So the LORD said, ‘I have pardoned them according to your word; but indeed, as I live, all the earth will be filled with the glory of the LORD.’
– Numbers 14:20-21
It’s been a tough day in God’s world.
The images from television and Internet have been especially sobering. Across the planet, hate reverberates across the airwaves as man’s inhumanity to man intensifies.
There’s only so much a person can take. On a day like this, it’s easier to turn away than to watch the carnage. Post a recipe on Pinterest. Go shopping. Shut out the darkness.
Sometimes the silence from heaven itself seems deafening. Can’t God see what is happening? Doesn’t He care about the innocent men, women, children, and animals being destroyed every day? Where is God as the earth plunges toward destruction?
In Numbers, we are told the people of Israel had barely been delivered from the Egyptians when the complaining began. As they stood on the brink of the Promised Land, they feared the giants in the land more than they trusted God. So they plotted rebellion.
This breach of trust provoked God so much, He threatened to destroy them and start over with Moses. Moses interceded successfully in their behalf, but not before we are given a glimpse of the tremendous effort with which God holds back His hand from judgment.
God really cares about us. His great heart is broken by the wickedness He must endure every day. He longs to end the conflict and see justice reign on earth. It would only take a word.
But He waits.
His patience is seen as indifference. His long-suffering is viewed as impotence. His silence is interpreted as nonexistence.
And still, He waits.
He waits because it gives Him no pleasure to destroy His creation. He longs for His lost world to understand this. He reaches out to us with the gift of life.
Think He doesn’t feel our pain? Look at His hands.
Don’t be discouraged by what you see happening around you. The day is coming when all the earth will hear His voice. He has sworn by His own name that in that day, the earth will be filled with His glory. He will wipe our tears away, and justice will reign.
Until then, believe God cares about the suffering. He is at work in our lives, healing and strengthening and comforting all who cry out to Him. With us, He yearns for the day when His glory is released.
With Him, we wait.
But You, O Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in loving devotion and faithfulness.
– Psalm 86:15
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But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, reasonable, full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering, without hypocrisy.
– James 3:17
James D. Watson, the co-discoverer of DNA and a Nobel Prize winner, was an avowed secular humanist and evolutionist.
In 2007, he ignited a public firestorm for a comment he made to the London Sunday Times. During an interview to kick off a book tour, he said he was “gloomy about the prospect of Africa,” because testing had suggested African intelligence to be inferior to European intelligence.
This was just one of the scandalously racist comments made by the scientists. His words brought public opinion howling down upon his head and a brilliant career crashing at his feet. His apology fell upon deaf ears, and he retired from the public eye after canceling his book tour. He was soon relieved of his job as chancellor at the Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory.
The debacle was schizophrenic for a society generally accepting of the evolutionary model of creation.
As an evolutionist, Watson was only taking evolution to its natural conclusion. If life came into being through a series of random actions over the course of eons, then species should exhibit an unorganized collage of form and function.
If intelligence is simply a by-product of cell mutations, certain groups of cells could arguably have evolved into higher functioning beings than others, even within species, thus creating classes of Homo sapiens. This is the social Darwinism upon which the Nazis based their delusions of grandeur and systematically destroyed those of supposedly inferior evolution: Asians, Slavs, Jews, Africans, Gypsies, the disabled, homosexuals, the homeless, alcoholics, Christians.
In contrast, the concept of the equality of mankind is rooted in the belief we are all created in the image of God and equal in His sight. This ideal elevates humanity from an animal existence and opens a world of opportunity for people of all nations and abilities.
The apostle Paul warned in 2 Timothy 3:7 of those who are “…always learning and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.” Proverbs reminds us, “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge; Fools despise wisdom and instruction.” (Proverbs 1:7) and “The LORD gives wisdom; From His mouth come knowledge and understanding.” (Proverbs 2:6)
Wisdom doesn’t begin in the head but in the heart. Unless we acknowledge our Creator, we can spend a lifetime learning, and yet never understand who we are.
Know that the LORD Himself is God; It is He who has made us, and not we ourselves.
– Psalm 100:3
Photo courtesy Erik Thorson
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And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude
of the heavenly host praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest,
And on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased.’
– Luke 2:13-14
In Nazareth, one man really appreciated census time.
The innkeeper stepped into the street to get more provisions for his guests. It was alive with the sounds of the evening as travelers clogged the market. Cranky mothers scolded crying children and men hurried to get their animals fed and watered. Makeshift camps sprung up after every possible lodging was filled.
He rubbed his hands together in contentment as he thought of the extra money he was making. The crush of people was an annoyance, but the census had turned out to be great for the area businesses. His inn was full.
He was just stepping back inside when he was approached by a stranger leading a donkey, upon which sat a very young pregnant woman. He quickly rebuffed the man’s inquiry about a room for the night. He had to get back to his guests.
Then he glanced over at the girl. She was in obvious pain. A twinge of guilt pricked him. There was the stable, if they didn’t mind sleeping with the animals. He quickly closed the door on them and the sense of emptiness that soured his stomach.
Through the night, the young Jewish woman labored to deliver her King, her cries drowned out by the cacophony in the street. Then as Bethlehem finally slept, a new, small sound filled the stable as the Child took His first breath from inside His creation.
It was the sound of the Life-giver joining His world.
In the sweet darkness of the night, in the stillness of the Eternity that dawned, the shepherds heard the triumphant sound of a party in heaven.
In all the earth, they alone saw the splendor.
The lowly heard what the mighty missed. Kings were blind and deaf. Wise men beheld the glory from afar. In the whole wide world, it was those keeping lonely vigil over the sheep who heard the angel voices.
What a sound it must have been! What an honor to witness such praise! Wonder of wonders, that men should hear the songs of heaven.
Wonder of wonders, He reaches through the ages and invites us to sing along.
Fall on your knees
O hear the angel voices!
O night divine!
O night, when Christ was born!
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But Jesus said, ‘Let the children alone, and do not hinder them from coming to Me;
for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’
-Matthew 19:14
Christmas is for children, just like salvation.
We started celebrating Christmas early the year our daughter flew out with her family for the holidays. Long before Thanksgiving, we were planning events and buying gifts. Christmas mingled with—and finally pre-empted—the turkey and harvest, creating a manic mix of fall colors and jingle bells. Competing Christmas songs played on opposite sides of the house, and we watched a gaggle of Christmas videos—sometimes twice.
Perhaps we were a tad over-zealous that year. But after years of disappointments and heartaches, it just felt good to have an excuse to celebrate.
Christmas is my favorite holiday most any year. I nearly always overdo it, and here is a part of the season I always put away with a sigh.
It’s the child in me, the one who never grew too old to believe in miracles. The older I get, the more I miss the wide-eyed little girl who lay awake most of the night listening for sleigh bells and who bounced out of bed before first light to run breathlessly to the tree.
I miss running in bare feet on cold floors, eating guiltless plates of cookies, playing outside in the snow until my toes were numb, and not knowing that drinking homemade eggnog could make me sick.
I especially miss believing that the golden glow of the season is real.
Somewhere along the way, the child in me got trampled, starved, and seriously sick. She grew too sad to dream or let hope out to play. Somewhere along the way, a tired cynicism replaced the wonder.
Somehow, the child grew into an old woman.
That won’t do anymore. This Christmas, I opened my present early. I found the box my heart had been hidden in. There she was: an innocent babe locked in the stinking barn of this world, a precious child of faith.
Oh, those trusting eyes! See how she reaches for her Father! What a gift from God!
She has waited so long for me to come for her. I want to hold her close and never let her go.
I think I’ll name her Joy.
O holy Child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us today.
“O Little Town of Bethlehem”
Phillips Brooks
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Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body; and be thankful.
– Colossians 3:15
In a holiday season careening out of control, I long for the Deliverer whose arrival we celebrate.
It happens every year.
I begin the holidays with a fresh thrill of expectation as we haul out the Christmas decorations shortly after Thanksgiving. Every year I start a bit earlier, try harder, and still fall short of completing everything on my to-do list.
The list hasn’t gotten longer. Other responsibilities in my life have grown.
I start with good intentions. But as the month spins increasingly out of control, my energy begins to wane along with my Christmas spirit as I strain to capture all that glitters in the magical world dangling just out of reach.
That world doesn’t exist, not in this life. At times it even taunts me and magnifies the year’s sorrows. Our lives pale beside the delusion. The contradiction cuts as I dash through the last bell-ringing days of a tired year.
When I reach that moment of total frazzled-hair, wild-eyed insanity; when I don’t have time for a walk through the mall with my husband, for a run to Starbucks to meet friends for coffee, or to sit with the cat in my lap and enjoy the Christmas tree, I need a time-out.
At that moment, it’s crucial to put the recipes away, close my eyes to the mud on the kitchen rugs, and sling out a net to gather in my mood swings.
Because I love Christmas. I love celebrating the day my Deliverer came for me. It’s the real miracle breathing life into the season, salvation appearing out of the sky to a world dying to live.
What better reason could there be to celebrate? What tinsel-town light show can compete with such glory?
Jesus presents to us the ultimate good-versus-evil story. He’s the Prince on a white horse who comes just time to save His beloved. He has written the beginning and ending to every life’s drama, and He is the only real reason life is worth living.
His coming split history in half and lit up the skies with angelic alleluias. His death and resurrection made our every loss bearable, our every breath a gift, and our future secure.
Because He came, every day is Christmas. That deserves a serious celebration. Forget the mincemeat pie. The Christmas cards can wait.
Rejoice.
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