Christmas Eve 2015. Months of anticipation. Days of craziness. Hours of peacefulness, at last. If you're spending a few quiet moments by yourself, I offer up these words for your meditation. A friend sent them to me several days ago, and they brought me out of the frenzy and back to the Good News. Jesus came to earth. God Himself took on flesh and "moved into the neighborhood" as Eugene Peterson so beautifully put it. It happened 2,000 years ago, but it's as relevant today, in the here and now in my life, as it was for Peter, John, Mary, the Samaritan woman, Lazarus, or the man delivered from a legion of demons.
His name is wonderful counselor, mighty God, everlasting Father, prince of peace. You've heard it a million times, but have you ever considered what it means? To you? Today? Christian writer and pastor Warren Wiersbe helps us understand:
His name is Wonderful: This takes care of the dullness of life. We no longer need to live on the cheap substitutes of the world in order to have excitement and enjoyment. Jesus Christ makes everything wonderful.
His name is Counselor: This takes care of the decisions of life. We no longer will be baffled by the problems of life, wondering what step to take next. With Jesus Christ as our Counselor, we will have the wisdom that we need to make the right decision.
His name is Mighty God: This takes care of the demands of life. And life is demanding! Sometimes we feel like giving up; but through Jesus Christ we can have the strength that we need to continue--and to conquer.
His name is Everlasting Father: This takes care of the dimensions of life. We can become a part of eternity! A whole new dimension of living can be ours through Jesus Christ, when the government of our life is on His shoulders.
His name is the Prince of Peace: This takes care of the disturbances of life. How we long for lasting peace within! What we would not give for the secret of poise and confidence in a threatening world! The answer is Jesus Christ. He is the Prince of Peace, and when He controls the government of your life, He gives you peace.
Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to those on whom His favor rests. Merry Christmas.
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Sufficient Grace
It happens every day. In fact, it happens 12 times every day, on average, in the U.S. But it's never happened in my world, not until Monday.
On Monday night, one of my son's classmates committed suicide, on the first day of finals, eleven days before Christmas. He was a well liked kid, by all accounts polite and kind and thoughtful of other kids. He was well connected and played football. He came from a two-parent home that loves Jesus. No one understands.
I'm not going to write about teen pressure and depression, gun control, or the evils of social media. (I have no idea if social media played a part in this.) That's not where my mind is this week. I keep coming back to two big thoughts, and it's those I put out there today.
The first is how much we are all connected. I knew this boy's name. I could pick him out of a crowd. Nothing more. I have never met or spoken to either of his parents. And yet the news rocked my world. Could this 15- or 16-year-old boy have imagined that a 45-year-old mother, whom he'd never met, would be so stricken by his death that she'd have to cover her cries with the shower spray in order to avoid waking up the rest of her house? Or that an 8-year-old would pull her mommy aside to ask why someone would take their own life? Could he have known that the community would be so wounded that finals would be cancelled? Does any teenager--does any human being--have any idea how intricately connected they are to the people around them?
It goes without saying that I ache to my core for his family. But my grief also extends to our entire community. We're a tight group. We go to church together and the kids play sports together. Our children start together in kindergarten, and we don't lose very many before high school graduation. The teachers in our elementary schools have kids at our high school. We live in a big town, but in some ways, we're a little village unto ourselves, and I think we'd all say we like it that way. When one of us hurts this deeply, we all hurt. Is this what the Bible means when it tells us to bear one another's burdens? I think so. It means get down on your face and cry out to God for this family. Intercede for them all day long. Fill the church to overflowing on the day of the funeral. Bring them meals. Get their trash out on the curb. Serve them in every way possible. I am thankful that this is what our community does so well. If we have to go through something so ugly, at least we get to do it alongside such beautiful people.
My second thought is theological. It's the one keeping me up at night, as theological thoughts often do. For several weeks, I've been thinking about a statement I read about the metaphorical "cup" that each of us is assigned. My cup contains both the blessings and the difficulties of my life. Jean Fleming, the author, wrote, "The unknown, difficult cup will not diminish my cup of joy." I underlined it and said, "Amen!", fully in agreement that I could say the same. And I could say the same Monday afternoon. But what about Tuesday morning? Because on Tuesday morning, the unknown, difficult cup was less theoretical and more concrete. A woman just like me was sitting a couple miles away drinking a cup that is every mother's worst nightmare. How can there possibly be any joy in that?
Where is "God's grace is sufficient for me" in this scenario? Where is "It is well with my soul?" How can God's grace possibly be enough in this situation? How can there ever be joy again? My mind circles around and around on these questions, until I give up and just pray simple, desperate prayers.
All I can say is this: I don't get it. I can't grasp it. But I believe it. God's grace is somehow sufficient in every circumstance, even the most horrific of them all. The math confounds me, but His grace is deep and wide and long and far enough to cover even this.
In my own darkest moments, I've heard Him say to my heart, "This is going to be hard. You'll have to endure. But I will show you great mercies in the midst of it." I pray that for this family and this community. The Lord's mercies are new every morning. And somehow, even in the deepest valley, He gives us strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.
On Monday night, one of my son's classmates committed suicide, on the first day of finals, eleven days before Christmas. He was a well liked kid, by all accounts polite and kind and thoughtful of other kids. He was well connected and played football. He came from a two-parent home that loves Jesus. No one understands.
I'm not going to write about teen pressure and depression, gun control, or the evils of social media. (I have no idea if social media played a part in this.) That's not where my mind is this week. I keep coming back to two big thoughts, and it's those I put out there today.
The first is how much we are all connected. I knew this boy's name. I could pick him out of a crowd. Nothing more. I have never met or spoken to either of his parents. And yet the news rocked my world. Could this 15- or 16-year-old boy have imagined that a 45-year-old mother, whom he'd never met, would be so stricken by his death that she'd have to cover her cries with the shower spray in order to avoid waking up the rest of her house? Or that an 8-year-old would pull her mommy aside to ask why someone would take their own life? Could he have known that the community would be so wounded that finals would be cancelled? Does any teenager--does any human being--have any idea how intricately connected they are to the people around them?
It goes without saying that I ache to my core for his family. But my grief also extends to our entire community. We're a tight group. We go to church together and the kids play sports together. Our children start together in kindergarten, and we don't lose very many before high school graduation. The teachers in our elementary schools have kids at our high school. We live in a big town, but in some ways, we're a little village unto ourselves, and I think we'd all say we like it that way. When one of us hurts this deeply, we all hurt. Is this what the Bible means when it tells us to bear one another's burdens? I think so. It means get down on your face and cry out to God for this family. Intercede for them all day long. Fill the church to overflowing on the day of the funeral. Bring them meals. Get their trash out on the curb. Serve them in every way possible. I am thankful that this is what our community does so well. If we have to go through something so ugly, at least we get to do it alongside such beautiful people.
My second thought is theological. It's the one keeping me up at night, as theological thoughts often do. For several weeks, I've been thinking about a statement I read about the metaphorical "cup" that each of us is assigned. My cup contains both the blessings and the difficulties of my life. Jean Fleming, the author, wrote, "The unknown, difficult cup will not diminish my cup of joy." I underlined it and said, "Amen!", fully in agreement that I could say the same. And I could say the same Monday afternoon. But what about Tuesday morning? Because on Tuesday morning, the unknown, difficult cup was less theoretical and more concrete. A woman just like me was sitting a couple miles away drinking a cup that is every mother's worst nightmare. How can there possibly be any joy in that?
Where is "God's grace is sufficient for me" in this scenario? Where is "It is well with my soul?" How can God's grace possibly be enough in this situation? How can there ever be joy again? My mind circles around and around on these questions, until I give up and just pray simple, desperate prayers.
All I can say is this: I don't get it. I can't grasp it. But I believe it. God's grace is somehow sufficient in every circumstance, even the most horrific of them all. The math confounds me, but His grace is deep and wide and long and far enough to cover even this.
In my own darkest moments, I've heard Him say to my heart, "This is going to be hard. You'll have to endure. But I will show you great mercies in the midst of it." I pray that for this family and this community. The Lord's mercies are new every morning. And somehow, even in the deepest valley, He gives us strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.
Monday, December 7, 2015
By Our Fruit We Are Known
"So then, by their fruit you will recognize them."
Matthew 7:20
Anyone can call themselves a Christian. It might be a box they check on a form or an association they make because of where they're from. It can be a label saying who someone isn't (say, a Hindu) as much as saying who someone is. This isn't confusing for Christ. He knows those who are His. He is the Good Shepherd, and He knows His sheep.
But it can be confusing for the world. The world takes the name "Christian" at face value. If you say that's what you are, then that's what you must be. If it's a "Christian" who storms into an abortion clinic shooting people, then that's what Christians do. Let's slap a label on it, condemn it, ridicule it, and move on to the next news story.
Within minutes of the Planned Parenthood shooting in my own city, social media was abuzz with speculations about the kind of person who must be behind it. White male? Check. In his fifties? Yes. Politically dogmatic? Very. Christian? Yep. He used to spout off Bible verses and tell people he was a Christian. That seals the deal. He must've been one of those hate-filled Christian lunatics.
The Bible tells us we'll be known by our actions. Jesus told His followers to watch out for false prophets, "ferocious wolves" dressed like sheep. He said they could be recognized by their fruit, by their life's actions. "Every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit." And what if a bad tree wants to call itself something else? Doesn't matter to God. He knows His own, and He says that every tree that does not bear good fruit will be "cut down and thrown into the fire" (Matthew 7).
Hateful, mentally deranged killers are evil. They are not of God. He does not recognize them, even if they want to use His name for themselves. He is a God of justice, and without true repentance, their actions will be met with His wrath.
True Christians, those whose lives are about surrender and obedience to Christ, will be known by their good fruit. They'll be known by how they love, how they speak, how they act, how they serve.
This criteria isn't just reserved for murderers. I need to take heed, too. Does the fruit in my life indicate that I belong to Jesus? Just because I'm not shooting people--or even just cussing them out--doesn't mean my fruit is pure and good. Am I loving others who are hard to love? Am I speaking words of life and truth? Am I honest? Trustworthy? Filled with hope? Do I give selflessly of myself? Am I humble? Am I willing to surrender my own need for control and trust Him alone?
Sometimes it takes a while for bad fruit to smell bad. I need to be diligent in regularly assessing the fruit of my life. I need to be sure that I'm bearing Christ's name in a way that honors and pleases Him. I don't ever want to be a Christian in name only. I want to be the real deal. Please, God, let me be recognized as yours by the good fruit my life produces.
Matthew 7:20
Anyone can call themselves a Christian. It might be a box they check on a form or an association they make because of where they're from. It can be a label saying who someone isn't (say, a Hindu) as much as saying who someone is. This isn't confusing for Christ. He knows those who are His. He is the Good Shepherd, and He knows His sheep.
But it can be confusing for the world. The world takes the name "Christian" at face value. If you say that's what you are, then that's what you must be. If it's a "Christian" who storms into an abortion clinic shooting people, then that's what Christians do. Let's slap a label on it, condemn it, ridicule it, and move on to the next news story.
Within minutes of the Planned Parenthood shooting in my own city, social media was abuzz with speculations about the kind of person who must be behind it. White male? Check. In his fifties? Yes. Politically dogmatic? Very. Christian? Yep. He used to spout off Bible verses and tell people he was a Christian. That seals the deal. He must've been one of those hate-filled Christian lunatics.
The Bible tells us we'll be known by our actions. Jesus told His followers to watch out for false prophets, "ferocious wolves" dressed like sheep. He said they could be recognized by their fruit, by their life's actions. "Every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit." And what if a bad tree wants to call itself something else? Doesn't matter to God. He knows His own, and He says that every tree that does not bear good fruit will be "cut down and thrown into the fire" (Matthew 7).
Hateful, mentally deranged killers are evil. They are not of God. He does not recognize them, even if they want to use His name for themselves. He is a God of justice, and without true repentance, their actions will be met with His wrath.
True Christians, those whose lives are about surrender and obedience to Christ, will be known by their good fruit. They'll be known by how they love, how they speak, how they act, how they serve.
This criteria isn't just reserved for murderers. I need to take heed, too. Does the fruit in my life indicate that I belong to Jesus? Just because I'm not shooting people--or even just cussing them out--doesn't mean my fruit is pure and good. Am I loving others who are hard to love? Am I speaking words of life and truth? Am I honest? Trustworthy? Filled with hope? Do I give selflessly of myself? Am I humble? Am I willing to surrender my own need for control and trust Him alone?
Sometimes it takes a while for bad fruit to smell bad. I need to be diligent in regularly assessing the fruit of my life. I need to be sure that I'm bearing Christ's name in a way that honors and pleases Him. I don't ever want to be a Christian in name only. I want to be the real deal. Please, God, let me be recognized as yours by the good fruit my life produces.
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