Many years ago, in the months before we were married, my wife suffered through a particularly difficult season of the soul. At one point fear and anxiety were very nearly incapacitating for her, and we struggled to find the way out of the darkness, or even a way to hold on until the darkness passed.
While praying for her one day, the Lord led me to this verse: "Cast all your cares on him, for he cares for you." It was a moment for hope and I latched on to it, but I began to pray asking the Lord how a hurting soul "casts" their cares. The Lord gave me an idea.
Later that evening, when we were together at her apartment, I took my yet-to-be wife into her kitchen and stood her in the middle of the room facing her cabinets. I explained to her the verse the Lord had opened for me that morning, and as I expected she said, "Okay, but how do I do that?"
I went over to her silverware drawer and pulled it open. On the outside I placed a label I had made earlier, a label that read, "THE LORD." Then I asked her to write out her fears and the thoughts that were attacking her on small pieces of paper. When she was ready, I said, she should take each paper with her fears and toss them into the drawer, then shut the drawer and walk away. Then, I left her there in the kitchen to decide for herself what fears she would cast "into THE LORD," and when, and if she would commit to shutting the drawer.
It took time for Linda to decide to release her fears, but eventually she did. She wrote out the things that were plaguing her and stealing her joy. She threw them in the drawer and shut it, and every time they came back to mind, came back to hurt, she reminded herself they were "in THE LORD," and the only way they could come back into her life would be for her to physically take them from the drawer, retrieve them from "THE LORD." Neither the drawer nor the Lord would offer them back to her on their own.
Linda's journey out of the dark night of the soul began that evening in the kitchen. She continues to have a box where she throws in the natural what she has committed to God in the spiritual.
Here are six simple steps to releasing a spiritual burden to God, to casting our cares on him. Though I've laid them out as steps, the interval between them can be very brief, and in fact, they can happen almost at once. Or, they may each take time. Either way, these seem to have a presence whenever we unburden our hearts on Christ.
1. Identify the nature of the burden. Is this a burden for good, for guilt, or for growth? Is God allowing some difficult situation in order to demonstate to you and through you the excellence of His glory and the depth of his love? Is the burden a result of personal sin? Is the burden the result of someone else's shortcomings?
2. Embrace God's plan for that burden. If the burden is from God for your good, then accept it as such. If the burden is from guilt, then know that God is prepared to forgive. If the burden is for your growth, then you will have to prepare yourself for change and development.
I think often of the words of Hebrews 12:2 ". . . looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of God." Knowing God's plan for the burden he bore to the cross, Jesus embraced future joy while enduring a present cross.
3. Affirm Christ's relationship to your burden. Is he sharing the burden for good? Has he already borne your burden of guilt? Is he lovingly interceding for your maturity?
4. Prayerfully put Christ in charge of your burden. Literally, "Jesus, I can't carry this. Would you please carry this for me? As much as I know how, I'm putting this in your hands."
5. Live in freedom from the burden. Yes, you will know the burden exists. You may even feel the effects of the burden, but if you have given that burden to the Lord, then get on with your life. Take to heart the promise, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me," and get on it with it. This is not denial, this is faith. If Christ has the burden, then you are free from the weight.
6. Avoid reclaiming the burden. Jesus will not give you back the burden you have given him unless you ask for it. Leave it with him. As often as you are confronted with the burden, remind yourself of the truth that you have cast it upon him and that both the processes and the outcomes related to the burden are in his hands and you will wait for his competent resolution to the events that once weighed you down. Proverbs 26:11 might be a helpful verse for those of us who are tempted to retake the burdens we have laid upon Christ: Like a dog that returns to his vomit is a fool who repeats his folly.
Three great burdens await our shoulders. God responds to each with promised grace. Let him carry you.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Three Great Burdens
Three great burdens await our shoulders. One is the burden sent by God. It is His calling. It is our cross. This is the burden born in the events and circumstances of life through which God purifies our hearts and conforms us to Christ. It is the burden of gold. It is for his glory. It is for our good.
A second burden we pile on ourselves. It is the burden of guilt from sin; by it we call Him to the cross. This is the burden born in our brokenness, nurtured in our selfishness, expanded by our choices, and rewarded by our pride. It is the burden too heavy to heavy to bear that we are loathe to put down. It is the burden of scarlet. It is for his death. It is for our grief.
The third weight is the burden of shame heaped on us by the unmet expectations of dissatisfied others. By this burden we are called to the cross ourselves. None is equal to the task required of this great load. It cannot be borne. It crushes the spirit and breaks the heart. It is the burden of despair. It is for his shoulders. It is for our growth.
Three great burdens await our shoulders. Each cries out to be carried. But what broad back may bear such weight? When they are three they are too heavy for the soul. When they are one and the same, it is impossible. But they must be borne.
Hear this word: "Cast your cares on him, for he cares for you." And now this word: "Come unto me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest." And this word: "Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows." And this word: "Underneath are the everlasting arms."
The burden of affliction God gives for his glory and our good we take up with Christ, and though he will not undermine the Father's purposes by taking the burden from us, he will carry it with us taking the heaviest measure for himself. He will enable us to testify, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
The burden of guilt he has already borne. He carried it to the cross. God made us alive through Christ and has forgiven us all our sins and has "canceled the written code, with its regulations, that was against us and that stood opposed to us; he took it away, nailing it to the cross."
The burden of shame, so readily built by fragile egos at the hands of others, he also takes away. No man need be enslaved to another man's disappointment. "Who are you," the apostle asked, "to judge someone else's servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand."
Cast your cares on him for he cares for you. The burdens of good, and guilt, and growth relinquish to Christ. Three great burdens await your shoulders. Give them to Jesus.
A second burden we pile on ourselves. It is the burden of guilt from sin; by it we call Him to the cross. This is the burden born in our brokenness, nurtured in our selfishness, expanded by our choices, and rewarded by our pride. It is the burden too heavy to heavy to bear that we are loathe to put down. It is the burden of scarlet. It is for his death. It is for our grief.
The third weight is the burden of shame heaped on us by the unmet expectations of dissatisfied others. By this burden we are called to the cross ourselves. None is equal to the task required of this great load. It cannot be borne. It crushes the spirit and breaks the heart. It is the burden of despair. It is for his shoulders. It is for our growth.
Three great burdens await our shoulders. Each cries out to be carried. But what broad back may bear such weight? When they are three they are too heavy for the soul. When they are one and the same, it is impossible. But they must be borne.
Hear this word: "Cast your cares on him, for he cares for you." And now this word: "Come unto me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest." And this word: "Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows." And this word: "Underneath are the everlasting arms."
The burden of affliction God gives for his glory and our good we take up with Christ, and though he will not undermine the Father's purposes by taking the burden from us, he will carry it with us taking the heaviest measure for himself. He will enable us to testify, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
The burden of guilt he has already borne. He carried it to the cross. God made us alive through Christ and has forgiven us all our sins and has "canceled the written code, with its regulations, that was against us and that stood opposed to us; he took it away, nailing it to the cross."
The burden of shame, so readily built by fragile egos at the hands of others, he also takes away. No man need be enslaved to another man's disappointment. "Who are you," the apostle asked, "to judge someone else's servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand."
Cast your cares on him for he cares for you. The burdens of good, and guilt, and growth relinquish to Christ. Three great burdens await your shoulders. Give them to Jesus.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Sunday Morning Worship
Five o'clock Sunday morning. I've been waiting for the alarm to go off. Finally, I hear the whir of the CD as it begins to spin and I reach over to shut off the alarm just before Cat Stevens reminds me morning has broken.
I don't need the light to find the bathrobe in the closet in the bathroom, nor lights to descend the fourteen steps to the basement, nor even lights to navigate through the small library, past the overstuffed hunter green recliner we bought at a garage sale last year for twenty dollars. I do need the light above my desk. It chases the last vestiges of sleep from my eyes as I open my computer and prayerfully reduce all my study notes to a single three or four page outline.
But first, check the email. What has happened in the world overnight that might require some adjustment of focus this morning? Check the RSS feed from MSNBC. Check the inbox for local events. Hmm. There's one from the pianist. 4:10 AM. This can't be good. The boys, all of whom were sick this week, are not better, one is worse off than before. She's been up with him all night. There's no way she can be in church today. God bless her. Can I see if the guitarists can shoulder most of the musical responsibilities?
One will be gone. The other probably can as long as he's not suffering from springtime allergies. I won't know that for another three hours. The organist anticipated the pianist providing the service music. There won't be a prelude or an offertory.
But there will be worship and there will be Word, and he will be in the midst of us, Mighty and True. True worship depends not on the music of man-made instruments, but on the melodies of individual hearts in tune with Christ, and, when in corporate worship, in tune with one another. It is Jesus for whom and from whom worship comes, not from musicians. It is He and not they who guarantee a genuine and powerful worship service.
And so, today, I had a plan. Today, that plan will be set aside. We will worship not according to plan, but according to Christ. And I expect it will be awesome.
I don't need the light to find the bathrobe in the closet in the bathroom, nor lights to descend the fourteen steps to the basement, nor even lights to navigate through the small library, past the overstuffed hunter green recliner we bought at a garage sale last year for twenty dollars. I do need the light above my desk. It chases the last vestiges of sleep from my eyes as I open my computer and prayerfully reduce all my study notes to a single three or four page outline.
But first, check the email. What has happened in the world overnight that might require some adjustment of focus this morning? Check the RSS feed from MSNBC. Check the inbox for local events. Hmm. There's one from the pianist. 4:10 AM. This can't be good. The boys, all of whom were sick this week, are not better, one is worse off than before. She's been up with him all night. There's no way she can be in church today. God bless her. Can I see if the guitarists can shoulder most of the musical responsibilities?
One will be gone. The other probably can as long as he's not suffering from springtime allergies. I won't know that for another three hours. The organist anticipated the pianist providing the service music. There won't be a prelude or an offertory.
But there will be worship and there will be Word, and he will be in the midst of us, Mighty and True. True worship depends not on the music of man-made instruments, but on the melodies of individual hearts in tune with Christ, and, when in corporate worship, in tune with one another. It is Jesus for whom and from whom worship comes, not from musicians. It is He and not they who guarantee a genuine and powerful worship service.
And so, today, I had a plan. Today, that plan will be set aside. We will worship not according to plan, but according to Christ. And I expect it will be awesome.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
The Main Business
So here's this guy Moses wandering in the desert, leading his sheep from one tumbleweed to another along paths worn hard by years of hooves and heat. This is not unfamiliar territory. The man is eighty years old. Shepherding has been his life for forty years, ever since he tried to play hero and got a life lesson in humility.
Forty years he and his sheep have climbed this mountain. Forty years they sought out the muted greens against the wilted browns and beiges of the desert. They know every boulder, every meager spot of shade, every drop of water. There is nothing new under the sun and they know about life under the sun. Nothing new, until today.
There, just over there, on the ledge, a bush, dessicated by wind, devoid of life, burns. Nothing new. Happens all the time. An intense ray of sun reflected by a broken piece of quartz. Careless spark from a travelers fire. Burning bush? Not new. Keep walking. Tend the sheep. Mind your business. Until today.
Today, this bush is different. This is new. The fire does not consume the bush. This bush, this burning but not burning up bush calls for an investigation, a closer look, a detailed analysis. This bush calls for more than just a casual glance from a seasoned shepherd engrossed in the ordinary routine of living.
Moses turned aside. He made an adjustment to his direction. He refocused his attention. He altered his priorities. He assumed a different position relative to his preconceptions. And for it, his life would never be the same.
"When the LORD saw that he turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, 'Moses, Moses!'" (Exodus 3:4, ESV). When Moses gave his attention to God, God gave his attention to Moses.
How often have we longed for an exchange like this, for God to speak, to reveal himself as He is, to change our lives? How often have we longed for the Almighty to show up with power and purpose, with meaning and mission? We have pined for him, longed for him, thirsted for him, and done without day after day, soon relegating such personal interaction to the pages of ancient history. The wise man of Proverbs diagnoses our condition: "Hope deferred makes the heart sick."
Heart sick? There's a cure.
Missing God? Wishing for greater intimacy? Wanting more than you have of Spirit and grace? Take your cue from Moses. "Turn aside." The author of Hebrews says it like this, "Therefore, holy brothers, you who share in a heavenly calling, consider Jesus, the apostle and high priest of our confession" (Hebrews 3:1, ESV). The word "consider" here is the same word Stephen uses to describe Moses' "turning aside" as he recounts the event in Acts 7:31. When Moses "considered" the burning bush, he was then in an environment prepared to hear the voice of God.
Could it be that the reason we do not hear from God is that we take so little time to "consider Jesus?" Is it not true that work and meetings and hockey and relationships and children and deadlines and PTA and movies and bathroom makeovers and sick dogs and gas prices and recessions and worry and plans and possibilities and problems and . . . well, you get the picture. Could it be that tending too many sheep in the ordinary robs us of the opportunity to encounter God in the extraordinary? Could it be that business in the natural drains our energy for experiences in the supernatural?
Turn aside. Consider Jesus. Adjust your direction. Reorder your priorities. Reform your preconceptions. Indulge your curiosity. Give license to your interest. Focus your attention upon Jesus, and find that his attention has been focused on you all along. He has been waiting in the burning bush to call your name.
He is not absent, merely unseen and unheard through the fog and din of everday business. We make living our main business rather than Life our main business, and we pay for it in silence, distance, and disappointment. But all that can change when we reassert our hearts to consider Jesus.
Now, someone will ask, "How can I do this?" The answer to that question will be unique to each of us, but here are a couple ideas. First, either use the time you have or make more time just to consider Jesus. If you can't carve fifteen minutes out the twenty four hours in a day, then you'll have to locate the vacant time slots in your day and use them. Look for the untapped time in your day. You have more of it than you realize. Use time when you're driving alone, or using Facebook, or the kids are napping, or you're in the bathroom. Use the time you have to consider Jesus.
Use the places that surround you as temples for worship. Sitting on the deck in the sun. Waiting for the dryer at the laundromat. Sitting alone in the breakroom. Walking on the beach. Riding to the 31st floor in an elevator. Make use of the spaces that surround you.
Carry the word with you. We know Jesus through two means: the word of God and the Spirit of God. Keep a verse card in your shirt pocket or purse. Better yet, keep a small New Testament in your jacket or purse, or in the car, someplace in the places that surround you so you can take advantage of the time you have.
I expect that Moses spent more than fifteen minutes with God, and our word "consider" implies an greater investment of time and effort than fifteen minutes might provide, but fifteen minutes is an arbitrary starting point. The heart issue here is that we treat "consider Jesus" as more than merely acknowledging his existence, but in the practical activity of investigating his person as a normal, natural part of our relationship with him.
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life" (Proverbs 13:12, ESV). You want to hear from God, then "turn aside" and make hearing him the main business.
Forty years he and his sheep have climbed this mountain. Forty years they sought out the muted greens against the wilted browns and beiges of the desert. They know every boulder, every meager spot of shade, every drop of water. There is nothing new under the sun and they know about life under the sun. Nothing new, until today.
There, just over there, on the ledge, a bush, dessicated by wind, devoid of life, burns. Nothing new. Happens all the time. An intense ray of sun reflected by a broken piece of quartz. Careless spark from a travelers fire. Burning bush? Not new. Keep walking. Tend the sheep. Mind your business. Until today.
Today, this bush is different. This is new. The fire does not consume the bush. This bush, this burning but not burning up bush calls for an investigation, a closer look, a detailed analysis. This bush calls for more than just a casual glance from a seasoned shepherd engrossed in the ordinary routine of living.
Moses turned aside. He made an adjustment to his direction. He refocused his attention. He altered his priorities. He assumed a different position relative to his preconceptions. And for it, his life would never be the same.
"When the LORD saw that he turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, 'Moses, Moses!'" (Exodus 3:4, ESV). When Moses gave his attention to God, God gave his attention to Moses.
How often have we longed for an exchange like this, for God to speak, to reveal himself as He is, to change our lives? How often have we longed for the Almighty to show up with power and purpose, with meaning and mission? We have pined for him, longed for him, thirsted for him, and done without day after day, soon relegating such personal interaction to the pages of ancient history. The wise man of Proverbs diagnoses our condition: "Hope deferred makes the heart sick."
Heart sick? There's a cure.
Missing God? Wishing for greater intimacy? Wanting more than you have of Spirit and grace? Take your cue from Moses. "Turn aside." The author of Hebrews says it like this, "Therefore, holy brothers, you who share in a heavenly calling, consider Jesus, the apostle and high priest of our confession" (Hebrews 3:1, ESV). The word "consider" here is the same word Stephen uses to describe Moses' "turning aside" as he recounts the event in Acts 7:31. When Moses "considered" the burning bush, he was then in an environment prepared to hear the voice of God.
Could it be that the reason we do not hear from God is that we take so little time to "consider Jesus?" Is it not true that work and meetings and hockey and relationships and children and deadlines and PTA and movies and bathroom makeovers and sick dogs and gas prices and recessions and worry and plans and possibilities and problems and . . . well, you get the picture. Could it be that tending too many sheep in the ordinary robs us of the opportunity to encounter God in the extraordinary? Could it be that business in the natural drains our energy for experiences in the supernatural?
Turn aside. Consider Jesus. Adjust your direction. Reorder your priorities. Reform your preconceptions. Indulge your curiosity. Give license to your interest. Focus your attention upon Jesus, and find that his attention has been focused on you all along. He has been waiting in the burning bush to call your name.
He is not absent, merely unseen and unheard through the fog and din of everday business. We make living our main business rather than Life our main business, and we pay for it in silence, distance, and disappointment. But all that can change when we reassert our hearts to consider Jesus.
Now, someone will ask, "How can I do this?" The answer to that question will be unique to each of us, but here are a couple ideas. First, either use the time you have or make more time just to consider Jesus. If you can't carve fifteen minutes out the twenty four hours in a day, then you'll have to locate the vacant time slots in your day and use them. Look for the untapped time in your day. You have more of it than you realize. Use time when you're driving alone, or using Facebook, or the kids are napping, or you're in the bathroom. Use the time you have to consider Jesus.
Use the places that surround you as temples for worship. Sitting on the deck in the sun. Waiting for the dryer at the laundromat. Sitting alone in the breakroom. Walking on the beach. Riding to the 31st floor in an elevator. Make use of the spaces that surround you.
Carry the word with you. We know Jesus through two means: the word of God and the Spirit of God. Keep a verse card in your shirt pocket or purse. Better yet, keep a small New Testament in your jacket or purse, or in the car, someplace in the places that surround you so you can take advantage of the time you have.
I expect that Moses spent more than fifteen minutes with God, and our word "consider" implies an greater investment of time and effort than fifteen minutes might provide, but fifteen minutes is an arbitrary starting point. The heart issue here is that we treat "consider Jesus" as more than merely acknowledging his existence, but in the practical activity of investigating his person as a normal, natural part of our relationship with him.
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life" (Proverbs 13:12, ESV). You want to hear from God, then "turn aside" and make hearing him the main business.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
When I Know More Than I Want to Know
One of the privileges of pastoral ministry (at least it must seem like a privilege to others) is the innate opportunity to know more about more people than one ought or wants to know. I can't count the number of times someone has sidled up to me after a morning service or in the post office or standing in the parking lot or eating in a restaurant and offered the prelude of the privileged: "Pastor, I see you've encouraged such and so, and they were in church on Sunday. Did you know . . .?" The well meaning conspirator then proceeds to rehearse some well known community secret about such and so to their apparently completely out of touch pastor.
Guess what? We all have stories. We all have stories we could tell. We all have stories we pray will never be told. Such is life in a fallen and broken world. There simply are no perfect stories in an imperfect world. Well, I take that back. There is one perfect story in an imperfect world, but that's another story.
The stories of our lives are never completely public, nor are they ever completely private. This presents a real challenge for storytellers. It means, no matter what a storyteller thinks they know, they never know the whole story.
Here's an example from John 8. "Early in the morning he came again to the temple. All the people came to him, and he sat down and taught them. The scribes and Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in the act of adultery, and placing her in their midst they said to him, 'Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. What do you say?'"
Let's get our hearts around what's happening here. Jesus is teaching the people. He's got a crowd of intent learners at his feet which is growing bigger than the crowd at the feet of the Pharisees, so there's some jealousy, some sin, at the root of this incident in the heart of the storytellers. Their motive for telling this woman's life story is neither pure nor compassionate. They are using her to satisfy their own needs for self-indulgence and self-exaltation. That makes the woman NOT the only adulterer in the story.
Next, they caught this woman in the act. There is no way these guys were scouring the highways and biways looking for someone engaging in an illicit relationship. This woman had a reputation. She had a story. They knew where to find her. They knew when to find her. One almost wonders if they had not found her themselves from time to time and had even set her up to "catch her in the act." This woman is NOT the only scoundrel harboring an untold story.
And don't miss this. If the woman was an adulterer, and everyone knew it, and no one had followed through on the Law prior to this moment, then all of her accusers are equally lawbreakers with a story written in disobedience.
The point is that there is always more to the story than a storyteller can , or sometimes will, tell. I wonder about this woman. I wonder what life events led her to feel safe in the arms of dangerous men. I wonder what loneliness and pain, what brokenness, what woundedness leads to such risk, to such sin, to such abandonment of soul. I wonder what is the story that is not told.
And I wonder about God. What has been God's story? He leaves the woman uncaught and unpunished until this moment. Why? What story is he content to write patiently in her life while she flits about in sin and disobedience? I believe it must be the story of soveriegn glory and redemptive grace.
Consider Jesus. Study his response to the story the Pharisees have imposed on him. I believe he knew this woman's story as well as he knew the story of the Samaritan woman with five husbands and a live in boyfriend. Consider Jesus and his words to this woman, her story so unceremoniously made public. "Has no one condemned you? . . . Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more" (John 8:10-11, ESV).
Jesus communicates two truths: "I know your story," and "Having met me, it's time for a new story." Jesus does not excuse her lifestyle, her previous story. He accounts for it as sin, and as sin worthy of condemnation and judgment. He identifies her story for what it is, a lifelong account of unholy choices and soul-destructing practice. He does not gloss over the full story. Instead, he sums her story up with forgiveness. "Neither do I condemn you." He could, but he does not. That is the sovereign choice of the gracious and merciful God who knows every syllable of our story.
Then, having forgiven her, he sets the structure for her new story. It is a story without the burden of the past: "sin no more." It is a story of life lived fully in the present, "go, and sin no more." It is a story of hope and new direction and eternal life and future glory: "neither do I condemn you."
Storytellers, this is what I have learned. Jesus knows the full story of each life, but I do not. I do not even know the full story of God's work in my own life let alone yours or someone else's. But Jesus, who knows the stories of men and women, offers forgiveness and a new story from the moment we meet him. And that is where I want to be, what I want to be, one who accounts the past story as forgiven and tomorrow's story written in the blood of Christ.
I don't want to know, dear storyteller where a person has been, I want to know where Jesus will take them. I don't really want to know from you what story they have written in their sin, since their story will not be essentially different than mine or yours. I want to know what story Jesus will write when they meet him. And I want that, the new story Jesus will write, to be more important to you than telling your pastor what you think he needs to know about someone else's half-finished, partly known story, still to be written story.
Guess what? We all have stories. We all have stories we could tell. We all have stories we pray will never be told. Such is life in a fallen and broken world. There simply are no perfect stories in an imperfect world. Well, I take that back. There is one perfect story in an imperfect world, but that's another story.
The stories of our lives are never completely public, nor are they ever completely private. This presents a real challenge for storytellers. It means, no matter what a storyteller thinks they know, they never know the whole story.
Here's an example from John 8. "Early in the morning he came again to the temple. All the people came to him, and he sat down and taught them. The scribes and Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in the act of adultery, and placing her in their midst they said to him, 'Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. What do you say?'"
Let's get our hearts around what's happening here. Jesus is teaching the people. He's got a crowd of intent learners at his feet which is growing bigger than the crowd at the feet of the Pharisees, so there's some jealousy, some sin, at the root of this incident in the heart of the storytellers. Their motive for telling this woman's life story is neither pure nor compassionate. They are using her to satisfy their own needs for self-indulgence and self-exaltation. That makes the woman NOT the only adulterer in the story.
Next, they caught this woman in the act. There is no way these guys were scouring the highways and biways looking for someone engaging in an illicit relationship. This woman had a reputation. She had a story. They knew where to find her. They knew when to find her. One almost wonders if they had not found her themselves from time to time and had even set her up to "catch her in the act." This woman is NOT the only scoundrel harboring an untold story.
And don't miss this. If the woman was an adulterer, and everyone knew it, and no one had followed through on the Law prior to this moment, then all of her accusers are equally lawbreakers with a story written in disobedience.
The point is that there is always more to the story than a storyteller can , or sometimes will, tell. I wonder about this woman. I wonder what life events led her to feel safe in the arms of dangerous men. I wonder what loneliness and pain, what brokenness, what woundedness leads to such risk, to such sin, to such abandonment of soul. I wonder what is the story that is not told.
And I wonder about God. What has been God's story? He leaves the woman uncaught and unpunished until this moment. Why? What story is he content to write patiently in her life while she flits about in sin and disobedience? I believe it must be the story of soveriegn glory and redemptive grace.
Consider Jesus. Study his response to the story the Pharisees have imposed on him. I believe he knew this woman's story as well as he knew the story of the Samaritan woman with five husbands and a live in boyfriend. Consider Jesus and his words to this woman, her story so unceremoniously made public. "Has no one condemned you? . . . Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more" (John 8:10-11, ESV).
Jesus communicates two truths: "I know your story," and "Having met me, it's time for a new story." Jesus does not excuse her lifestyle, her previous story. He accounts for it as sin, and as sin worthy of condemnation and judgment. He identifies her story for what it is, a lifelong account of unholy choices and soul-destructing practice. He does not gloss over the full story. Instead, he sums her story up with forgiveness. "Neither do I condemn you." He could, but he does not. That is the sovereign choice of the gracious and merciful God who knows every syllable of our story.
Then, having forgiven her, he sets the structure for her new story. It is a story without the burden of the past: "sin no more." It is a story of life lived fully in the present, "go, and sin no more." It is a story of hope and new direction and eternal life and future glory: "neither do I condemn you."
Storytellers, this is what I have learned. Jesus knows the full story of each life, but I do not. I do not even know the full story of God's work in my own life let alone yours or someone else's. But Jesus, who knows the stories of men and women, offers forgiveness and a new story from the moment we meet him. And that is where I want to be, what I want to be, one who accounts the past story as forgiven and tomorrow's story written in the blood of Christ.
I don't want to know, dear storyteller where a person has been, I want to know where Jesus will take them. I don't really want to know from you what story they have written in their sin, since their story will not be essentially different than mine or yours. I want to know what story Jesus will write when they meet him. And I want that, the new story Jesus will write, to be more important to you than telling your pastor what you think he needs to know about someone else's half-finished, partly known story, still to be written story.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Lessons in the Sun
I took an early morning walk along Minnesota's North Shore of Lake Superior this morning. I took the road east, toward the rising sun and the promise of a new day. The air was cool, probably in the low 30s, and there was skim ice on the runoff in the roadside ditches. My hands got cold, making me very thankful I'd grabbed my one sweatshirt with pockets.
Whitetail deer were everywhere this morning. I counted twelve live ones crossing the highway ahead of me within the first mile. There were also a couple that had not made the crossing as successfully. Sad reality where the highway meets the boreal forest.
The sun moved above the horizon out on the Lake while I was still behind the barrier of black spruce that line the south side of the highway. Once I cleared the trees the road ahead disappeared in the fierce orange glow of the newborn sphere. I moved closer to the gravel away from the solid white line that separates the shoulder from the westbound land of US Highway 61. As many times as I've walked this route, I still want to be careful on those mornings when I have to walk staring at my feet because the brilliance of the morning sun makes it too hard to look up for long.
Two ideas worked themselves into my consciousness as I kept cadence with the Cathedral Quartet singing classic convention favorites like "Mansion Over the Hilltop" and "Supper Time." One train went south, the other north. One was negative, the other positive. For a moment I was stuck in neutral in the middle until my brain took in the value of them both.
Speaking from the negative, the sun functioned to my eyes this morning as a great blinding influence preventing me from seeing clearly the beauty and the danger that might have otherwise enhanced my journey. The bright light forced me to cover my eyes in order to cross the highway for my return trip and not wind up like one of the hapless deer upon which the ravens and eagles feed. The sun was more a hindrance than a help, and yet it loomed so large and so bright, that it was only with difficulty and with effort that I could see through its effect and discern the prevailing conditions that would bring me safely home.
So many influences play this same role in our lives. God offers joy, peace, guidance, confidence, reconciliation, transformation, but the things of this world loom large in our personal vision and make it difficult to discern the good God has for us, the good that will lead us safely home. We have to make a concerted effort to see past the bright lights of power, wealth, control, anger, jealousy, selfishness, greed, lust, and a host of other offerings that blind us from the truth.
This is the call we get from the inspired author of Hebrews when he writes, "Therefore, holy brothers, you who share in the heavenly calling, consider Jesus, the apostle and high priest of our confession" (Hebrews 3:1, ESV). The word "consider" ("fix your thoughts on" in the NIV) means to scrutinize something in order to apprehend its purpose or meaning. It is a word for focus, for concentration, for comprehension that pierces the fog and finds clarity and certainty. It is a call to a vital, intentional, active faith that is neither casual nor haphazard, but deliberate and productive.
This is faith that thrives on God's word. This is faith that grows in prayer and meditation. This is faith that worships and serves, and discovers for itself (and for those who possess it) the fullness of God's glory in Christ through the working of the Holy Spirit.
This was one train of thought. It took the sun as a negative influence. The other train of thought took the opposite approach: the sun as a positive influence in my morning revelry. You see, there are still piles of snow along the roadway, black and dirty from an overlong season of salt and sand and road grime not yet washed away by the rains of spring. There are the lingering evidences of unfortunate meetings between modern automobiles and woodland creatures. There are decaying trees, broken from a devastating ice storm weeks ago. There are accumulations of winter trash awaiting a storm tide to sweep the beaches clean. There is much that is ugly, unbecoming. There is woundedness and betrayal. The sun hid it all.
With the newly risen sun in my eyes, no matter where I looked I could only see the sun. It was easy to see, easy to focus upon, easy to follow. All I had to do was look where the sun was and all the decrepit remains of a fallen world vanished in the brightness of the glow. My face was warmed and my heart charmed by this dear friend I had missed through all the long nights of winter. I felt as though I could look up and sing. And I would have had I not been so out of breath.
Here too is the message of Hebrews: "Consider Jesus." Focus on the Son. Let all else pale in comparison to the worthiness and value of Jesus Christ the exalted Son of God enthroned in the heavens and superior to angels. Our sorrows pass away into shadows, our difficulties to shades when we fix our eyes on Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our faith. The hymnist put it like this, "Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of his glory and grace."
Either interpretation leads us to Jesus, and that is as it should be. The heavens declare the glory of God. The sun declares the Son! May we see him as he wishes to be seen.
Whitetail deer were everywhere this morning. I counted twelve live ones crossing the highway ahead of me within the first mile. There were also a couple that had not made the crossing as successfully. Sad reality where the highway meets the boreal forest.
The sun moved above the horizon out on the Lake while I was still behind the barrier of black spruce that line the south side of the highway. Once I cleared the trees the road ahead disappeared in the fierce orange glow of the newborn sphere. I moved closer to the gravel away from the solid white line that separates the shoulder from the westbound land of US Highway 61. As many times as I've walked this route, I still want to be careful on those mornings when I have to walk staring at my feet because the brilliance of the morning sun makes it too hard to look up for long.
Two ideas worked themselves into my consciousness as I kept cadence with the Cathedral Quartet singing classic convention favorites like "Mansion Over the Hilltop" and "Supper Time." One train went south, the other north. One was negative, the other positive. For a moment I was stuck in neutral in the middle until my brain took in the value of them both.
Speaking from the negative, the sun functioned to my eyes this morning as a great blinding influence preventing me from seeing clearly the beauty and the danger that might have otherwise enhanced my journey. The bright light forced me to cover my eyes in order to cross the highway for my return trip and not wind up like one of the hapless deer upon which the ravens and eagles feed. The sun was more a hindrance than a help, and yet it loomed so large and so bright, that it was only with difficulty and with effort that I could see through its effect and discern the prevailing conditions that would bring me safely home.
So many influences play this same role in our lives. God offers joy, peace, guidance, confidence, reconciliation, transformation, but the things of this world loom large in our personal vision and make it difficult to discern the good God has for us, the good that will lead us safely home. We have to make a concerted effort to see past the bright lights of power, wealth, control, anger, jealousy, selfishness, greed, lust, and a host of other offerings that blind us from the truth.
This is the call we get from the inspired author of Hebrews when he writes, "Therefore, holy brothers, you who share in the heavenly calling, consider Jesus, the apostle and high priest of our confession" (Hebrews 3:1, ESV). The word "consider" ("fix your thoughts on" in the NIV) means to scrutinize something in order to apprehend its purpose or meaning. It is a word for focus, for concentration, for comprehension that pierces the fog and finds clarity and certainty. It is a call to a vital, intentional, active faith that is neither casual nor haphazard, but deliberate and productive.
This is faith that thrives on God's word. This is faith that grows in prayer and meditation. This is faith that worships and serves, and discovers for itself (and for those who possess it) the fullness of God's glory in Christ through the working of the Holy Spirit.
This was one train of thought. It took the sun as a negative influence. The other train of thought took the opposite approach: the sun as a positive influence in my morning revelry. You see, there are still piles of snow along the roadway, black and dirty from an overlong season of salt and sand and road grime not yet washed away by the rains of spring. There are the lingering evidences of unfortunate meetings between modern automobiles and woodland creatures. There are decaying trees, broken from a devastating ice storm weeks ago. There are accumulations of winter trash awaiting a storm tide to sweep the beaches clean. There is much that is ugly, unbecoming. There is woundedness and betrayal. The sun hid it all.
With the newly risen sun in my eyes, no matter where I looked I could only see the sun. It was easy to see, easy to focus upon, easy to follow. All I had to do was look where the sun was and all the decrepit remains of a fallen world vanished in the brightness of the glow. My face was warmed and my heart charmed by this dear friend I had missed through all the long nights of winter. I felt as though I could look up and sing. And I would have had I not been so out of breath.
Here too is the message of Hebrews: "Consider Jesus." Focus on the Son. Let all else pale in comparison to the worthiness and value of Jesus Christ the exalted Son of God enthroned in the heavens and superior to angels. Our sorrows pass away into shadows, our difficulties to shades when we fix our eyes on Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our faith. The hymnist put it like this, "Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of his glory and grace."
Either interpretation leads us to Jesus, and that is as it should be. The heavens declare the glory of God. The sun declares the Son! May we see him as he wishes to be seen.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
After three excruciating hours on the cross, Jesus cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Someone ran to fetch a sponge soaked in sour wine, primitive pain relief, but before they returned he cried out one last time, and then he died. It was over. Finished. Done.
Later in the day, toward evening, a highly regarded ruler among the people took courage and went to the Roman governor who had ordered Jesus’ crucifixion and asked that he be allowed to bury Jesus. Pilate made certain their was no life left in the body. He called for the centurion overseeing the execution who affirmed Jesus’ death. Pilate granted the corpse to Joseph who took Jesus down from the cross, wrapped the body in a linen shroud, and laid him in a newly hewn rock cave, a tomb in which no one else had been buried. Then he rolled a boulder against the entrance of the tomb.
And then . . . then there was silence. Grief. Disappointment. Disbelief. Death. There was only that dark wonder, that speech inhibiting cloud, that mind numbing confusion . . . and silence. No authoritative voice of instruction. No power-filled command of healing. No gentle touch of forgiveness. Just . . . silence.
You’ve been there, haven’t you? Your world filled with hope and wonder and joy and suddenly there is only silence. God seems absent, inattentive, inactive. Dead. Between Friday and Sunday, there is only a silent Saturday. Between the cross and the sunrise there is only a voiceless tomb. Between life and life, only death.
Many people live in “silent Saturday.” They live day after day wondering whatever happened to God. Whatever happened to truth and justice and promise. They long for some evidence of his mercy, some fulfilment of his plan, but they hear only silence, they see only a cross, and a tomb, and a rock.
Little do they realize that beyond the silence, God is at work. The apostle Peter includes these thoughts in his first letter to Christians at that time scattered throughout the world: “For Jesus also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh but made alive in the spirit, in which he went and proclaimed to the spirits in prison . . .” (1 Peter 3:18-19).
Peter refers to that silent Saturday, to that day while the body of Jesus lay wrapped in linen, bound in lifeless dark. God was working during the silence. While his body lay in the tomb, Jesus proclaimed his victory on the cross to those who had died, but in life had looked for his coming, who had loved God and trusted his promises. Then, Jesus ascended taking with him the men and women of faith, from the place of the dead to the place prepared for them, and for all those who put their faith in him (see Ephesians 4:8-10.)
The point in this: Silence is not always what seems. Sometimes it is the coiling of the spring just before the trigger is released, the gathering of the tide before the tidal wave, the inhale just before the fireworks streaking skyward explode in glory.
Take heart. Friday is past. Saturday is silent. But, to quote one preacher, “Sunday’s coming!”
Later in the day, toward evening, a highly regarded ruler among the people took courage and went to the Roman governor who had ordered Jesus’ crucifixion and asked that he be allowed to bury Jesus. Pilate made certain their was no life left in the body. He called for the centurion overseeing the execution who affirmed Jesus’ death. Pilate granted the corpse to Joseph who took Jesus down from the cross, wrapped the body in a linen shroud, and laid him in a newly hewn rock cave, a tomb in which no one else had been buried. Then he rolled a boulder against the entrance of the tomb.
And then . . . then there was silence. Grief. Disappointment. Disbelief. Death. There was only that dark wonder, that speech inhibiting cloud, that mind numbing confusion . . . and silence. No authoritative voice of instruction. No power-filled command of healing. No gentle touch of forgiveness. Just . . . silence.
You’ve been there, haven’t you? Your world filled with hope and wonder and joy and suddenly there is only silence. God seems absent, inattentive, inactive. Dead. Between Friday and Sunday, there is only a silent Saturday. Between the cross and the sunrise there is only a voiceless tomb. Between life and life, only death.
Many people live in “silent Saturday.” They live day after day wondering whatever happened to God. Whatever happened to truth and justice and promise. They long for some evidence of his mercy, some fulfilment of his plan, but they hear only silence, they see only a cross, and a tomb, and a rock.
Little do they realize that beyond the silence, God is at work. The apostle Peter includes these thoughts in his first letter to Christians at that time scattered throughout the world: “For Jesus also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh but made alive in the spirit, in which he went and proclaimed to the spirits in prison . . .” (1 Peter 3:18-19).
Peter refers to that silent Saturday, to that day while the body of Jesus lay wrapped in linen, bound in lifeless dark. God was working during the silence. While his body lay in the tomb, Jesus proclaimed his victory on the cross to those who had died, but in life had looked for his coming, who had loved God and trusted his promises. Then, Jesus ascended taking with him the men and women of faith, from the place of the dead to the place prepared for them, and for all those who put their faith in him (see Ephesians 4:8-10.)
The point in this: Silence is not always what seems. Sometimes it is the coiling of the spring just before the trigger is released, the gathering of the tide before the tidal wave, the inhale just before the fireworks streaking skyward explode in glory.
Take heart. Friday is past. Saturday is silent. But, to quote one preacher, “Sunday’s coming!”
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