I wasn't on the schedule for this week, but the editor called and asked if I would please fill in. I had been thinking about last Sunday's message from Luke 18. In the passage from verses 34-45 I see clear substantiation for people from Cornerstone Community Church participating in our local summer parade specifically to present a critical mass of people (a crowd) that might attract the attention of the (spiritually) blind causing them to inquire as to it's meaning and provide us the opportunity to point them to Jesus.
That's the background for these thoughts from the same passage.
A few days before Jesus entered Jerusalem for the last time; a few days before he stood before the Roman governor and an angry mob for daring to challenge the status quo; a few days before he was condemned and beaten and crucified for loving God and people selflessly and sacrificially, Jesus walked into the river town of Jericho and changed a man's life forever.
The man sat near the gate of the city on the road that rises from the banks of the Jordan River past the date palm plantations and dusty ruins of cast off lives from long ago. The caravans plodded up this road headed from east to west, from the ends of the earth, through Jericho to Jerusalem and beyond. Tax payers and tax collectors traveled the road, merchants and murderers, peasants and kings. People came and people went, day after long, hot, wearisome day, but still the old blind man sat begging by the gate, inwardly grateful for the iron and copper coins, a shekel here, a denarius there, a mite in between.
He sat by the road near the gate shrouded in darkness and yesterday's memories . . . memories of when he could see. Memories of color coordinated sound and sight. The faces of his children, his wife, now gone, all of them, leaving him alone in this unwanted reverie. Fuschia and golden colors of flowers held aloft by green against the clear blue skies. Memories, faded, less certain, remnants left to plague him in his old age.
His ears, his hearing more acute in the years since the accident stole his vision, his ears picked up the noise of the crowd long before the rumble of their feet reached his hands through the stony ground. This was no caravan. There was no tinkle of bridle bells. No cracking of whips. No shouts of children pleading for tidbits from weary travelers. This was something different. Something very, very different.
He felt the words rising from his heart before he wrapped his tongue around them. "Hey, what's going on? What's happening? Why such a crowd? What does this mean?"
At first they ignored him. Nothing new there, he thought. Multitudes ignore the plight of the needy among them, much to their shame. Did he have any control over an exploding pot that spewed it's boiling innards in his eyes? Was it his fault? Did they really have to blame him for his predicament? Couldn't they have a little mercy? Couldn't they realize their lives were only a moment from disaster themselves?
He caught himself just before the wave of bitterness and self-pity swept him away. "I said, What does all this mean?'" he shouted. The crowd had gotten his attention. He got the crowd's attention. "Jesus of Nazareth is passing by," they said.
Jesus? Of Nazareth? The teacher? The feeder? THE HEALER?! "Jesus, Son of David, have
mercy on me!" The cry erupted from his soul and passed unhindered from his lips. He had heard of Jesus, heard of the compassion, heard of the miracles. The crowd returned to it's boorish attempt to silence and ignore him, to return him to the cast aside status of yesterday, but it was not yesterday. It was today, and today
Jesus was passing by.
He called all the louder, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me."
Jesus heard him, stopped the parade of onlookers and well-wishers, ambitious politicians and eager saints that accompanied him. He commanded the old blind man be brought him to him.
Then Jesus spoke to the man. "What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asked.
Can you imagine? What would you answer to such a man? Would you dare let fly with your deepest hope? Or would you choose some lesser thing, unable, unwilling to believe your heart's desire might be as dear to God as it is to you?
"Lord, let me recover my sight."
Jesus said, "Recover your sight; your faith has made you whole."
And immediately he recovered his sight and followed him, glorifying God. And all the people,when they saw it, gave praise to God (Luke 18:43).
The blind man who could not see with his eyes and the people who could not see with their hearts were both healed by the compassion and love of the Son of God, who was himself on his way to give his life for them all. This is how God responds to the cry of faith.
That's the Good News.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Misty Memories Worth Remembering
Cook County Star THE GOOD NEWS for 7/25/2009
The mist outside my window this afternoon reminds me of the morning we arrived at the Andersonville Civil War Memorial in Andersonville, Georgia. It had rained that Saturday morning as we drove the miles from south Columbus to Andersonville. The inequity between ground temperatures and air temperatures caused a mist to coalesce across field that had once been prison home to tens of thousands of Yankee soldiers. The fog shrouded the granite memorials in gray and draped a film of water around their solid shoulders that dripped like sweat from the ledges and corners of each monument.
As we walked, fingers lingering across the names of states and soldiers carved in the marble facades, the mist moved with us. Like ghostly memories looking over our shoulders it swirled around us, chilled us, reminded us. The morning was not silent, though silent might have been better. Mockingbirds, I seem to recall, stealing someone else's song, accompanied the awe that came from being reminded how horrible one brother can treat another.
The mist began to lift as we neared the slight depression in the center of the camp. The muddy spot that supplied the only water to the camp still squished underneath grass that then would never have dreamed of growing under the pounding of so many weary heels. We were only children, teenagers, but within only a year or two of some of the younger men once imprisoned in this hell on earth.
I can barely see the spruce across Cedar Grove Lane today, just as I could barely see the water oaks and sycamores that lined the edge of a historic prison yard I visited one July day so many years ago.
The mist reminds me.
The oldest living British soldier who survived World War I, to the Brits, "The Great War," died at age 113 this last week. He died with a message on his lips for everyone who would listen. "Remember." Don't forget. Don't forget those who died. Don't forget what they fought for, why they died. Remember.
Remember those who died for you. Remember why they died. Remember those who died to bring you freedom. Remember also the One who died to make you free. 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. 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, if indeed you continue in the faith, stable and steadfast, not shifting from the hope of the gospel that you heard, which has been proclaimed in all creation under heaven, and of which I, Paul, became a minister" (Colossians 1:19-23, ESV).
Jesus fought the war to make us free from guilt, slavery to fear, hopelessness. He gave his life on the cross to give us new life in faith. Remember.
That's the Good News.
The mist outside my window this afternoon reminds me of the morning we arrived at the Andersonville Civil War Memorial in Andersonville, Georgia. It had rained that Saturday morning as we drove the miles from south Columbus to Andersonville. The inequity between ground temperatures and air temperatures caused a mist to coalesce across field that had once been prison home to tens of thousands of Yankee soldiers. The fog shrouded the granite memorials in gray and draped a film of water around their solid shoulders that dripped like sweat from the ledges and corners of each monument.
As we walked, fingers lingering across the names of states and soldiers carved in the marble facades, the mist moved with us. Like ghostly memories looking over our shoulders it swirled around us, chilled us, reminded us. The morning was not silent, though silent might have been better. Mockingbirds, I seem to recall, stealing someone else's song, accompanied the awe that came from being reminded how horrible one brother can treat another.
The mist began to lift as we neared the slight depression in the center of the camp. The muddy spot that supplied the only water to the camp still squished underneath grass that then would never have dreamed of growing under the pounding of so many weary heels. We were only children, teenagers, but within only a year or two of some of the younger men once imprisoned in this hell on earth.
I can barely see the spruce across Cedar Grove Lane today, just as I could barely see the water oaks and sycamores that lined the edge of a historic prison yard I visited one July day so many years ago.
The mist reminds me.
The oldest living British soldier who survived World War I, to the Brits, "The Great War," died at age 113 this last week. He died with a message on his lips for everyone who would listen. "Remember." Don't forget. Don't forget those who died. Don't forget what they fought for, why they died. Remember.
Remember those who died for you. Remember why they died. Remember those who died to bring you freedom. Remember also the One who died to make you free. 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. 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, if indeed you continue in the faith, stable and steadfast, not shifting from the hope of the gospel that you heard, which has been proclaimed in all creation under heaven, and of which I, Paul, became a minister" (Colossians 1:19-23, ESV).
Jesus fought the war to make us free from guilt, slavery to fear, hopelessness. He gave his life on the cross to give us new life in faith. Remember.
That's the Good News.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Hope
Cook County News-Herald THE GOOD NEWS for 7/18/2009
Yes, Deb, news of a drowning at Temperance River is bound to get one’s attention, whether you’ve lived here one year or fifteen years. I was sitting at my desk in the basement when Linda called down on the intercom. While she was on the phone with her dad the Call Waiting ID showed that someone from one of the local government offices had been trying to reach us.
Saturday night. Holiday weekend. Trying to reach us. My first guess was the hospital. Second was the law enforcement center. My second guess was correct. There had been another fatality at Temperance River and they needed a chaplain. Would I be willing to go?
Hurrying upstairs I called Linda from her computer, changed clothes, got in the van and we headed down the shore driving behind people who were in far less hurry to get home than we were to get to the park. This was the fourth time in six years we’d taken a similar call, but this time we had instructions to a part of the park we had not been in before. It was dark. Again.
We pulled into the driveway from the highway and slowly passed by little groups of people standing together, looking toward the river, the lake, the red and blue flashing lights, the boats, the dark. We found the campsite and a very nice, but very heartbroken woman sitting at a fire under the compassionate and watchful eye of a ranger, clutching her dog to her chest. We introduced ourselves as we always do, mentioned why we were there, asked how we could help.
I sat on the bench of the picnic table on one side of her. Linda sat in a chair on the other. The woman began to cry. Linda held her hand. I prayed. The dog whimpered. The cat in the tent called for attention. The ranger excused himself to run an errand. The woman cried. Linda held her hand. I prayed.
We talked about her husband. About the years they had come to Temperance. It was their favorite spot. He had had a bad feeling about coming this year. They should have listened, she said. He wasn’t supposed to leave me, she said. We were supposed to grow old together. What will I do now?
This was not a time for hard facts. This night was made for hope. Hope that comes from faith, from the realization that though God may not serve up easy answers to heart wrenching questions in the moment we ask them, he comes and is fully, compassionately, powerfully present in our grief. He comes just as his word says he will. “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4, NIV).
God knows how to grieve. God lost his precious, treasured Son to death on a cross. God knows the pain of death. He also knows the depth of hope. God sent hope to Temperance River on the fourth of July. Hope in the face of a ranger who made himself available while she waited. Hope in the hot cocoa from concerned friends she’d met just that day a few campsites away. Hope in the straighforwardness of a deputy who did his duty with both professionalism and compassion. Hope in the scream of a helicopter engine hovering over the river preparing for the next day’s search. Hope in the night desk clerk at a local inn who was gracious beyond measure and kind beyond words. Hope in the actions of doctors and nurses who stepped in with answers and assistance when the time came for their services. Hope when a strange community gathered around to prove the words I had prayed earlier: “Lord, please let her know you will not leave her alone.”
God’s love for us is the same “yesterday, today, and forever.” He’s available to us in the best of times and the worst of times. His love knows no limit, his mercy no bound. There is no circumstance he does not understand, no situation he cannot turn around, no nightmare in which he cannot produce hope.
That’s the good news.
Yes, Deb, news of a drowning at Temperance River is bound to get one’s attention, whether you’ve lived here one year or fifteen years. I was sitting at my desk in the basement when Linda called down on the intercom. While she was on the phone with her dad the Call Waiting ID showed that someone from one of the local government offices had been trying to reach us.
Saturday night. Holiday weekend. Trying to reach us. My first guess was the hospital. Second was the law enforcement center. My second guess was correct. There had been another fatality at Temperance River and they needed a chaplain. Would I be willing to go?
Hurrying upstairs I called Linda from her computer, changed clothes, got in the van and we headed down the shore driving behind people who were in far less hurry to get home than we were to get to the park. This was the fourth time in six years we’d taken a similar call, but this time we had instructions to a part of the park we had not been in before. It was dark. Again.
We pulled into the driveway from the highway and slowly passed by little groups of people standing together, looking toward the river, the lake, the red and blue flashing lights, the boats, the dark. We found the campsite and a very nice, but very heartbroken woman sitting at a fire under the compassionate and watchful eye of a ranger, clutching her dog to her chest. We introduced ourselves as we always do, mentioned why we were there, asked how we could help.
I sat on the bench of the picnic table on one side of her. Linda sat in a chair on the other. The woman began to cry. Linda held her hand. I prayed. The dog whimpered. The cat in the tent called for attention. The ranger excused himself to run an errand. The woman cried. Linda held her hand. I prayed.
We talked about her husband. About the years they had come to Temperance. It was their favorite spot. He had had a bad feeling about coming this year. They should have listened, she said. He wasn’t supposed to leave me, she said. We were supposed to grow old together. What will I do now?
This was not a time for hard facts. This night was made for hope. Hope that comes from faith, from the realization that though God may not serve up easy answers to heart wrenching questions in the moment we ask them, he comes and is fully, compassionately, powerfully present in our grief. He comes just as his word says he will. “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4, NIV).
God knows how to grieve. God lost his precious, treasured Son to death on a cross. God knows the pain of death. He also knows the depth of hope. God sent hope to Temperance River on the fourth of July. Hope in the face of a ranger who made himself available while she waited. Hope in the hot cocoa from concerned friends she’d met just that day a few campsites away. Hope in the straighforwardness of a deputy who did his duty with both professionalism and compassion. Hope in the scream of a helicopter engine hovering over the river preparing for the next day’s search. Hope in the night desk clerk at a local inn who was gracious beyond measure and kind beyond words. Hope in the actions of doctors and nurses who stepped in with answers and assistance when the time came for their services. Hope when a strange community gathered around to prove the words I had prayed earlier: “Lord, please let her know you will not leave her alone.”
God’s love for us is the same “yesterday, today, and forever.” He’s available to us in the best of times and the worst of times. His love knows no limit, his mercy no bound. There is no circumstance he does not understand, no situation he cannot turn around, no nightmare in which he cannot produce hope.
That’s the good news.
Mindful of Me
In the time of Herod, king of Judea, God sent the angel Gabriel to make two announcements. One announcement was made to an old, childless man as he served the Lord in the temple. The other announcement was made to a young, childless virgin as she served the Lord in the village.
The announcement to the old man had regard to a son who would be born to him, a miraculous son, since he and his wife were advanced in age. The announcement to the young virgin also regarded a Son, a miraculous Son, since she was unmarried and never knew a man.
The old man's son would be the servant of God, preparing the way for the coming of God to earth. The young virgin's Son would be the Son of God, preparing the way for the coming of men to heaven.
The old man replied with disbelief and was struck with silence. The young virgin responded with faith and was given a song. He got a son who died at the hand of unbelievers. She got a Son who died on behalf of unbelievers.
Mary's song, a prophecy of praise, contains this incredible line: [God] has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. Walk carefully with these words for a moment. God, the Almighty, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent Creator of untold worlds and situations, the Decider of countless destinies and the Sovereign of innumerable circumstances, the Upholder of universes and the Sustainer of heartbeats beyond reckoning, has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.
"God the Most" pays attention to the life condition of "Me the Least." (Yes, I know a misplaced comma would wreak havoc with the meaning of this sentence, that's why there are no commas.) Mary was the least. Mary was unimportant, unnoticed, unknown. Mary was noteworthy for nothing more, nor anything less, than God's attention. It was his plan, his purpose, his mindfulness of her condition and his action in her condition that added blessing to her life.
And so it is with us, with me and you. Peter reminds us, in quoting from the Old Testament, that "the eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous, and his ear is inclined to their prayer." For four hundred years there were no prophecies, no word from the Lord, until the old man and the young virgin. Yet she understands. God had not abandoned his plan. He had not deserted his promise. He had not canceled his blessing. All along he had been mindful and now had acted.
Do you wonder at the silence of the heavens? Do you question whether God is distant, aloof, gone altogether? He is not. He is mindful of the humble state of his servant. His eye is upon you. His ear is inclined to you. And when the time is right, he will stretch forth his hand and act mightily on behalf of his servant.
It is not always easy to remain content while we wait the move of the Spirit, so let your contentment be in this, "God is mindful of the humble state of his servant." God knows your state of affairs. God knows you. God loves you. God will fulfill his plan for you.
The announcement to the old man had regard to a son who would be born to him, a miraculous son, since he and his wife were advanced in age. The announcement to the young virgin also regarded a Son, a miraculous Son, since she was unmarried and never knew a man.
The old man's son would be the servant of God, preparing the way for the coming of God to earth. The young virgin's Son would be the Son of God, preparing the way for the coming of men to heaven.
The old man replied with disbelief and was struck with silence. The young virgin responded with faith and was given a song. He got a son who died at the hand of unbelievers. She got a Son who died on behalf of unbelievers.
Mary's song, a prophecy of praise, contains this incredible line: [God] has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. Walk carefully with these words for a moment. God, the Almighty, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent Creator of untold worlds and situations, the Decider of countless destinies and the Sovereign of innumerable circumstances, the Upholder of universes and the Sustainer of heartbeats beyond reckoning, has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.
"God the Most" pays attention to the life condition of "Me the Least." (Yes, I know a misplaced comma would wreak havoc with the meaning of this sentence, that's why there are no commas.) Mary was the least. Mary was unimportant, unnoticed, unknown. Mary was noteworthy for nothing more, nor anything less, than God's attention. It was his plan, his purpose, his mindfulness of her condition and his action in her condition that added blessing to her life.
And so it is with us, with me and you. Peter reminds us, in quoting from the Old Testament, that "the eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous, and his ear is inclined to their prayer." For four hundred years there were no prophecies, no word from the Lord, until the old man and the young virgin. Yet she understands. God had not abandoned his plan. He had not deserted his promise. He had not canceled his blessing. All along he had been mindful and now had acted.
Do you wonder at the silence of the heavens? Do you question whether God is distant, aloof, gone altogether? He is not. He is mindful of the humble state of his servant. His eye is upon you. His ear is inclined to you. And when the time is right, he will stretch forth his hand and act mightily on behalf of his servant.
It is not always easy to remain content while we wait the move of the Spirit, so let your contentment be in this, "God is mindful of the humble state of his servant." God knows your state of affairs. God knows you. God loves you. God will fulfill his plan for you.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Conversion (Part II)
Cook County News-Herald THE GOOD NEWS for July 11, 2009
We write these columns to persuade people to convert. You knew that, right? We write of different worldviews, different values, of God and of his Son, Jesus, each from our own perspective, but each with either an implied or explicitly stated invitation to change your thinking and your life, to accept God’s offer of mercy, forgiveness, and new life. Each of us knows the burden we carry to call you to identify and engage in a relationship with your Creator. Admittedly, we conceptualize the nature and course of that relationship differently, but I believe the invitation shares a qualitative commonality: come and know God for yourself.
The invitation to come and know God for yourself anticipates “conversion,” movement from a life without God to a life lived in relationship with God. Today I want to offer one illustration of what a “converted life” looks like.
Little is known of Dirk Willems, but what is known is extraordinary. I don’t know when he was born or how many brothers or sisters he had. I don’t know with certainty his father’s name and found no reference at all to his mother. I know from his arrest record and the script of his court appearance that he was more than twenty years old. I know that Dirk was Dutch and was a Protestant Christian during the time of harsh Spanish rule under the Catholic Duke of Alva in the Netherlands. I know that Dirk believed that when a person was converted to faith in Jesus Christ they ought to be baptized as an expression of their own personal belief, even if they had been baptized as infants in some other church. And I know that Dirk lived what he believed.
Dirk was arrested and imprisoned in 1569. The arrest came because Dirk’s religious convictions countered those in position of power and authority. One night Dirk escaped from his palace prison. Using a knotted rope he climbed down the wall and dropped onto the ice of the castle moat. The ice was not thick and Dirk’s position was precarious. But his time on prison food had left him thin if not nimble and he crossed the icy moat to the far side, away from his captors.
One of his captors, a prison guard, caught sight of Dirk as he made his escape. The man pursued him over the ice. The guard was not so lean as Dirk and the ice gave way beneath him. The guard, in desperate peril, cried for help, but those on the castle side would not risk their lives for their friend.
Dirk, however, was cut of different cloth, converted cloth, if you will. The man’s pleas reached Dirk’s heart as he paused to catch his breath. Realizing the guard would die unless someone came to his rescue, Dirk returned over the treacherous ice and pulled the man to safety. Dirk did not just believe the words, he lived the words of Jesus who said, “Love your enemies and do good to those who persecute you.”
The guard, once again in possession of his life, wanted to let Dirk go, but the magistrate called across the moat reminding the guard of his oath and his duty, and perhaps even of what would await him should he not apprehend Dirk once again. History shows that the magistrate’s words held great sway over the man’s thinking. He arrested Dirk Willems on the spot and returned him immediately to a more secure cell. Days later, on May 16, 1659, Dirk Willems, the rescuer of his enemy, was burned alive in the Dutch village of Asperen by those who would not rescue one of their own.
This is the character of life to which those who answer the call to conversion commit themselves. In this they are like Jesus who first gave himself to rescue his enemies, and whose enemies put him to death, that “whosoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.”
Dirk answered the call to be like Jesus. And he was. This is every Christian’s calling, to be like Jesus.
Next time, a bit more about citizenship in the kingdom of God.
We write these columns to persuade people to convert. You knew that, right? We write of different worldviews, different values, of God and of his Son, Jesus, each from our own perspective, but each with either an implied or explicitly stated invitation to change your thinking and your life, to accept God’s offer of mercy, forgiveness, and new life. Each of us knows the burden we carry to call you to identify and engage in a relationship with your Creator. Admittedly, we conceptualize the nature and course of that relationship differently, but I believe the invitation shares a qualitative commonality: come and know God for yourself.
The invitation to come and know God for yourself anticipates “conversion,” movement from a life without God to a life lived in relationship with God. Today I want to offer one illustration of what a “converted life” looks like.
Little is known of Dirk Willems, but what is known is extraordinary. I don’t know when he was born or how many brothers or sisters he had. I don’t know with certainty his father’s name and found no reference at all to his mother. I know from his arrest record and the script of his court appearance that he was more than twenty years old. I know that Dirk was Dutch and was a Protestant Christian during the time of harsh Spanish rule under the Catholic Duke of Alva in the Netherlands. I know that Dirk believed that when a person was converted to faith in Jesus Christ they ought to be baptized as an expression of their own personal belief, even if they had been baptized as infants in some other church. And I know that Dirk lived what he believed.
Dirk was arrested and imprisoned in 1569. The arrest came because Dirk’s religious convictions countered those in position of power and authority. One night Dirk escaped from his palace prison. Using a knotted rope he climbed down the wall and dropped onto the ice of the castle moat. The ice was not thick and Dirk’s position was precarious. But his time on prison food had left him thin if not nimble and he crossed the icy moat to the far side, away from his captors.
One of his captors, a prison guard, caught sight of Dirk as he made his escape. The man pursued him over the ice. The guard was not so lean as Dirk and the ice gave way beneath him. The guard, in desperate peril, cried for help, but those on the castle side would not risk their lives for their friend.
Dirk, however, was cut of different cloth, converted cloth, if you will. The man’s pleas reached Dirk’s heart as he paused to catch his breath. Realizing the guard would die unless someone came to his rescue, Dirk returned over the treacherous ice and pulled the man to safety. Dirk did not just believe the words, he lived the words of Jesus who said, “Love your enemies and do good to those who persecute you.”
The guard, once again in possession of his life, wanted to let Dirk go, but the magistrate called across the moat reminding the guard of his oath and his duty, and perhaps even of what would await him should he not apprehend Dirk once again. History shows that the magistrate’s words held great sway over the man’s thinking. He arrested Dirk Willems on the spot and returned him immediately to a more secure cell. Days later, on May 16, 1659, Dirk Willems, the rescuer of his enemy, was burned alive in the Dutch village of Asperen by those who would not rescue one of their own.
This is the character of life to which those who answer the call to conversion commit themselves. In this they are like Jesus who first gave himself to rescue his enemies, and whose enemies put him to death, that “whosoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.”
Dirk answered the call to be like Jesus. And he was. This is every Christian’s calling, to be like Jesus.
Next time, a bit more about citizenship in the kingdom of God.
Conversion (Part I)
The billboard stood unceremoniously among the Jersey's and meadow grass in a Wisconsin cow
pasture boldly proclaiming its message. On the left was a 15 foot line graph, in red and in rapid
decline, captioned: Investments, Stocks, and Bonds. To the right, a 15 foot high portrait of
Wisconsin serenity, a lakeshore emblazoned with the words, "Wisconsin Real Estate." In
between, in giant white on black letters in case passers-by missed the visual message,
"CONVERT BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE."
Everyone is talking about conversion these days. Convert paper investments into real property
before it's too late. Convert your old television to digital HDTV before it's too late. Convert
increasingly worthless paper money into gold before it's too late. Convert to non-fossil fuels
before it's too late. Convert to healthy eating habits, exercise, and our new cholesterol drug
before it's too late. I even got a notice from both a magazine and an antivirus software company
suggesting I convert my subscriptions to automatic, multi-year credit card payments before it's
too late.
The call to effective conversion is nothing new, though. When Jesus first appeared on the scene
by Israel's Sea of Galilee after his baptism by John in the Jordan River and his forty day fast in
the desert, he came "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'" (Mark 1:14-15). Translation:
"CONVERT BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE."
The Greek word for "repent," metanoia, means more than just believing something different than
you've believed before. It means more than kicking yourself for being such a scoundrel all these
years. It means more than taking an inventory of failure and laying in a lifetime supply of guilt
and shame. These kinds of reactions to Christ's invitation may have some limited function, like
internalizing a new worldview that recognizes right and wrong and makes appropriate use of
guilt to produce movement toward forgiveness, but the word means more than just a spiritual
makeover that has us looking pretty and waiting for heaven to arrive.
Repentance means "change." Change in the way we feel about ourselves, yes. And yes, change in
the way we relate to God. And yes, change in our final destination. But it also means a radical
change in the way we live in this world all the days we walk on the face of the planet. The call to
repentance, the call to conversion, is a call, an incredible invitation, to become a fully naturalized
citizen in the kingdom of God, which, though we wait for its final fulfilment, is nonetheless
present.
The kingdom of God is like a woman eight months pregnant. Does she have a baby? Every time
the little darling kicks her in the ribs or takes a seat on her bladder she knows she has a baby, but
in a few weeks time, after much pain and effort, everything will change and she will hold her
baby in her arms, and she will have the baby she already had.
The rule of God in the hearts, lives, and destinies of people and planet has already arrived,
though it is still coming. Jesus' arrival in the manger, his life, his death on the cross ushered in
the kingdom of God and now the invitation goes out: There is an option for your life. There is an
option of hope, and strength, and faith, and purity, and wholeness, and living within the purpose
for which you were created. There is an end to rebellion and being used by the powers that be
like a pawn on some cosmic battlefield. The option is the kingdom of God and the call is to
convert before its too late.
That's the good news for today. Next time I'll let the story of Dirk Willems illustrate a post-
conversion life and what it means to accept the invitation to enter God's kingdom. God bless
you.
pasture boldly proclaiming its message. On the left was a 15 foot line graph, in red and in rapid
decline, captioned: Investments, Stocks, and Bonds. To the right, a 15 foot high portrait of
Wisconsin serenity, a lakeshore emblazoned with the words, "Wisconsin Real Estate." In
between, in giant white on black letters in case passers-by missed the visual message,
"CONVERT BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE."
Everyone is talking about conversion these days. Convert paper investments into real property
before it's too late. Convert your old television to digital HDTV before it's too late. Convert
increasingly worthless paper money into gold before it's too late. Convert to non-fossil fuels
before it's too late. Convert to healthy eating habits, exercise, and our new cholesterol drug
before it's too late. I even got a notice from both a magazine and an antivirus software company
suggesting I convert my subscriptions to automatic, multi-year credit card payments before it's
too late.
The call to effective conversion is nothing new, though. When Jesus first appeared on the scene
by Israel's Sea of Galilee after his baptism by John in the Jordan River and his forty day fast in
the desert, he came "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'" (Mark 1:14-15). Translation:
"CONVERT BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE."
The Greek word for "repent," metanoia, means more than just believing something different than
you've believed before. It means more than kicking yourself for being such a scoundrel all these
years. It means more than taking an inventory of failure and laying in a lifetime supply of guilt
and shame. These kinds of reactions to Christ's invitation may have some limited function, like
internalizing a new worldview that recognizes right and wrong and makes appropriate use of
guilt to produce movement toward forgiveness, but the word means more than just a spiritual
makeover that has us looking pretty and waiting for heaven to arrive.
Repentance means "change." Change in the way we feel about ourselves, yes. And yes, change in
the way we relate to God. And yes, change in our final destination. But it also means a radical
change in the way we live in this world all the days we walk on the face of the planet. The call to
repentance, the call to conversion, is a call, an incredible invitation, to become a fully naturalized
citizen in the kingdom of God, which, though we wait for its final fulfilment, is nonetheless
present.
The kingdom of God is like a woman eight months pregnant. Does she have a baby? Every time
the little darling kicks her in the ribs or takes a seat on her bladder she knows she has a baby, but
in a few weeks time, after much pain and effort, everything will change and she will hold her
baby in her arms, and she will have the baby she already had.
The rule of God in the hearts, lives, and destinies of people and planet has already arrived,
though it is still coming. Jesus' arrival in the manger, his life, his death on the cross ushered in
the kingdom of God and now the invitation goes out: There is an option for your life. There is an
option of hope, and strength, and faith, and purity, and wholeness, and living within the purpose
for which you were created. There is an end to rebellion and being used by the powers that be
like a pawn on some cosmic battlefield. The option is the kingdom of God and the call is to
convert before its too late.
That's the good news for today. Next time I'll let the story of Dirk Willems illustrate a post-
conversion life and what it means to accept the invitation to enter God's kingdom. God bless
you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
