Thursday, December 29, 2016

WAS 2016 the Worst? (Friday Devotional)

‘Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”’

- Matthew 2:13-15

There’s a meme that’s been going around social media the last few days after the deaths of actress Carrie Fisher and, one day later, her mother Debbie Reynolds: 2016 cannot end soon enough. Listing famous names like Alan Rickman, Merle Haggard, David Bowie, and Prince, the meme facetiously lays the blame for their deaths at the feet of an unlikely culprit, the year itself. If we can just flip the calendar to 2017, people seem to say, things will get better. The implication is clear from lovers of pop culture—we’ve never had a year this bad.

It’s a pessimistic attitude, but one that can quickly manage to seep into other aspects of your life, from your health to your politics to your favorite sports team. If 2016 didn’t go your way, the temptation is to go to the extreme and say that not only are things bad now, they’re worse than they’ve ever been. Even in the church, where hope is fundamental to our identity, many fall prey to this sort of fatalism, looking to persecution abroad and divisions at home and ultimately reaching the same conclusion much of the world has: it’s never been this bad.

When such thoughts threaten your hope in Christ, it helps to remember events that stretch back long before 2016. While on Christmas morning we all celebrate the joy of Christ’s birth 2,000 years ago, we often skip past what happened next—while still a small child, Jesus was already under threat from earthly powers. Warned by an angel about King Herod’s jealous, murderous pursuit of the infant Messiah, Jesus’s family became refugees in Egypt, forced to hide there until Herod’s death. Jesus could not even walk yet and he was already in danger.

When we assume the church is in worse shape than it’s ever known before, we fail to remember where our faith—and indeed, our Lord himself—has been. From cradle to cross, Jesus was constantly under siege by those who did not value, understand, or appreciate his gospel. From the earliest days of the church, persecution and even martyrdom were constant reminders that this world is our mission field, but it is not our home. Threats and suffering have trailed the name of Jesus since his birth.

Nevertheless, Jesus Christ and his church are still here. Far from eliminating Christianity, even the harshest persecutions have only helped it grow. When the world and the church have stood in stark contrast to one another, God has been faithful to ensure that the gospel continues to be shared, heard, and received. So if you look at 2016 with distress, sure it can never get any worse for God’s people, may you find hope both in God’s past steadfastness and His promised victory. If God could call His infant Son out of Egypt, He is more than able to call His church today.

Friday, December 23, 2016

God's Counting on You (Friday Devotional)

“Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.”

- Matthew 1:18-23

It’s after midnight as I write this, and there is one reason why I’m not in bed: my one-week-old son won’t fall asleep. He’s not crying or even whimpering, but boy is he squirming, and I’m left to decipher what he’s trying to tell me as he flails those little arms and legs. At this stage of his life the list of possibilities is short: chances are he wants food, a clean diaper, some help being burped, or maybe just to be held by his mommy or daddy. And whatever he wants, he’s counting on me or his mother to do it for him.

The more I learn about my own child, the more I think about the one whom Christmas celebrates. After all, this is the season every year when we rejoice at the coming of Jesus Christ into the world, not as a conquering king or a powerful prophet, but as a baby boy. As the angel told Joseph, the day would come Jesus would save his people from their sins, when he would offer hope to the hopeless and release to the captives—but first, he would be a baby.

When we think about Jesus as Emmanuel, “God with us,” our minds tend to fast-forward to the adult Jesus, the one who so visibly embodied God’s power and presence on earth. It’s easy to understand Jesus as God with us when you imagine him walking on water, raising the dead, and casting out demons. But the truth is, Jesus was God in the flesh from the beginning, from the day he was born and laid in a Bethlehem manger.

And what that means, unbelievably, is that for a time, God not only loved people, he needed them. Like any other baby, Jesus needed to be fed and bathed and clothed, and he was counting on his human parents to do that for him. Strange as it is to imagine, the very life of God’s Son was dependent upon a Nazarene carpenter and his young wife. Before Jesus ever called a disciple or even uttered a word, God was already enlisting people—counting on people—to help carry out His mission, in ways big and small.

There is a reminder there for us today. Just as when God blessed Mary and Joseph with their task, or when Christ called the twelve disciples, or when the Holy Spirit was poured out on the church at Pentecost, today God is depending upon His people to carry out His mission. All believers are called to proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God until Christ’s return, to show this world the love of God just as Jesus did, with compassion, holiness, and self-sacrifice. It is not an optional task, nor is it extra credit for overachieving Christians—the mission of God is one entrusted to all of the church. So this Christmas and in the new year to come, may you devote yourself to God’s work. He’s counting on you.

Friday, December 16, 2016

Worth the Wait (Friday Devotional)

“Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near.”

- James 5:7-8

If there’s one thing Christmas teaches every year, it’s patience. As a child, you go to bed on Christmas Eve imagining the gifts you’ll receive the next morning, wishing you could open them now—but, your parents tell you, you have to wait. You have to be patient. As an adult, Christmas is a veritable parade of patience—patience in lines at the mall, patience in holiday traffic, patience with your family. For entirely different reasons than when you were a child, you can’t wait for Christmas Day to arrive. But you have to be patient.

So the Advent message is one that resonates through all the stress of the season: be patient. Every year we enter into the story of Jesus’s birth, imagining how we might have responded if we had been Mary or Joseph or a shepherd in the field. We try to empathize with the Jews of that day, eagerly anticipating the arrival of a Messiah and praying for him to come soon. And as we make our way through the story, excited to get to the glory of a Bethlehem night, we can almost hear the Spirit calling: be patient.

Alongside this remembrance of the birth of Christ, Advent calls us to anticipate the day when he will return. “The coming of the Lord is near,” James 5:8 says, and especially during this season of expectation and hope, our eyes should turn to that reality and our hearts should be strengthened because of it. But as we anxiously dream of that glorious day when Christ will come again, the Spirit offers counsel: be patient.

Waiting is hard, but as any child will tell you on Christmas morning, there is nothing quite like the moment when your patience is rewarded. So in this season of Advent, as you are trace Mary and Joseph’s steps toward Bethlehem and look ahead at the steps still to be taken before Christ’s return, may you follow Scripture’s command and wait with the patience that only the Holy Spirit can provide. Don’t worry—Jesus is worth the wait.

Friday, December 9, 2016

Still Learning (Friday Devotional)

“We who are strong ought to put up with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Each of us must please our neighbor for the good purpose of building up the neighbor. May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.”

- Romans 15:1-2, 5-7

When you’re teaching someone how to play a board game, you have to be patient. Sometimes new players want to read through the rulebook first, other times they just want to dive in and learn as they go. Sometimes they’re full of questions, other times they want to figure it out for themselves. What is plain to you is brand new to them, from basic rules to more complicated strategies, and your task is to walk them through it all until they’ve gotten the hang of it. No doubt about it, the first few times you play a game with a novice, it’s going to be clumsy.

Yet despite that initial awkwardness, you keep going. You don’t get angry at their ignorance and throw the board across the room or demand that they figure things out faster. You offer hints where you can, you gently remind them when they forget a rule, and you let them correct their mistakes to keep the game moving. After all, they’re still learning.

Imagine if we adopted that sort of attitude with our brothers and sisters in the church. After all, every believer is continually growing in the knowledge and faith of Christ, every one of us is still learning. Yet too often we are harsh judges of our fellow Christians, holding them to a standard of perfection that we ourselves could not meet.

Paul offers a good reminder in this season of peace that church harmony doesn’t come from perfection among the saints, but from the mercy we extend to one another. Rather than condemning a brother when he stumbles, the church is called to respond to his repentant spirit with encouragement and forgiveness, welcoming him back with the same grace Christ gives. So in your relationships, especially with fellow believers, may you seek peace with the merciful spirit of Jesus, remembering that all of us are still learning.

Friday, December 2, 2016

Get Dressed (Friday Devotional)

“Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.”

- Romans 13:11-12

As best I can tell, groomsmen and bridesmaids have very different experiences in the hours leading up to a wedding. For bridesmaids, the wedding day is a flurry of activity—hair appointments, makeup carefully applied, nails painted, photographs taken. If you walk into the bridesmaids’ dressing room an hour before the wedding, you’re likely to see a dozen different things happening at once.

In the groomsmen’s dressing room…not so much. I remember at my brother’s wedding, a mere 45 minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin, all of us were still sitting in our undershirts and gym shorts, with so little to do that we spent half an hour playing catch with a Nerf ball we found lying around. Our dressing room was a picture of laziness and boredom until about 20 minutes before the ceremony began. It was then and only then that we all finally snapped to attention, speedily got dressed, and shifted into wedding mode.

In the early days of the church, believers’ approach to the mission Christ had given them—to make disciples of all nations and to be his witnesses everywhere they went—resembled the feverish activity of the bridesmaids’ dressing room. Empowered by the Holy Spirit, the apostles were always on the move, always preaching and teaching and healing in Jesus’s name. And they worked so frenetically with good reason—they fervently believed that Jesus would return at any moment to consummate the kingdom his ministry had ushered in.

But as time went by, feverish anticipation turned to impatience and then to resignation—perhaps Jesus wasn’t going to return as soon as they’d expected after all. Their former singlemindedness about the mission gave way to a duller, compromised sense of obligation. Before long, the church started to look much more like the groomsmen’s room than the bridesmaids’—sluggishly biding time, unwilling to kick into high gear until the big moment drew a little closer.

Today the church remains trapped in that second mindset, giving lip service to Christ’s imminent return but silently assuming we won’t see it anytime soon. And just like for the church at the end of the first century, that assumption hurts our ministry by sapping it of its urgency and passion. What we need is to recapture the spirit of expectation that gave the early church its earnestness. Scripture tells us Christ’s return is near, and in the meantime we are called to wake from our sleep and set to our task, to “lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.”

In this season of Advent, we do two important things: we remember Christ coming for the first time and offering us the hope of salvation, and we look forward to the day when he will come again to fulfill the hope of that salvation. So as you draw hope both from Christ’s past arrival and his future return, may you also be a witness to that hope in the present, eagerly sharing the gospel with your words and your works. At Christ’s return, Scripture speaks of a great wedding between Christ and his bride, the church—so no more sitting around, let’s get dressed!

Friday, November 25, 2016

Still Hungry? (Friday Devotional)

“Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.””

- John 6:35

If you’re like me, yesterday’s Thanksgiving dinner was probably the biggest meal you’ve eaten all year. Between the turkey and dressing, the dinner rolls, the mashed potatoes, and the green beans, it may have seemed like the food would never stop coming—and then you realized dessert hadn’t even been brought out yet. By the time the dishes were clean and the Cowboys had kicked off, you were completely stuffed.

When you finish a meal like that, it feels like you’ll never be hungry again. But after a good night’s sleep, I have a sneaking suspicion you woke up this morning and, whether immediately or after a couple of hours, your stomach started to growl. For all you may have eaten yesterday, all it took was some time before you were ready for more.

Just like physical hunger, part of being human is feeling spiritual hunger, a desire to tap into something bigger than yourself, to encounter something transcendent. When you see a majestic mountain vista or are enraptured by a work of art, when you are moved by a proverb first uttered thousands of years ago, any of these moments or others like them can fill that need…for a little while. But before long, you find yourself hungry again. Our world offers thousands of spiritual snacks, but none permanently satisfies.

What the world cannot do—fill the emptiness inside, provide life with sacred meaning—Christ can, if you place your faith in him. Jesus said to a spiritually hungry crowd, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Faith in Jesus satisfies your soul’s longings not just for the moment, but for the duration. So this Thanksgiving weekend, as you continue to enjoy food and fellowship with your family, may you know where spiritual hunger becomes spiritual fulfillment: at the cross.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Pray the Whole Prayer (Friday Devotional)

“May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light.”

- Colossians 1:11-12

Certain prayers are easier than others. When you ask God for a blessing—over your meal, your day, your home, your work, your church, or your child—you probably don’t struggle with making that request. After all, if God gives you what you want, you benefit. The same goes for prayers for protection, forgiveness, and especially prayers of thanksgiving. When God has made you a winner or you’re asking him to do so, those prayers roll right off the tongue.

So most of the blessing Paul extends on the church’s behalf in Colossians 1:11-12 is the kind of prayer you’d like to see someone extend on your behalf. “May you be strong”—check. “Joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light”—check. These are the kinds of things you want to hear in prayers offered on your behalf, because these are the kinds of prayers that, properly answered, make you a winner.

But the middle part of Paul’s blessing may rub you the wrong way: “may you be prepared to endure everything with patience.” Patience? Who said anything about that? Endure everything? Wait, wouldn’t it be simpler for me not to have to endure anything?

This aspect of Paul’s blessing makes an assumption we’re not comfortable with—that trials, suffering, and loss are a part of the Christian life. Jesus told us that if you want to be his disciple, it means taking up your cross, and we tend to misinterpret what he meant by that. We assume it means we should live like Jesus, but forget that it means we should also be willing to suffer like Jesus. We assume it means we should follow Jesus, but forget where he ultimately led. We assume it means we should honor Jesus, but then tend to honor only the parts we’re comfortable with.

The truth of discipleship, as preached and embodied by both Christ and the apostles, is that sometimes life doesn’t go your way, that sometimes on the road to glory you must first carry a cross. Christ did not save us so that we might escape the problems this world throws our way, but so that we might be lights in the darkness. So as you turn your eyes toward heaven in prayer, may you pray not only for strength to overcome your tribulations and for the joy of victory over them, but for the patience to endure them.

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Never Too Tired (Friday Devotional)

“For we hear that some of you are living in idleness, mere busybodies, not doing any work. Now such persons we command and exhort in the Lord Jesus Christ to do their work quietly and to earn their own living. Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right.”

- 2 Thessalonians 3:11-13

Well, that was exhausting.

No doubt your mind is still on the presidential election in the wake of its conclusion several days ago. Some are happy with the result while others are frightened by it; some have called for unity and others for protest. It remains to be seen what sort of job Donald Trump will do as president and whether the country will unite behind his leadership.

What is not debatable is that, irrespective of the result, we have just finished a horrible election. At the water cooler, around the dinner table, and especially on social media, this election brought out the worst in the American citizenry, who let the nastiness of partisanship infiltrate the formerly safe sanctuaries of family, work, and yes, the church. In the final days of the campaign, we largely defined our neighbors by who they were voting for, reducing their character to their choice of candidate. And we are worse for having done so.

There will (hopefully) be plenty of introspection and soul searching in the days ahead about our national identity and how we move forward under a President Trump, but this is not the space for that. Both parties will have to ask hard questions about who they represent and why, but this is not the space for that either. Instead, I want to offer a word of biblical encouragement to my fellow believers: “Do not be weary in doing what is right.”

Just like for everyone else, the nastiness of the election pushed a lot of Christians over lines Jesus would not have crossed. Many of us inflicted wounds that I pray will heal with repentance and time—but even in healing there will be scars to remind everyone of the initial trauma. There will be understandable calls, from within the church and outside it, for God’s people to mind their own business and tend to their own house. Exhausted by the nastiness of public engagement, a temptation will emerge to withdraw from the work of the gospel and to stay where it’s safe, within the church walls.

But do not be weary in doing what is right. It is good for the church to reexamine how it works for Christ, to reevaluate its relationship with politics and with those we disagree with. The means of gospel engagement are always up for revision. But the end is not. Our call as believers in Christ is to serve our Lord faithfully, to be salt and light to a hurting world, and that is not a call that one election, no matter how exhausting, can silence.

So do not be weary in doing what is right. If you were hurt by a friend’s words during the election—and especially if you were the source of hurt—then pursue forgiveness and reconciliation. If you spent the election worrying about your pocketbook, then reach into it and give to someone in need. If you want to see the nation turn to Christ, then go share the Gospel with someone, not with an Internet meme or a Facebook post but with a personal conversation.

You can be weary of politics and elections—I think we all are. But do not be weary in doing what is right. We serve a Savior whose kingdom was not from this world, whose gospel was not bound to a candidate, and who proclaimed the gospel with his words, his example, and his actions all the way to the cross, where his weary body was given for sinners like you and me. May we follow his lead, never too exhausted to do what is right.

Friday, November 4, 2016

I Wish I'd Known Him Better (Friday Devotional)

“In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance, having been destined according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will, so that we, who were the first to set our hope on Christ, might live for the praise of his glory.”

- Ephesians 1:11-12

Perhaps no trope was as reliable or well-worn in the movies of my childhood as the wish fulfillment fantasy. Whether it was the child who got to own and manage his own baseball team (Little Big League), the forgotten boy in the big family who had the house to himself for Christmas (Home Alone), or the kid who discovered a pair of shoes that gave him the basketball ability of Michael Jordan (Like Mike), the fundamentals of the plot never changed much: a 10-12 year-old child was miraculously given the ability to do something normally reserved for grownups.

Often in such movies, the wish was fulfilled through the death of a wealthy uncle/grandpa/kindly old neighbor who unexpectedly left all his worldly possessions to the child. Typically, this turning point in the story was announced via a video will, for maximum dramatic effect. And oftentimes, after the child and his or her family took a few moments to process the strange news—“Billy, you’re worth $10 million now!”—there would come a brief moment of pathos from the hero of the story. The child, staring at a photo of their deceased benefactor, would turn to their parents and quietly say, “I wish I’d known him better.” They never knew how much their relative cared until the inheritance was given, and now it was too late to demonstrate their gratitude.

In Ephesians 1, Paul uses the language of inheritance to refer to the eternal destiny of those who place their faith in Christ. For those who trust in the grace of God in Jesus Christ, in his atoning death and glorious resurrection, the future is secure—God has sealed you with the Holy Spirit and guaranteed you will spend eternity with Him. In Christ you have “obtained an inheritance;” you have been given a gift you did nothing to earn, just like in those kids’ movies.

But unlike in those stories, you still have time to express your gratitude. While your glorious inheritance came through a death, just like any earthly inheritance would, you are left with far more than just memories of your benefactor. Because of the wonder of the resurrection, you can have a relationship with him now—having obtained your inheritance, you can still grow closer to the risen, living Lord. Salvation offers what no earthly inheritance can—not only riches, but relationship.

Having obtained your heavenly inheritance by the grace of God in Christ, the only reasonable response is to honor that blessing by living “for the praise of his glory.” You have the opportunity to do what the kids in those movies never could—not to only enjoy the inheritance you’re given, but to enjoy the one who gave it to you. So may you not only appreciate God’s magnificent love for you, may your life serve as witness to it.

Friday, October 28, 2016

Can't Wait (Friday Devotional)

“[Jesus] entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.””

- Luke 19:1-8

Nobody likes to wait in line. Whether it’s at the DMV, the amusement park, or the ticket office, there is a sort of anxious energy that permeates every line. Everyone wonders how much longer it will be, everyone worries that they’re wasting their time, and everyone just wants to reach the front. But they all understand that waiting is just a part of life, so they try to be patient and they stay in line.

At least, until it’s important. When you have a crucial message to deliver, you don’t mind interrupting someone. When something’s on fire, you don’t seek permission before borrowing a hose. When your wife is in labor, the speed limit is suddenly just a suggestion. Sometimes you just can’t wait.

It is that sort of urgency that springs up multiple times in the well-known passage above. When Zacchaeus was unable to see Jesus on account of the crowd, he “ran ahead”, scrambling up a sycamore tree until he caught the view he needed. When Jesus spotted him in the tree, he told him to “hurry and come down,” because it was imperative that he stay at Zacchaeus’s house that very day. Luke couldn’t be much clearer—both Zacchaeus and Jesus feel a sense of urgency to make this meeting happen.

For those who know Christ, that feeling is quite relatable. Many believers can point to a specific moment, often at the end of a worship service or during a revival meeting or at youth camp, when the Holy Spirit seized their hearts and propelled them to a decision for Christ. In such a moment, nothing felt more urgent or important—it was time to meet Jesus, and everything else could wait.

But like with Zacchaeus, not everyone shares that sense of urgency. There are always those on the outside who see the excitement of the new believer and find in it cause to grumble. Maybe they don’t believe anything has truly changed, maybe they don’t understand what the fuss is, maybe they’re simply envious of an urgency and an excitement they don’t share. Whatever the reason, their response to the joy of the new believer is the cynicism of the skeptic.

And the sad truth is, sometimes their doubts wind up being justified. Many respond to the urgency of salvation only to then ignore the urgency of sanctification—they climb the sycamore, they hurry to host Jesus at their home, but when the time comes to make a Zacchaeus-like change in lifestyle for the good of the kingdom, they ask, “What’s the rush?” When the demand of discipleship sets in, far too often urgency is replaced by complacency.

Zacchaeus represents a model of a sinner saved by grace—saved not only to eternal life after death, but to new life now. Having met Jesus, he could not wait to be changed forever, starting that very moment. He met the grumbles of skeptics not with arguments or self-righteousness, but with the kind of visible change that could not be ignored, feeling the same urgency to be changed as to be saved. May we learn from the example of his earnestness, eager not just to meet Jesus, but to be like him.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Good, Not Better (Friday Devotional)

“He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: ‘Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, “God I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.’”

- Luke 18:9-14

Imagine you have two gallons of milk. The first expired one month ago and the second a year ago. Both have changed colors and textures to varying degrees, and both smell different than they did back when they were still fit to drink. Yet while neither sounds particularly appetizing, there’s no doubt which gallon is closer to being a viable drink—if I asked you which milk was better, no doubt you’d choose the one-month-old gallon.

But if I were to then ask you to drink it to prove your point, I can’t imagine you’d do so enthusiastically. After all, it may not be as bad as the year-old milk, but it’s still expired! Judging by comparison may tell you what’s better and what’s worse, but it won’t always tell you what’s good.

In the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, Jesus shows us that the same principle goes for people. He describes two men, a self-righteous Pharisee and sinful tax collector, total opposites in almost every way, and has only one of the two walk away from his encounter with God justified—but turning expectations on their head, it is the self-proclaimed sinner, not the religious elite, who receives vindication. Many read the parable and draw from it a message about repentance—the tax collector, they say, is a model of how every person should approach God, with the understanding that only His mercy can save them. Those who humble themselves, as Christ said, will be exalted.

But that is only half the message, and we should not forget the other—and the harder—half: those who exalt themselves will be humbled. Jesus told the parable, says Luke, “to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.” In other words, his audience looked a lot more like the parable’s Pharisee than its tax collector. Where the tax collector could hardly bear to enter the temple, the Pharisee strolled right up, confident in his standing with God. Where the tax collector beat his breast with the passion of a desperate man, the Pharisee prayed with calm self-assurance. And most importantly, where the tax collector knew himself to be a sinner, the Pharisee found himself to be righteous.

The Pharisee made a mistake we continue to make to this day, whether with milk or morality—he judged by comparison instead of conviction, by what’s better instead of what’s good. While the tax collector held himself up to God’s standard and rightly found himself wanting, the Pharisee lowered the bar considerably—he compared himself to the worst society had to offer! “God, I thank you that I am not like other people,” he said, “thieves, rogues, adulterers, and even this tax collector here.” Wanting to be considered a righteous man, he found his security in the knowledge that at least he wasn’t one of those people. And yet, Jesus says he did not walk away justified in God’s eyes—he may have been better than the people he held in contempt, but that didn’t make him good.

When we judge people by comparison instead of by God’s standard, we cannot help but break the greatest commandment, to love the Lord with all your heart and your neighbor as yourself. We fail to love God because we show that His standards, His character, and His commandments are something we will abandon when they become inconvenient to our agenda, that we’ll find an easier bar to clear when it suits us. And we fail to love our neighbor because when we compare ourselves to someone else, when we say “At least I’m better than him,” we are showing our neighbor contempt instead of mercy, loathing instead of love.

In an age when our media, politics, conversations, and communities are so polarized, Christians cannot afford to seek our own righteousness by comparing ourselves to others. “I’m not bad as him” is not the defense of a sinner saved by grace, but the false prayer of a self-righteous Pharisee, and Christ demands more. So may you look for righteousness where it is found, not in self-serving comparisons, but in humility and grace—because comparing yourself to others may make you look better in your eyes, but only God’s mercy can make you good in His eyes.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Something Better (Friday Devotional)

“Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.”

- Philippians 4:8-9

Water jumped over the side of the bucket as I dunked my rag into it with force and more than a little frustration. I silently cursed my carelessness and felt my temper rise. This was getting ridiculous—my knees were aching, my fingers were as wrinkly as raisins, and I couldn’t even tell anymore if the sweat on my brow was from the work or my aggravation.

All I’d wanted to do was clean the kitchen floor, a job long past due but that nevertheless shouldn’t have taken more than half an hour. Yet here I was 45 minutes in, and every time I swiped the wet rag across the kitchen tiles, all I seemed to be doing was drawing new dirty streaks instead of removing old ones. I had soapy water, I had a rag, I had the elbow grease—why wasn’t the floor sparkling yet?

At about the moment I was getting ready to kick the bucket over, Lindsey called to check in on how my day was going. Venting, I explained the predicament: we were just going to have to get used to a perpetually dirty floor, because ours was apparently impossible to clean. With the gentle tone you might adopt when speaking to a lost child, she asked the obvious question: “Honey, have you been using the same water the whole time?”

I looked down at the bucket with fresh eyes and saw what my work’s progression had blinded me to—the water was a filthy brownish-gray color, the soapy bubbles long gone. For at least ten minutes, I’d been trying to wash a dirty floor with dirty water. It was time for something better.

Sometimes the world seems to be as dark and grimy as that water. All the news seems to be bad news, every conflict seems to be a crisis, and hope is a forgotten friend. The Fall seems much nearer than Christ’s return, sin more triumphant than grace. You find yourself wanting to replace the constant barrage of decadence, disappointment, and depravity with something better.

In the conclusion to his letter to the church in Philippi, the apostle Paul directs believers to do just that, to dwell not on the sinfulness the world bombards us with, but on what is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, and praiseworthy—in other words, what is Christ-like. This is not a Pollyannaish plea to “be positive,” but a more serious command to be redemptive, to replace the broken things of our world with the wholeness of heaven. Rather than being preoccupied with the world’s problems and sinking into despair, the gospel calls believers to rise with Christ and serve as lights to the world.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” Put less poetically, you can’t wash a dirty floor with dirty water. As believers, we are called to respond to sin not with more sin, but with the power and grace of the gospel. So when the world seems like it can’t get any darker, may you respond neither with retreat nor retaliation, but redemption.

Friday, October 7, 2016

Are You Sure? (Friday Devotional)

“The saying is sure: If we have died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he will also deny us; if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself.”

- 2 Timothy 2:11-13

I have never been any good at auto repair. Cars are complicated machines, and they work exactly as they should (or close enough) so often that when they do suddenly start acting up, I generally assume the problem is beyond my ability to fix. When I hear someone describing an automotive issue, my eyes glaze over the same way a churchgoer’s do when the preacher starts speaking in Greek. Car repair is just not something I have any knack for.

But if there’s one basic thing I can work on under the hood, it’s the battery, something I have an unfortunate amount of experience dealing with. Whether it’s cleaning corrosion buildup near the terminals, jump starting a dead battery, or replacing a bad one altogether, I’m relatively competent. But I’m also exceedingly careful.

You see, the first time I ever jump started a car, the person teaching me made a point to be sure I was attaching the right cable to the right terminal in exactly the right sequence. Make a mistake, he insisted, and I could create enough sparks to blow up the car. Was he joking? Probably. But I’m not confident enough under the hood to make any assumptions. So to this day, any time I have to jump start a car, it takes me several extra minutes, because before I’m ready to turn the key in the dead car, I have to double check and triple check my connections. Sometimes you just need to be sure.

It would be nice if you could be that sure in every part of life, if you had the luxury of double and triple check everything before moving forward, but of course there are areas where that’s just impossible, including your relationship with God. The very nature of faith is that you’re never 100% sure, that you are placing your heart, mind, and soul in the hands of an invisible God. No one living today ever saw Christ in the flesh, ever touched the scars in his hands, ever witnessed any of his miracles or heard his voice proclaim the Gospel—yet every Christian, drawn in by the Holy Spirit, is able to confidently proclaim that they know his power to save them. Denied the luxury of empirical data, faith is the assurance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not yet seen.

But admittedly, there are times when you want a little more proof, when you just need to be sure. When your family fractures, when your career craters, when sickness stops you in your tracks—any time your life seems to be splintering before your very eyes—you find yourself looking to heaven for reassurance that God is still faithful. You simply want a reminder that, to quote the hymn, faith is the victory, especially when your life seems anything but victorious.

In those times, draw encouragement and comfort from the saying found in 2 Timothy 2:11-13, a saying apparently already widely circulated throughout the early church at the time of Paul’s writing. The believer in Christ is inextricably identified with him, is in fact part of his body through the church—and is the beneficiary of his faithfulness. The world may hurl its darts, but in Christ you are given both the strength to endure this life and the promise of a better life to come. There is no promise of easy living now, but the beautiful promise that is made—of life in Christ, both now and eternally—is one that God faithfully fulfills. Even when your faithfulness wavers, God’s never does—of that you can be sure.

Friday, September 30, 2016

Cowardice, Counterpunching, and the Cross (Friday Devotional)

For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.

- 2 Timothy 1:7

Sometimes it seems like I can’t escape them. I go to a baseball stadium and there they are. I go to the mall and there they are. I go to the airport and there they are.

You probably think they’re innocuous, helpful even. They’re no different from a bicycle or a car, you might say, just another way to get from point A to point B. You may look at them and see the triumph of technology over inconvenience, proof of progress.

But I know the truth. I know that escalators are terrifying.

Yes, everyone has an unreasonable fear, and those terrifying moving staircases are mine. I think my fear stems from a trip to The Ballpark in Arlington (as it was known then), which has some of the most towering escalators I have ever seen, particularly if you’re going all the way up to the nosebleed seats. As my family and I were leaving the game, I put my foot on the moving step just like I was supposed to—and I tripped. Stumbling downward, I flailed wildly for something to grab onto, and by the time I regained my balance I was four or five steps lower than I’d started, my eyes wide and my heart racing. I was suspended one hundred feet in the air and because of those moving steps I had almost fallen to my doom.

Looking back as an adult on that moment, I’ve realized a few things. One, I wouldn’t have actually fallen one hundred feet—probably twenty at the most before I’d have hit the platform where the next escalator began. Two, my depth perception is quite a bit better as an adult than a child, so I’m not likely to miss that first step again unless I’m being really careless. Three, escalators really are convenient when your knees don’t feel like taking regular stairs. Yet even knowing these three things, when I approach an escalator I can’t help but pause an extra second before taking that first step. Rational or not, escalators scare me.

I wish I could say that escalators are the most frightening things we face in our world, but of course that isn’t the case. We are bombarded every day with stories—of crime, sickness, terrorism, and a host of other forces—which are enough to leave you curled up in the fetal position. The world says you have two choices when confronted by fear—to retreat in weakness, or to face your fear with your own strength. So for example, when an enemy strikes you, your choices are to run or to hit back. These, conventional wisdom says, are the only valid options.

But the way of the cross is anything but conventional. Speaking to our fears, Scripture reminds us that God does not give His people a spirit of cowardice, that we are not called to simply avoid or escape conflicts when they threaten us. But neither does He give us a spirit of retribution. Jesus’s teachings, his interactions with opponents, and ultimately his death consistently show that the righteous response to pain is not to return fire.

The spirit God does give is of power and love and self-discipline, a spirit that enables you to overcome fear with neither cowardice nor counterpunching, but with the cross. It is by relying upon God’s wisdom and strength instead of your own, by placing your faith in Him even when the end result is not your immediate gratification, that your fears are truly overcome. So when your fears threaten to overwhelm you, when you find yourself reaching for the easy solutions of running away or striking back, may you instead turn to the way of Jesus, overcoming the power of fear with the greater power of love.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

Do Your Part (Friday Devotional)

“Fight the good fight of the faith; take hold of the eternal life, to which you were called and to which you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses.”

- 1 Timothy 6:12

“You approach two doors. One is hot to the touch and bears an unusual design in the center, a symbol so strange it just might be…alien. The other door appears perfectly ordinary but for one amazing fact…it is not resting on hinges, but rather is somehow mysteriously floating above the floor! WHICH DOOR WILL YOU CHOOSE? To open the first door, turn to page 75. To open the second door, turn to page 98.”

This sort of scenario will be familiar to anyone who has ever picked up one of the “Choose Your Own Adventure” books, a children’s series that began in the 1970s and continues to this day. These books upend the traditional reading experience by placing the direction of the plot in the hands of the reader, ending each chapter with a choice like the one above. A veritable fiction buffet, any given book might have a dozen different endings, with wildly divergent paths to get to those endings.

The result is that reading a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book makes for a totally different experience than reading a “normal” book. Accustomed to a passive involvement with the story, where you are simply carried along wherever the author takes you, these books flip the script—in order to keep the story going, you must do your part.

The life of faith, 1 Timothy 6:12 indicates, should embody that sort of involvement—rather than being passively carried along by God, we are called to participation in His work. Paul refers to faith as a “fight”, of eternal life as something we “take hold of”—that sort of active language assumes that with faith comes struggle, that there is more to living for Christ than business as usual. Written by an apostle who was repeatedly beaten and imprisoned for his faith, the words of 1 Timothy 6:12 serve as a reminder that faithfulness is more challenging and more participatory than we sometimes like to think.

We derive great comfort from knowing that in Christ we do not have to go through life alone, that God is with us in every struggle and every work. But as you thank Him for His faithfulness, don’t lose sight of your part of the relationship—God is faithful to you, so may you also be faithful to God, using your spiritual gifts for His kingdom. Don’t just watch the good fight of faith, don’t just sit on your hands waiting for new life in Christ—do your part.

Friday, September 16, 2016

Kiosks and Crosses (Friday Devotional)

“Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you are sharing Christ’s sufferings, so that you may also be glad and shout for joy when his glory is revealed…Therefore, let those suffering in accordance with God’s will entrust themselves to a faithful Creator, while continuing to do good.”

- 1 Peter 4:12-13, 19

When I am walking through a mall, I stay as far to the right of the walkway as possible. I don’t do it so I can window shop, or because I’m trying to give a wide berth to the other shoppers. I’m just trying to stay as far away from the kiosks as possible.

Whether they’re selling cell phone cases, decorative frames, or designer perfume, the folks manning the kiosks that sit in the middle of the mall have one thing in common: they don’t wait for you to come to them. Instead, if you get inside their invisible perimeter, they address you directly and immediately dive into their sales pitch, forcing you to decide, ‘do I rudely interrupt them and walk away or stand here awkwardly and pretend to listen to their whole spiel?’ It’s an uncomfortable enough situation that my admittedly flawed solution is to just stay as far away from them as possible. I’d rather not have to deal with them, so I just avoid them.

Most people have that exact attitude when it comes to any sort of discomfort, from minor anxiety to serious suffering—whenever possible, avoid it at all costs. If you can avoid future conflicts by threatening or even attacking your enemy, you should do that instead of praying for him. If you can avoid discomfort and insecurity by saving your money, then you should do that instead of giving to those in need. If you can avoid embarrassment by staying quiet instead of sharing the Gospel, you should stay silent instead of speaking up.

But Scripture calls believers to a different approach to suffering. Far from avoiding it, Christians are called to embrace suffering as the inevitable consequence of conforming to Christ instead of the world. While we are not meant to masochistically seek out pain, neither are we to flee from it when obedience to Christ comes at personal cost. The cross of Jesus Christ was an act of intentional surrender to suffering in the name of love, and those who put their faith in that cross are called also to live by its example.

While we are quick to claim the hope of Christ’s resurrection as our own, we are slower to claim the sufferings of his crucifixion. Like the twelve disciples, we imagine ourselves sharing in Jesus’s glory, but have no expectation of that glory coming at a cost. We want to follow Jesus, but when it threatens to become uncomfortable we pull back.

What you must remember is that the way of Jesus is the way of the cross, that true discipleship means obedience to God even when it costs you something. Turning the other cheek means getting slapped twice; forgiving seventy-seven times means living through seventy-seven offenses; giving your time and money and energy to others means leaving yourself only the scraps—but these consequences are not reasons to abandon obedience, they are proof that you are crucified with Christ. So as you seek to follow him, may you do so even when it is difficult, even when it costs you something. For the call of the cross is not to avoid suffering for your sake, but to bear its burden for the sake of others.

Friday, September 9, 2016

Not Sold Separately (Friday Devotional)

“God abides in those who confess that Jesus is the Son of God, and they abide in God. So we have known and believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.”

- 1 John 4:15-16

When I go running every morning, the last thing I do before stepping outside my front door is put on my socks and my tennis shoes. I need both—the socks and the shoes—to have a decent run. If I ran with socks and no shoes, I’d return home with wet, ripped up socks and probably with aching feet. If I ran with shoes on but without socks, I’d come back with fresh blisters on my feet. My shoes and my socks aren’t meant to be used separately, but as a package deal—and I won’t get far unless I have both.

God and love are a lot like tennis shoes and socks in that respect—they are meant to be paired with one another, one understood in relation to the other. Nevertheless, both the world and the church fall into the trap of trying to separate the two. On the one hand, the world tries to know love without knowing God, replacing the self-sacrificial, holy, overflowing love of God with a shallow, fleeting, selfish alternative. And on the other hand, the church too often tries to know God without knowing love, proclaiming moral imperatives but refusing to embody the radical grace of the cross, that love which heals the broken and forgives the unforgivable.

1 John 4:15 reminds us that God is love, and that in order to abide in God, you must abide in love. God and love are not meant to be understood apart from one another, but rather in unity. Growing in your relationship with God means better embodying the love of Christ, and one cannot happen without the other.

So as you seek to know God better, to grow in your relationship with Him, be sure you are also seeking to love God and love your neighbor, for it is only through the lens of love that you will get a full picture of who God is. And in the same way, as you seek to love those around you, may the love you extend go beyond the mere affection that the world models, instead exemplifying the deep love that is only truly possible when you know the grace of God. When you step out your front door into the world, do so equipped with both God and with love—you won’t make it far without both.

Friday, September 2, 2016

They Just Go Together (Frday Devotional)

“We know that we have passed from death to life because we love one another. Whoever does not love abides in death.”

- 1 John 3:14

A few years ago, Lindsey and I made a pact with one another. We had spent the better part of the morning driving to Arkansas for a family reunion and, having spent the better part of the afternoon there, we were now making the long trek back to Waco. Needless to say, we were tired, hungry, and ready to be home. So when we saw the “Welcome to Texas” sign, it felt like cause for a celebration—we were almost there, already back in familiar territory.

Basking in that minor victory, we wanted to do some uniquely Texan, and another sign in the distance served as a beacon for what that uniquely Texan thing should be—we pulled over and had dinner at Whataburger. And it was there, over patty melts and fries, that we made our pact: any time we crossed state lines, we would celebrate our return back to Texas with a meal at Whataburger. What could be more Texan?

In the days since, those post-road trip dinners have become less a treat than a natural consequence, as much a part of the return home as seeing that “Welcome to Texas” sign. We barely have to think about it anymore—coming back to our home state and stopping for dinner at Whataburger just go together.

That is exactly the kind of unity that faith in Christ and love for one another are supposed to share—they’re meant to “just go together,” love a natural consequence of faith. John 3:14 says that the way you know you have passed from death to life, from faith in the world to faith in Christ, is by the love you have for others. Love is not so much an active choice, something you can embrace or abandon at your convenience, as it is the natural consequence of placing Jesus at the center of your life.

We are prone to separating love of God and love of others, compartmentalizing in such a way that we glorify the perfect and almighty God while disparaging fallible, fallen human beings. God is easy to love, but loving people can sometimes be more challenging, so we pretend that we can love one and not the other.

But Jesus made it clear that there can be no separation between the two when he told us what the greatest commandment is: “you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). To love God is to also love the creations who bear His image, even when they seem unlovable. So as you seek to live faithfully, having passed from death into life, may you mark your passage into a life of faith and hope with love—they just go together.

Friday, August 26, 2016

The Celebrity Treatment (Friday Devotional)

“Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

- Hebrews 13:1-2

“Then righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’”

- Matthew 25:37-40

Among the many incredible athletes who shined on the world stage at this year’s Olympic Games, my favorite was U.S. swimmer Katie Ledecky. As you likely know, Ledecky was one of this year’s standout American athletes, winning 5 medals total, 4 gold. Her performance in Rio, especially her dominant showing in the 800m freestyle, made her a household name—her face is on magazine covers, she’s made the talk show circuit, and just the other night she threw out the first pitch at a Washington Nationals game while superstar Bryce Harper was relegated to holding her medals for her. Katie Ledecky, in other words, is a big deal.

But coming into the Olympics, most of us didn’t know that yet. Though Ledecky won a gold medal in the 2012 Olympics in London, few Americans probably could have picked her out of a crowd the week before the festivities began in Rio. I say that with a reasonable degree of certainty because of a story that one of the U.S. swimmers tweeted out one week before the Opening Ceremony. Ledecky and her teammates were outside Maracanã Stadium, headed to a practice, when a couple of girls tapped Ledecky on the shoulder and asked if she wouldn’t mind taking a photo. You might assume the girls wanted a picture with Ledecky, photographic proof that they’d met a gold medalist…and if they’d met her 2 weeks and 5 medals later, that probably would have been true. But that wasn’t the case—the girls were asking her to take a picture for the two of them. Gold medalist and superstar-to-be Katie Ledecky, unrecognized by the two tourists, was reduced to playing amateur photographer like she was any other bystander.

It’s funny to imagine how those girls might have acted if they’d tapped Katie Ledecky on the shoulder two weeks later than they did. Maybe they’d have asked for an autograph or a selfie, or perhaps they’d have been too starstruck to say a word. What’s virtually certain is that they wouldn’t have asked her to play photographer for them. There’s a reason for that: we act different around ‘important’ people than we do around ‘normal’ people. To put it in terms of Katie Ledecky’s story, there are some people whom we want to take pictures with us, and other people whom we want to take pictures for us.

Scripture cautions against that worldly attitude, one that elevates certain people based on their status while relegating others to a lower position. In fact, the verses above instruct you to bestow an incredible status onto those you might otherwise ignore—when faced with the impoverished woman or the imprisoned man, you are supposed to see Jesus staring back at you. When the opportunity to serve someone presents itself, you are called to show the sort of grace and hospitality you might if an angel of the Lord were in your presence. Love that that you might normally reserve for the divine is, it seems, meant to be extended to even the lowliest who cross your path.

But intentionally or not, most of us are pretty meritocratic when it comes to how we show kindness, doling out compassion to those we think deserve it or who might return the favor on down the road. We are slower to engage with “the least of these,” the people we don’t even want to think about. We’d rather not make eye contact with them, much less love them.

But grace doesn’t allow the Christian to ignore anyone—instead it demands that the unloved and the unlovable be seen, respected, and most of all, loved. Grace calls the believer to see the image of God in every person, no matter their situation or their story, and to respond accordingly, with the mercy of Christ. In the kingdom of God there is no caste system, no pecking order, there are only those saved by the grace of Jesus Christ. So as you encounter people in your daily life, whether they are Olympian or ordinary, don’t demand a reason to love them—the cross is reason enough.

Friday, August 19, 2016

New Light (Friday Devotional)

“Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am. If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.”

- Isaiah 58:8-10

Imagine yourself standing alone in a dark room, the only illumination a lit candle in your hand. As minutes tick by, you can feel the heat of the flickering flame inch closer to your hand as the wax melts and the candle shrinks. There is no sunlight, no electric bulb, no flashlight—the moment your candle burns out, you will be plunged into total darkness.

But then a figure emerges from the other side of the room, someone you hadn’t seen through the dim light your candle provides. She holds in her hand a candle of her own, brand new, never before lit. She looks from her candle to yours, silently asking the question—will you light her candle with yours, will you draw from your meager flame to create one for her? Your choice is simple: you can let your flame fizzle out and lose any chance at light, or you can share what you have and create more light in the room than ever.

This is one of the great conflicts of the Christian life—when confronted with darkness, do you greedily cling to the light of Christ as something for you alone, or do you still seek to share it? Life presents plenty of moments in which darkness threatens to overcome you, whether for a brief moment or a lengthy season. When that happens, the tendency is to withdraw within yourself, to focus only on your problems, your situation. You become quick to cast blame and slow to forgive, pushing others away as you sink further into darkness. The feeling is that what you have to offer others you must save for yourself right now, that it is the only light you have left and you have to cherish it for as long as it will last.

But Scripture offers a different remedy—when you are falling into despair, instead of retreating inside the darkness, offer what light you have to others. When you want to be served, serve. When you want to be forgiven, forgive. When you want to be loved, love. And like the candle in the room, far from extinguishing your light, your sacrifice brings about double the illumination that existed before. By placing others before yourself in obedience to Christ, even and especially when you are struggling, “your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.”

The wisdom of the world says that when you are struggling, you should retreat and regroup, focusing entirely on yourself until you get back on your feet again. But the cross pushes you to look beyond your own struggle and to give of yourself—even when you have next to nothing to give. The world’s way may let your flame keep flickering on for a few moments, but only Christ’s way can bring new light in the darkness.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Hide and Seek (Friday Devotional)

“Am I a God near by, says the Lord, and not a God far off? Who can hide in secret places so that I cannot see them? says the Lord. Do I not fill heaven and earth? says the Lord.”

- Jeremiah 23:23-24

I struggled to keep my breathing quiet and my body still. I tightly squeezed my eyes shut, fearing the whites could give me away. Above all, I listened carefully, paying close attention to every footfall, every whisper. They were close, I was certain of it. My time was almost up.

But then, miraculously, the voices started to fade, until all I could hear was the hum of the air conditioner. They hadn’t found me, I was safe! I allowed myself a sigh of relief even as I stayed alert, knowing my pursuers could be back at any moment. This was serious business—this was hide-and-go-seek. I couldn’t let myself relax for a single second.

But, as those seconds became minutes, my initial adrenaline started to morph into something else—boredom? Annoyance? Fear? Where were they? I had done my part, I had hidden—now it was my cousins’ job to find me! As proud as I had been of myself a few minutes ago, when I had remained undiscovered even with them so close, now I was getting nervous. Had they forgotten about me?

After a few more minutes, I looked at my watch and saw that thirty minutes had passed since our game of hide-and-go-seek had begun, and my cousins didn’t seem any closer to finding me than at the beginning of the game. So, unfurling my stiff body from the corner of the closet where I’d spent the last half hour, I made my way to the kitchen only to find everyone sitting at the table enjoying a snack.

Indignantly, I demanded an explanation from my cousins. “Where were you? I’ve been waiting forever!”

My oldest cousin smiled and answered. “Oh, we found you at the very beginning…that closet’s the first place we looked. We just thought we’d see how it long it would take for you to come looking for us.”

When we try to hide from God, we make the same mistakes I did as a child playing hide-and-go-seek: we underestimate how much we want to be found…and how bad we are at hiding. As fallen beings, it is in our nature to want to flee from the will of God when it seems too difficult or demanding. But when you step away from the presence of the Lord, just as natural is the subsequent feeling of regret, the realization that you want to be found far more than you want to be lost.

What we lose sight of, from the moment we run from His will to the moment we return in repentance, is that there is no hiding from God—that even when we leave Him, He never leaves us. Even when we want to be hidden, He has not lost sight of us.

There are times, especially after you have stumbled, when it seems like your attempts to hide from God have actually succeeded. In those moments, it can feel like you have found a place so secret, so dark, that God is not there. Nothing could be more terrifying. When those times come, take comfort in knowing that, like the Prodigal Son, you can always return home. No matter how far you fall or how well you hide, God never loses track of you—sometimes He’s just waiting for you to leave your hiding place and come looking for Him.