As a young person, I didn’t understand this very well – the fact that I am dust, that I am impossibly frail and fragile, and broken, and that my life is susceptible in a thousand ways to crumbling and coming undone. Like most young people, I felt invincible – all 120 pounds of me. That’s why I could set off on a 40-mile journey, on foot, through the forests of central Congo, with a light backpack holding my Lingala Bible, a notebook and a few clothes. No food, no flashlight or anything else one might deem prudent – if not necessary – for such a trek.
A long journey on foot
I wasn’t big on breakfast in those days, so I only picked at the hearty meal of chicken and rice that Pastor Omanyundu encouraged me to eat before we started out that morning. After 6 hours or more of crossing open grassland, descending into thickly forested valleys, fording small streams (from which I drank desperately without caring about water quality) and climbing out again to cross more grassland, I regretted not filling my belly when I’d had the chance. When passing through villages, which were few and far between on that route, people would exclaim in surprise upon seeing the one white face among the four travelers, “Eh!! Mundele wana akokoka to!? (What!? Is that white man gonna make it?). I took that as a challenge; I had to prove that yes, I could make it. After thirteen and a half hours of walking with only a few short breaks, no longer than 10 minutes each, we did make it, all of us bone-weary and too tired to care if we ate, while our host caught a chicken and hastily prepared a meal. We spent the next two and half days teaching a seminar for a small church that you’d never find on a map, and started the journey back home after a Sunday morning meeting and a good meal. People actually congratulated me – “Eeeeh mundele, oza’makasi, okomi!” White man, you’re strong, you made it! – as we passed through those few villages on the return trip. That adventure definitely won me some ‘street cred’ among the locals and some respect among our churches.
That was over thirty years ago. These days, It’s rare that I feel the need to prove anything. I’m much more reconciled to the fact that yes, I am dust, I am fragile, and that apart from God’s sustaining grace I could easily come undone in any number of ways. Living into my sixties has helped me acknowledge these facts, and living with an incurable blood cancer for the last nine of these 63 years is a daily reminder. This is not a gloomy, negative thing. It’s a humbling, freeing thing – a reckoning with the reality of my humanity and God’s mercy. It’s not one or the other but both/and. This is what the season of Lent is all about, at least in part.
Lent begins with Ash Wednesday. Ashes smeared on one’s forehead. Dust. If we think of it in the light of Genesis chapter three, it’s a poignant reminder of Adam’s sin, our mortality, and the glorious, only hope we have because of Jesus’ victory over both. As pastor and author Rich Villodas says, “Ash Wednesday is not a day to manufacture guilt. It’s a day to recognize our brokenness, frailty, and trust in God’s love. It’s a day to freely come before God and declare, ‘I am human, I am dust, and I am loved.”
This is a season to press in to the reality of our utter dependence on Christ. Whether or not you observe this literal forty day period or not, we all need Lenten seasons in our walk with God – especially in these days when so much of Western Christianity has rejected the idea of being sheep in favor being roaring lions who crush their opponents with political strength and superiority. The entire New Testament refers to followers of Jesus as sheep, as God’s flock. “Do not be afraid little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the Kindgom.” (Luke 12:32). This is not a temporary, earthly victory won by human means, but an eternal Kingdom. To be sure, Jesus is called “The Lion of the tribe of Judah,” but when the apostle John turns to look at this conquering Lion seated on the throne of the universe (Revelation 5:5-6) what he sees is a slain Lamb. This vision was intended to say something powerful and encouraging to believers who were living in a hostile, threatening political environment, often persecuted and marginalized. God’s power is demonstrated through the weak who trust in Him rather than in their own strength and power. Jesus told Peter to put away his sword – and ultimate victory came through surrender.
This is a season, a blessed opportunity, to humble ourselves, to realign ourselves with eternal realities, with Jesus the Lamb of God. Humility is such a hopeful thing because “God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble.” (James 4:6). Consider these words from the prophet Isaiah:
“For this is what the high and exalted One says—
he who lives forever, whose name is holy:
“I live in a high and holy place,
but also with the one who is contrite and lowly in spirit,
to revive the spirit of the lowly
and to revive the heart of the contrite.” (Isaiah 57:15).
The Lord knows what we are made of, He remembers that we are dust. When we remember it, that dust becomes the fertile soil for His mercy, and beautiful things will result. One day, our dust will turn to glory.
So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:26-28).
Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all. (Colossians 3:11).
If you’re an honest reader of the New Testament, and if you make an effort to come to the Scriptures with a pair of fresh eyes each time, you will notice that issues of race and racial reconciliation are at the heart of the Gospel and it’s call that we all be reconciled to God through Jesus. If you were a first century Jew or Gentile, even a casual reading of the Gospel accounts of Matthew, Mark, Luke or John would have shocked you and made you either outraged or delighted. There is nothing timid or hesitant about the way that Jesus, and then New Testament authors inspired by the Holy Spirit himself, marched unapologetically into territory that the evangelical church of our day has carefully tiptoed around – or tried to downplay.
There’s a simple reason for this bold approach: from the beginning of the big story of redemption, God’s stated intention was to bless “all peoples (races or ethnic groups) on earth” with salvation (Genesis 12:3). Racial inequality, mutual mistrust, bigotry and prejudice are so obviously at odds with God’s will for the world, which has been clearly stated from Genesis to Revelation, that these issues must be dealt with boldly – and we know this. But so often, the white evangelical response to issues of race has been, “race doesn’t matter,” “it’s not about race,” or simply to deny there’s a problem. We don’t like to be made uncomfortable. Just check with your elders and ask them what most of the white Evangelical, Protestant, or even Pentecostal churches did during the civil rights movement of the sixties. That might be an uncomfortable conversation, because the sad truth is that the majority sat primly on the sidelines with their hands folded and waited to see the outcome. Now, from a safe historical distance we can praise the sacrifices of Dr. Martin Luther King, John Lewis and other civil rights leaders of that time who put their lives on the line. But so I don’t veer off track voicing my own opinions and thoughts, let’s take a look at the Biblcial record.
We might as well start with Matthew’s gospel which, according to many Bible scholars, was written to appeal to the Jewish nation and to present Jesus as “the King of the Jews.” Before Matthew even gets into the story, however, he includes some details about Jesus’ family lineage that boldly confront attitudes of racial – and even gender – discrimination, details which are deliberately placed to present Jesus as the Savior for all peoples and races. In the first six verses, four women are named and given a place of honor in the line of Christ. Three of them come from outside the Jewish race:
– Tamar, a Canaanite woman who had been abused and then neglected by the men in her life, and who took some bold (and morally questionable) action, to preserve the family line from which Jesus comes.
– Rahab, a Canaanite prostitue who responded in faith to the God of Israel and took a significant risk to cooperate with His plan.
– Ruth, a moabite woman who immigrated to the land of Israel and became the great-grandmother of King David.
The fact that women were included in such a genealogy, which traditionally listed only fathers, would have raised eyebrows all by itself. But the fact that three out of the four came from outside the Jewish race makes a pointed statement and confronts nationalistic pride and prejudice head-on. In the very next chapter which details Jesus’ birth and earliest years, who is it but complete foreigners “from the East” who come looking for the “King of the Jews?” And these foreigners are among the first to bow down and worship Him.
It gets even better. When Jesus begins his public ministry, as Luke records it, He has some amazing good news for the poor, the oppressed and the humble, as well as some words that infuriated those who were stuck in their pride of race and nationality:
“Truly I tell you,” he continued, “no prophet is accepted in his hometown. I assure you that there were many widows in Israel in Elijah’s time, when the sky was shut for three and a half years and there was a severe famine throughout the land. Yet Elijah was not sent to any of them, but to a widow in Zarephath in the region of Sidon. And there were many in Israel with leprosy in the time of Elisha the prophet, yet not one of them was cleansed—only Naaman the Syrian.” (Luke 4:24-27).
The crowd in this small-town synagogue did not welcome the suggestion that maybe they didn’t have “most favored nation” status with God, and that the Lord had chosen instead to favor despised, undeserving gentiles with miracles of mercy. Not only did they not like it, here’s how they reacted:
“All the people in the synagogue were furious when they heard this. They got up, drove him [Jesus] out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which the town was built, in order to throw him off the cliff. But he walked right through the crowd and went on his way” (v. 28-30).
Jesus didn’t make up these facts about Elijah or Elisha, or twist and misapply them to get such an extreme reaction. These stories were clearly recorded in Israel’s history, in the books of 1st and 2nd Kings. He was simply applying the antiseptic of truth to the stinking infection of nationalism and racial bigotry, and it stung. Here’s a real-life of example of Hebrews 4:12 which says “The word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” But why would Jesus even bother to poke around in this sore spot? In order to “see the Kingdom of God,” as He himself put it – to enter into it and fully participate in it – our blindness must be cured and barriers of racism and bigotry must be shattered, since this is a Kingdom that includes people of every race, tongue and tribe on the face of the earth. It requires a love and a loyalty that far supersede national, cultural and racial boundaries and loyalties.
Jesus chose twelve disciples, with the intention that through them and through those who would follow Him as a result of their testimony, the invitation to enter the Kingdom through repentance and forgiveness would extend to the ends of the earth. It would include all races and cultures. So He began to show them, patiently and mostly through examples and encounters, that God the Father values people of all races and cultures, and that He wasn’t impressed by patriotism and national pride.
In Matthew 8:5-12, a Roman military man – definitely not one of God’s ‘chosen people’ – comes to Jesus seeking healing for his sick servant. This man seems to understand better than most who Jesus is, and Jesus commends his faith, saying, “I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith.” Jesus then goes on to say that “many will come from the east and the west and take their places at the feast in the kingdom of heaven,” while those who assumed they were guaranteed a spot because of their race and nationality would actually miss out. Can you see how uncomfortable this would have made all those patriotic Israelites in the crowd? Do you see the point Jesus is making here, the foundation he is laying for the Gospel to all peoples and races, with no second-class citizens? He is clearly condemning nationalism and racism, but we have typically glossed over these Gospel accounts and missed the point.
In Matthew 15:21-28, things get even more awkward. Jesus has deliberately withdrawn from Jewish territory, along with his disciples (who still have a lot to learn), into a gentile area where they would have been really uncomfortable. And sure enough, a Canaanite woman recognizes them and approaches Jesus. In his account, Matthew deliberately uses the old-fashioned word “Canaanite” to highlight this woman’s non-Jewish, pagan background and that she was a descendant of Israel’s enemies. She calls Jesus ‘Lord’ and ‘Son of David’. Once again, here is someone from the wrong race who understands Jesus’ identity better than His own people do. And Jesus is about to expose the disciples’ ugly but just-under-the-surface racism to the clear light of day… He appears to ignore the woman completely, but she’s not giving up. She follows Jesus and the disciples and keeps crying out for help. The disciples are getting annoyed that this icky gentile woman won’t leave them alone:
“Lord, send her away because she’s bothering us with all her noise.” So Jesus turns around and says, “I was only sent to the lost sheep of Israel.” The disciples are probably thinking, if not saying under their breath, “Damn straight! You tell her, Lord!”
Now the woman comes and kneels in front of Him. “Lord, help me!” Jesus allows the tension to build. It’s about to get worse.
“It’s not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”
Wait… did Jesus really say that!? At this point the disciples and anyone else around probably froze. This has gone beyond awkward. What is happening here? Jesus is saying out loud, in words everyone can hear, what the disciples were thinking. He is exposing the ugliness of their racism in broad daylight. Hopefully they felt some shame. And maybe – I don’t know – Jesus is winking at the woman to say, ‘just play along with me here.’ The woman rises to the occasion with her witty answer: “OK Lord, but even the ‘dogs’ get the crumbs that fall from the table!”
It is clear that Jesus never viewed her as a gentile dog. He now addresses her with complete respect (the word ‘woman’ was a term of respect like madam, or ma’am). Jesus commends her faith and grants her request. And He probably gave the disciples a long look in the eye. The fact that this incident is recorded in Matthew’s Gospel tells us that it was one of those encounters that marked Jesus’ followers and stayed with them.
There are other striking examples of Jesus crossing racial and social boundaries to interact with individuals who would have been rejected by the ‘good’ religious people of His day, like the Samaritan woman in John chapter four. And then there’s Peter in Acts chapter ten, when the Lord sends him to the home of a gentile named Cornelius who is hungry to know God. It only took a vision, repeated three times, as well as God’s direct voice, to get him to go. And after he goes, the other church leaders are outraged that he actually ate and slept in the home of a gentile… Racism is a stubborn thing. But I’m not writing a Bible commentary and this essay is already getting long, so let me jump ahead to the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Galatians – a group of non-Jewish believers. Paul recounts a confrontation he had with Peter over the issue of racism and the Gospel. Let’s just call it racism in the church.
“When Cephas [ Peter] came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood condemned. For before certain men came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles. But when they arrived, he began to draw back and separate himself from the Gentiles because he was afraid of those who belonged to the circumcision group. The other Jews joined him in his hypocrisy, so that by their hypocrisy even Barnabas was led astray.
When I saw that they were not acting in line with the truth of the gospel, I said to Cephas in front of them all, “You are a Jew, yet you live like a Gentile and not like a Jew. How is it, then, that you force Gentiles to follow Jewish customs?” (Galatians 2:11-14).
At this point in the history of the New Testament church and it’s growth, the Gospel was spreading through the Apostle Paul and others across the Roman Empire. Antioch was the first primarily non-Jewish center of believers in Jesus, and it became a missionary church from which Paul and others were sent out with the Gospel. The believers in Jerusalem and Judaea were culturally Jewish, and still followed many Jewish religious customs. The gentile believers in Antioch did not follow these customs, and were most likely looked down upon by the Jerusalem crowd. At some point, the Apostle Peter spends time in Antioch with Paul and other leaders, teaching the new believers. It’s great, everyone eating together, sharing life in Jesus across racial and cultural barriers – even erasing those barriers. Until some big-wigs from Jerusalem come down to Antioch to check things out… Peter is intimidated, afraid of being judged or criticized, so he begins to act differently. He withdraws from the Gentiles at meals and starts eating only with his old Jewish crowd who are still following their old religious customs. It’s a passive move, he’s trying to avoid conflict. He’s not being aggressively racist, not referring to the Gentile believers as ‘dogs,’ nothing openly offensive like that, and hopefully no jokes at their expense. But his behavior signals that the Gentiles are second-class citizens of whom he’s ashamed, and the Apostle Paul, who has been laying down his life to bring the Good News of Jesus to these people, will have none of it. He confronts Peter to his face in front of eveyone, because this is vitally important. If God plays favorites based on race, culture, and observance of religious laws, then the Gospel isn’t the Gospel anymore. Paul calls out Peter’s racist behavior as not being in line with the truth of the Gospel, and he doesn’t care if it makes some people uncomfortable!
The Good News of Jesus, at its very root, is and must always be anti-racist. It is not silent or passive about this issue. The Aposlte Paul understood this and he wasn’t afraid to confront even a mild expression of racism – because if he let it slide, then the Gospel, the very truth of God, is undermined. And here’s the sad truth: the Gospel of Jesus Christ and its credibility has been undermined repeatedly and continually in America, because we let racism slide in the church and in society as a whole, in the dubious interest of keeping the peace or not offending anyone. The only ones who are not offended when we keep silent are the ones who need to be offended. And how do you think those who continue to suffer the indignities of racism – whether subtle or overt – feel about it when the rest of us stay silent or try to sidestep the issue? And what conclusions might they draw about the track record of the evangelical church?
Here’s a brief excerpt from an article by Justin Taylor from The Gospel Coalition blog:
But it does seem self-evident that, in the main, white evangelicals—particularly those in the South—were deeply invested in efforts to either uphold Jim Crow or to try to slow down its dismantling. While a previous generation of historians suggested this was symptomatic of “cultural captivity,” I’m not so sure. In fact, in many cases, it seems that evangelical theology—or at least distorted models of it—were part of the reason segregationist beliefs and structures took shape the way they did. The unfortunate reality isn’t that evangelical theology in the South was muted when it came to racial justice, it’s that it was actively used to undermine justice and to perpetuate a demonic system. And that’s the cruelest historical irony of it all: those who loved the “old rugged cross” were often also those who torched crosses in protest of desegregation.
As sad as this is, I think it’s even sadder that much of the white evangelical world has never reckoned with its history regarding racism, or openly addressed it. The church has just tried to distance itself from this miserable past and move on, with feeble attempts to appear inclusive and up-to-date, without really confronting expressions of racism within its ranks with sound theology – or sound rebuke – as the Apostle Paul did in his day. What’s my point here? It’s this: If there was ever a time to speak up against racism – especially when we hear it or see it – it’s now. Failure to do so undermines the credibility of our faith and message, and even more, undermines the dignity of human beings as made in the image of God. It’s time – it’s well past time – to take this issue seriously.
The past two and a half years have been both rich in blessings and full of difficulty. The difficulty was not simply because I went through 4 months of chemotherapy for multiple myeloma (an ‘incurable’ blood cancer), then discovered I had a cancerous tumor in my colon that required surgery, and once I recovered from that, embarked on another 6 months of weekly chemo (all while working full time). The medical side of things, although it had its challenges, really wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Here’s what made it hard: I’ve been doing some kind of public ministry most of my adult life – preaching, teaching, leading worship, etc. I’m an extrovert who loves being out and about. And this is a hateful thing to confess, but I used to like being in the limelight. Even though I know my true worth comes from my relationship with Jesus and the fact that I am loved by God, the approval and appreciation of people is powerfully addictive. Maybe it’s too early to say, but that addiction may have lost its grip, because for the past two years or more, I‘ve been mostly tucked away in a cubicle with precious few opportunities for public speaking (except for a few small presentations in work meetings) or even the opportunity to be part of a worship band at a church. And then of course, covid restrictions…
The cube life – that mundane, ordinary side of things – was going to be OK, because the other half of my job was supposed to be traveling in Central Africa, coaching volunteer leaders and their teams. (Translation: travel adventures and amazing stories of God-encounters). But from March 2020 until June 2021, there was no travel. I’m truly thankful for my job/ministry with Samaritan’s Purse; I also have the best coworkers who make working in an office environment fun. But in December 2020 when I started a new course of chemo, the oncologist insisted I start working from home, since cancer, chemo and covid don’t make a good combo. So my world shrank from traveling internationally, to a 2.5 mile trip to the office, and then it shrank again and became a trip down a flight of stairs to my home office. I felt like I’d been put in time out, put on a shelf and ignored. I didn’t like it much. Eventually I was able to return to the office, and for a brief period in June/July 2021 in between covid surges, I was released to start traveling again (thank you Jesus!). I spent several weeks in Chad, Central Africa, followed by a few days in Cameroon.
The main purpose of this trip was to recruit, interview and select new volunteers to fill holes in existing Operation Christmas Child teams. I love people, I love hearing people’s stories, observing and appreciating the uniqueness of each personality. It’s fascinating and even awe-inspiring! Working with two others, traveling mostly by bus from place to place, we completed well over 60 interviews in two weeks. God spoke to me so much through these individuals, many of whom had never filled out an application form in their lives and were not comfortable talking about themselves. More than ever, my conviction has been confirmed that the Lord is actively at work in our world, doing amazing things on a regular basis through ordinary, unknown people who love Jesus – people who are not now nor ever will be in the limelight. They are faithfully living out their ordinary lives and fighting the good fight of faith in places I never knew existed until recently – places in which Christianity has nothing to do with multi-million dollar stadium events, expensive fashion trends and Christian subculture social media fame.
I’m thinking of one particular gentleman who applied for a “logistics coordinator” position. On his application, next to “Profession”, he had written in French: “Cultivateur.” Farmer. His answers to other questions on the application were short and simple (euphemism for unimpressive). He entered the room with a demeanor that spoke of unpracticed, genuine humility, which reminded me of my grandfather who was also a farmer. Just an ordinary man without pretention. So we began the interview and probed a bit with questions, to know more about this man’s work experience, as well as his volunteer experience in the church world. As he gradually opened up, we found out that he was not simply a farmer, but had been trained in environmental management and had held a local government post in environmental protection. He had also created youth clubs in order to mentor young people in good environmental and farming practices, sharing the Gospel with them at the same time! He had planted two churches and was still actively engaged in this work in his retirement. “I had a hard childhood and so I love helping young people.” He quietly related all this like it was no big deal. Here was the simple overflow of a humble man’s love for the Lord. His life was speaking to me loud and clear, coming, as I do, from the social media-saturated, celebrity-driven culture that is America. I wanted to hug him and hand him a trophy! Here was someone who deserved recognition. But one day he’ll have something far more glorious and permanent than human applause; he will hear those eternal words of approval: Well done, good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of your Master!”
As for me, I’m still learning how to be ‘ordinary’, how to be content in faithfully doing what is in front of me each day, whether I’m hidden away in an office cubicle or sweating on a bus somewhere in Africa. The impact of a life lived in Christ cannot be measured by the number of follows or likes on social media, nor by how well-known or little-known one may be. In Matthew 13:31-33, Jesus compared God’s Kingdom to some very small and ordinary things: a mustard seed, and yeast. He said, “this is what the Kingdom is like: a mustard seed that a man planted in his garden. Then it grows far out of proportion to its original size and becomes a tree, and the birds come and nest in its branches. It’s like a bit of yeast that a woman mixed into the bread dough. Eventually the whole lump doubles in size and the influence of the yeast becomes obvious.”
People in Jesus’ day may have been shocked or offended that He would dare to compare God’s glorious Kingdom to things so common and unremarkable – everyday things. What? The Kingdom was supposed to come with a big flash and a bang, with a grand spectacle! Not much has changed since those days and everyone loves a spectacle, something big. A simple seed and yeast, however, are not exactly awe-inspiring things. But they are things with life in them, they are things that grow and multiply where they are placed, things that impact and even transform the environments in which they grow, with a slow, steady persistence. This is how God intends for His kingdom to come into the world through you and me and a humble farmer. This is how ‘ordinary’ wins the day.
“The heavens declare the glory of God,the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech, night after night they reveal knowledge. They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the end of the world. (Psalm 19:1-4).
A village in Mali, March 17, 2016
I stepped out of my little mud-brick house this evening – which is still radiating with the absorbed heat of a noonday sun – to walk a bit in the cooler night air and be refreshed by the breeze, to enjoy the stars and the moon overhead, the intricate shadows of trees at my feet, and the general peace of a landscape at rest after another punishing day of dry season heat and glare. It seems that heaven and earth were working in tandem just now, first capturing my attention with the sheer beauty of my nighttime surroundings, pointing out one thing and another, and then telling me of age-old truths that are the very source of that beauty…
I don’t think there’s a camera in the world that could adequately capture the scene and give you the true sense of it: a moon just over half-full, directly above, and the brightest of the stars arranged in their ageless patterns around it, the outline of several houses in the distance with their corrugated metal roofs faintly glowing like old silver, the bleached dust of footpaths just visible in the night as if possessing a phosphorescence of their own, gently curving away toward the village. And the wind, soft and steady, coming out of the north – a wind that makes you thankful as it caresses your skin but is too gentle to rattle the leaf on a single tree. But it was the trees, graced by the moonlight, that eventually spoke to me. “Raisins Sauvages” as people call them here – though they have nothing to do with actual grapes. They are my favorites in this landscape, and in the silver light they strike an elegant pose, each twisting, curving branch clearly outlined against the night sky, their shadows fanning out on the ground around them like the work of a skilled calligrapher whose sole task is to make a faithful copy of their teaching – I suppose for the benefit of restless souls who walk and pray at night.
These trees are a study in tenacity, in economy, in calm assurance and in hope-filled perseverance. The roots spread out from the trunk in all directions, penetrating dry, stony earth and even grasping rocks in their quest for not only nourishment, but stability in these harsh conditions. They plan to survive for more than a single season. Early on in the long, grueling dry period, rather than hang on to their greenery, they drop their leaves, choosing to preserve and nurture the life hidden in trunk and roots, rather than expend their energy on outward appearance. But there is art and grace in their serpentine, bare branches, which bend toward the ground and then reach out and up again. There is a humble confidence about them through those months in which grasses wither and fade, green turns to brown, and harmattan winds fling clouds of dust through the air. They are not worried. They patiently bide their time. And just as the powerful sun has wrung every last drop of moisture from the earth, they know their season of fruitfulness has begun…
It is now, with maybe six weeks left before the rains come again, that these ‘wild grape’ trees draw on their hidden resources to produce miniature clusters of berries which will swell modestly over the next month, turn a rich, dark red, and provide food for birds of all sorts – or even a refreshing juice to anyone who takes the time to acknowledge their effort and put forth some of his own. Those little clusters of dry-season fruit, and the bright green, heart-shaped leaves that begin to sprout along with them – they speak to me of cheerful perseverance, of confident hope in the faithfulness of a God who ordains every season. “Hold steady, don’t be anxious, continue in hope, and your fruit will not fail.” They have no doubt the rains will come soon, so they offer their best in anticipation, as visible words of encouragement to anyone with eyes to see: The reward of perseverance is sure, and renewal is just around the corner.
***Background note: I wrote this article about three years ago while was still coaching an evangelism / church planting team in an unreached region of MalI, West Africa. Now I’m privileged to work in a Christian relief organization where my responsibilities involve coaching leaders and volunteers in evangelism and discipleship across Central Africa. I don’t think a lot has changed in the last three years when it comes to reaching the unreached with the Gospel, so I’m putting this exhortation – or whatever you wanna call it – out there again. Thanks for reading!
I’m going to share something that might irritate some of you. It might even offend some of you – although that is definitely not my intent! I might come off sounding like a grumpy old man, even a judgemental, grumpy old man. That’s not how I want to be perceived, but I am sixty years old and I can’t help that. I shared these things with college students in a missions-themed chapel service last week and most responded positively, though I heard at least one person was offended and did not like what I had to say – or maybe it was how I said it. I’m sorry that person took offense, but I’m not sorry for what I said or how I said it, so I’m going to say it again, here.
Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:18-20)
Here are Jesus’ final instructions to his disciples, and by extension, to us as well.
These instructions are abundantly clear and beautifully simple:
Go… to all nations (ethnic or people groups)
Make disciples… Okay, how?
Baptize them in the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. What’s the point of that? We’re inviting people into the divine community of Father, Son and Holy Spirit, offering them them a new identity (name) and a place of belonging.
Teach them to obey everything I have commanded you. This is not the communication of head knowledge in a classroom but more like an apprenticeship where one learns how something is done (in this case following Jesus) by watching and doing in the context of a committed relationship.
And, Jesus says, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Attached to Jesus’ instructions is the promise of His presence.
Do you see how simple this plan really is? (I didn’t say easy, but it’s definitely not complicated). There is no talk here of building giant buildings or creating giant organizations. Just GO. Invite people into the family and show them how to follow Jesus. The last time I checked, these words of Jesus were still in the Bible and as far as I know, they are still in force. So how are we doing with this simple task? Here are some 2018 statistics I got from www.bethany.edu.
Are you getting this? Less than one half of ONE PERCENT of those who are going, actually go to an unreached people group that have never heard the Gospel. WHY?? When I consider all the thriving mega churches full of talented, creative, energetic young people (at least if social media feeds are to be believed), and then I see stats like these, it makes my head want to explode. And when I think of the region in Mali where I’ve been working for the past seven years, where there are still nearly four hundred villages with no believing communities or ongoing Gospel witness, it makes me want to cry. I just don’t understand. I’m not by nature a cynical person. I like to be positive and believe the best about everyone. But I am completely underwhelmed by all the rock-concert style Christian conferences with smoke and lights, off-the-hook worship and amaaaazing speakers bringing powerful words. If all we can say was that ‘a good time was had by all,’ if all this hoopla hasn’t produced the kind of heart change that results in at least some people who believe that Jesus is worthy enough for them to lay down their lives and GO, then I don’t give a rip about your fancy conference. You just wasted obscene amounts of money. Congratulations! Now you can pat yourselves on the back and tell each other that ‘something shifted in the heavenlies.’ In the meantime, the unreached world is waiting for some of us to shift our backsides from here to there and actually do what Jesus said. You know, ‘may Your kingdom come, May Your will be done, here on earth as it is in heaven.’ Maybe I’m confused, but I kind of thought that’s why we’re here.
Okay, so maybe that was a little harsh, so let me back up and put what I just said into perspective. I understand that not everyone is called to go to a village in rural Africa, and not everyone can. I understand that there are plenty of lost and broken people here who are coming to faith and getting their lives restored. As a pastor of a local church near Baltimore for sixteen years, I was privileged to introduce a number of people to Jesus, and also to help a number of people experience God’s healing grace in the midst of all kinds of brokenness. And even now, when I’m in the States, I’m privileged to serve as a pastor/counselor for a drug and alcohol recovery community. I’m not trying to heap condemnation on anyone. At the same time, however, I would like to stir up those who could, at the least, consider going to an unreached people group. I’m not even talking about the rest of your life. Just some part of it. Maybe a few years, or four or five years, that could very well change many other lives – or maybe just a few others, I don’t know – for eternity! I’m being serious here. There are plenty of you who could do it. Maybe you just don’t want to, maybe you’re waiting for a heavenly vision, or maybe you just don’t realize yet that YOU could actually do this. I’m telling you that you can.
How do I know this? Because I’m doing it (probably very poorly and I wish someone would show up who can do it better because I’m definitely not the best candidate for the job, but for now it’s slim pickings). I didn’t plan on doing it. I’m not a pioneer missionary/evangelist/church planter by nature or gifting. I’m a Bible teacher, dreamer, musician, writer and counselor. I like nice things, I like to be comfortable, I like good food and drink, and trendy cafes. And working out at the gym. And the symphony. And I do love Africa. But I’m sixty years old, dagnabbit! My back hurts when I get up in the morning and sometimes I wake up grouchy. Oh yeah, I also have an incurable blood cancer that will eventually take me out unless Jesus heals me or researchers come up with a viable cure, and sometimes the maintenance chemotherapy makes me feel like crap. (But I’m actually doing pretty well at the moment so don’t feel bad for me – that’s not what this is about). My wife and I did the missionary thing in Congo back in the 80’s and 90’s, and I even planted a church in an unreached village in a remote region during those years (I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, but it worked anyway). Some have said that we’ve ‘paid our dues,’ which is a wrong and twisted way to think about the greatest privilege on earth and some of the best years of our lives.
There was no lightning bolt from heaven that convinced me to start working among the unreached in rural Mali. I was still the pastor of a nice little church in Maryland, on my yearly teaching trip for Youth With A Mission in Mali. A Malian friend, who had started a development project in his home region, knocked on my guest room door one day during the afternoon break. He had a map under his arm which he spread out on the desk in front of me. 400 villages, no churches or Gospel witness, but wide-open doors. Would I pray about joining him, to spearhead the evangelism / church planting side of things while he did the community development part? In his words, “The Gospel with two hands.” I had that sinking feeling… ‘Dang. Here we go…” Maybe I’m plain stupid, but I couldn’t believe missions groups weren’t jumping on this – a Muslim region with friendly people and wide open doors to share the Gospel! (And I admit, no electricity or running water – forget internet – snakes, scorpions, clouds of flies, and heat that can make you feel like you’re in hell’s waiting room). Anyway, I didn’t see how I could reasonably refuse, so I said yes. I don’t know your story or how it’s going to turn out – I don’t even know how my own story will turn out – but I hope that in some way, shape or form, you say YES. Anyway, I started thinking about the reasons people don’t say yes. What holds us back? Here are a few simple objections that I want to address:
‘I don’t like change, and this would actually involve GOING and adapting to an unfamiliar culture.’ Well, I can’t disagree with you there! It will require change, and a big learning curve, and in the beginning you will lose all your ‘coolness’ and be a dumb foreigner who doesn’t even know how to communicate. It’s like being born again… but then you start to learn and change and a whole new world opens up to you. Life becomes so much bigger, and you will never be the same! But first you will feel stupid and bewildered, and it will be so good for you and your spiritual growth!
Sometimes, when young people ask me about Mali, and I explain to them that they’ll need to learn French (start learning before you come, and then Bambara later on), the conversation grinds to a halt. ‘Oh.’ As if learning a language were some kind of impossible barrier that only a select few can break through. My answer: IT’S NOT THAT HARD, OK? Really, your brain is an amazing piece of equipment that is designed for this kind of adaptability – especially if you get out of your comfort zone and start speaking. Also, there are so many great language learning apps now! And think how much your social circle will expand when you can speak more than one language!
‘I can’t deal with critters and creepy crawly things!’ Jesus says you can. OK, you might end up in a city setting where you won’t have to worry about snakes and bugs, just crazy traffic and choking air pollution and crime. But in the village, yes, occasionally we have to deal with poisonous snakes and scorpions. But generally these things are not out to get you, they are not going to drop from the trees or launch themselves through the air with you as their target. If a viper slithers across my path, I just grab a big stick and bash the #$&#@ out of it until it stops moving. Ok, if I come across one in the pit toilet enclosure at night when it’s the I last thing I expected, I shriek like a girl, drop my flashlight and run out of there yelling ‘snake!’ Then someone else shakes their head, grabs a stick and smashes the #$#@ out of it. This scorpion showed up on my kitchen wall as I was fixing dinner one evening. (These things creep me out worse than anything else). I grabbed a composition book I use for Bible study notes, took aim, and smashed it with all my might. Then I dumped it outside and went back to making dinner. And decided to wear shoes the rest of that night.
It’s not safe! You’re risking your life going to these places! Sorry, but ‘safe’ is such a relative word. Really, you can break your neck getting out of bed in the morning. (Maybe the chances of that are slim, but still). And you get in a car and drive, or get in a car and let someone else drive! Do you even know how many car accidents happen every day in your city or state? Of course not, because you’re not going to dwell on that. You have to live and get to work and do things and you can’t obsess about things you can’t control. On the other hand, I know exactly how many westerners have been kidnapped in Mali by terrorists, and where the latest attacks have happened – but it’s still way safer than walking around in Baltimore city. Besides, Jesus never promised his followers physical safety, so we need to get over it and just count on the fact that He promised to be with us.
‘I’m just so fulfilled drinking fair trade coffee in my favorite cafe, scrolling instagram, posting witty things, wearing cool kicks, and making sure my living space adheres to current trends.’ I don’t mean to be unkind. But the world is so seductive. It’s why The apostle John says,
“Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in them. For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world. The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever.” (1 John 2:15-17).
The thing about this seduction is that it feels so good, and we’re not even aware that anything is going wrong or that we’re literally wasting our lives on totally insignificant crap. OK, now I’m really am going to sound like a grouchy old man, but I hope you listen to me anyway. I’m totally amazed at how fashion-forward every popular pastor and leader has to be these days. It’s like big church leaders MUST be cooler than the coolest, trendiest performers that Hollywood and the music industry can produce. And for the rest of us average folks, we’re not really allowed to be average. We have to be trendy and chic and we have to keep posting it on social media, or else how will we be relevant? I really believe that this – this love of the world – is keeping some of us back from investing our lives to reach unreached peoples. Please, please, please. You have one, beautiful, powerful, God-given life. Invest it somewhere, plant it somewhere that will make a difference. You will experience a sweet fellowship with Jesus, and a thousand other things over the course of a few years, that you will never regret. Here’s a promise and an invitation from Scripture:
Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy.
Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them. (Psalm 126:5-6)
In Mali, sowing time, at the start of rainy season, is hopeful – but it’s also painful. I understand the sowing in tears part like I never did before. Preparing the ground is a back-breaking task. Then you’re going to take a significant portion of your rice, or corn or millet, that you could eat just when food stores are getting low. But instead of eating it, you’re going to throw it in the ground with no guarantee. Then you’re going to work like mad to tend it, and pray desperately that the rains are sufficient to produce a good crop. But if you don’t take the risk, do the work and sow, you will definitely have nothing at harvest time. So I appeal to you, find a field that needs Jesus, pray, get counsel and direction, and then go plant yourself.
I’ve been reflecting again on the fundamental power of beliefs, and how core beliefs impact our choices, relationships, and ultimately our destiny. This brought up the memory of a conversation I had with our team leader out in the village in Mali one day, a conversation that could have been mundane but went unexpectedly deep and turned into a discipleship opportunity. I wrote down my reflections about it that same day – and it just seems like something good to share here.
Worship under the ‘hangar’. Every courtyard has one – it’s the all-purpose meeting, greeting, eating and living space in Malian villages.
Feb. 17, 2019 in a village somewhere in West Africa
“I needed to trim my beard today, as well as shave my head. I really needed to do these things a good three days ago, but when I’m out in the village I tend to leave these personal grooming tasks undone longer than I should. It’s just more of a hassle here where I don’t have a bathroom, much less a bathroom sink and mirror. No one takes longer in the nyege (the mud-brick enclosed pit toilet) than necessary, or in the mud-brick shower enclosure for that matter. My options are 1) to sit outside where the light is good (if not blindingly bright), prop the mirror on a chair opposite the one I’m sitting on, and go at it. I have done this. It draws an audience of fascinated children. Any other man in the village might do this and attract no attention at all, but then as the only toubob (white person) in the entire region I can’t get away with that. The second option is what I usually go for: to sit in my room where the light is not so good, prop the mirror on the same little table that is my desk, dining table and general work surface, and begin the tedious process with a pair of scissors. I realize that this is not something to complain about, and I assure you I am not complaining. That would be petty. I am coming around to a serious subject..
In serious need of a beard trimming
There is a third option to get the job done. I mentioned it one day over lunch, while dipping a chunk of tô into a sauce of dried fish and okra, with a little flick of the wrist to keep the viscuous sauce from dripping onto my shirt as I brought my hand towards my mouth. There are barbers in the village! I might easily go to one of them and have my beard trimmed by a pro. Why not? It would be like a ‘spa day’ of sorts, and I could do with a little simple luxury now and then. Seated under an ancient mango tree in the shade, I could relax, let someone else do the work and have some conversation into the bargain. I’d be supporting the local economy as well … but in more ways than I really want to, as it turns out. I was promptly reminded that I’m a white man… dang! It’s not that I had actually forgotten that inconvenient fact – it’s just that I stop thinking about it after a while. But nobody else forgets… Local ‘marabouts’ (Muslim witch doctors) covet the hair of white people to make their charms and amulets, and the barber would undoubtedly sell my beard trimmings to one if not several of these guys. I bet you didn’t think of that, did you?
‘Oh, come on!’ you might say. ‘What’s the big deal? A few people will make some money off of something you would have tossed in the trash. Is that so terrible?’ But the thing is, besides the fact that it is just creepy, somebody is going to part with more money than they can afford for that charm or amulet, in the false hope of healing, protection or some special kind of ‘blessing.’ I have spent enough time in Africa to see the unhappy consequences of dependence on witchcraft, just in the practical, natural realm – without even broaching the subject of all the demonic activity it invites. But what really irks me about this particular practice is not only the false belief that one can successfully manipulate and bend spiritual powers to one’s own benefit, playing god – but that a white man’s hair should be so much more valued than an African’s hair. The underlying assumption is that white people are somehow endowed with special power, favor or grace that Africans don’t have. The logic is to draw some of that favor or power onto the one who wears such an amulet or charm, to increase their chances of success, whatever the particular goal may be. But it is ‘logic’ based on a lie!
The ‘hangar’ as it’s called, where so many conversations happen. When people are not sitting in this outdoor living space, the animals are quick to take advantage of the shade to escape the punishing dry season sun!
What if the lucky buyer who got that charm (with my beard hair in it) got a good dose of my timidity, or better yet, my tendency to procrastinate, or complain – instead of my better qualities. Wouldn’t that be an unpleasant surprise! He’d be much better off sticking with his own mix of strengths and weaknesses. The basic truth that each of us is made in the image of God, made to inherit grace and glory, despite our brokenness – this is the only reasonable place from which to understand our journey through life. But if you begin with the assumption that some are superior and that you are fundamentally inferior, that you started with only half a loaf, you will also assume that scheming and manipulation is the only hope you have to get hold of the rest – since God didn’t deign to bless you as He has others. In West Africa, one of the forms this takes is making deals with the shady side of the spiritual realm. No one I have met in this context is proud of their entanglements with witchcraft, and it’s rarely discussed – it’s just a ‘necessary evil’. In the more developed world, we have countless other ways of trying to manipulate people and outcomes to get hold of the ‘blessing’ that always seems to be for someone else, and not for us.
That is why I’m not interested in simply gathering people into groups that meet one day a week and then slapping a label on it that says “church,” especially if it has little impact on how we are living in the day to day! I want to see the Word of God penetrate people’s hearts, minds and relationships to the degree that false beliefs about identity, purpose and destiny (the beliefs that really determine attitudes and life choices) can be exposed and challenged. Truth really does set us free – free to not only hope for more than what we’ve known, free to not just pursue something better in life, but free to believe that God’s intentions for us are good. I think this is part of what what Jesus meant when He said ‘Go and make disciples – not converts – of all nations, all ethnic groups. Disciples are learners, apprentices to truth, people in the process of transformation, unlearning old ways and adopting new ones. A ‘convert’ on the other hand, may simply accept a new set of beliefs while continuing to live by the old, without ever seeing the discrepancy.
A recent worship gathering in Koyala
One of the most basic truths to begin with is that God values – even cherishes – all peoples equally as made in his image, and therefore as having unimaginable worth. This is powerful good news! It means that we don’t need to constantly look for ways to ‘work’ the system – whatever system you happen to be in. It means that we don’t need to employ magic or manipulation, incantations or calculations to get what we want out of people we don’t trust or from a god we can’t know (which tends to be frustrating and exhausting). It means we can trust and obey, do our best and expect the best, because we have a good Father who knows what we need before we ask Him. And He invites us to ask; no special incantations, no magic formula, and no beard hairs of a white man required.
“I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them. I will turn darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them. (Isa. 42:16).
How did I get here? This question is often asked when someone has gotten sidetracked, lost their way, or finds themselves in a situation they never imagined – or wanted – to be in. As for me, I’m well into my 65th year, I recently received my Medicare card, I’m still happily working in a ministry-oriented job that I love but never anticipated, and life is good. As a new believer (I came to Jesus in February, 1975) I often listened to a program on Christian radio, The King’s Hour, hosted by Dr. Robert Cook. He would open his broadcast with, “Hello my friend! How in the world are you?” And he would end each devotional talk with this phrase, a phrase that has stuck with me all these years:
“Walk with the King today, and be a blessing.”
That’s how I got here. It’s the best advice I could give to anyone interested in doing God’s will. Considering that I never expected to make it past the age of 55 due to an incurable blood cancer, I feel incredibly blessed – surprised even – by the sheer kindness of God that has brought me this far. I also need to say that I haven’t really gotten anywhere in life by careful planning and judicious goal-setting. In my younger years, I sometimes felt mildly guilty or irresponsible for not having that 5 or 10-year plan sketched out, with some clear vision for how I wanted my life to look down the road. The idea is, you craft this vision of your future, and then that vision guides your decisions and actions as you move forward so that you don’t live a careless, haphazard kind of life and end up nowhere in particular.
The sign says “Attention – Bridge. Surprises await you!” Photo credit: Ewien van Bergeijk – BTwienClicksPhotography
I’m not criticizing that approach – it’s just that I’ve found life to be way too unpredictable. And not just life; I’ve found my own heart to be way too unpredictable. How do I even know that I will still want the thing I planned for myself ten years into the future when I finally get there? The one constant in this earthly life is change. Change touches everything – physical circumstances, economies, societies, bodies, minds, families and relationships. All are subject to forces outside of our control. But does that mean we should all give up aiming for anything and just be a leaf in the wind? All of us have been designed by God with purpose in mind, with gifts and abilities, personalities, intellects and tendencies that are not only useful, but delightful and even powerful elements for good in this world. For me, the big question is not necessarily what do I want my life to look like in the next 5, 10 or 20 years, but how can I serve God’s purpose? Not, ‘What is God’s will for my life?” But ‘what is God’s will for the world how can I participate in it?’
Does God have a specific, unique plan for your life? I believe He does, but it probably will not look anything like your 5-year plan, your vision statement, or anything else you carefully craft on paper. Most likely, you will not know any of the future details of that plan. I can almost guarantee that the only way you’ll discover it is by taking one step at a time, navigating the sharp, unexpected curves in the road (hopefully without a major crash) as you come upon them, and that it will only be in retrospect that you see things clearly.
A dry season view from our base in Mali
As a new believer in my latter years of high school, I knew I wanted to serve God in some kind of Christian ministry, but beyond that, I had no details. As time went on, I realized I had a gift for teaching (confirmed to me by fellow believers and church leaders). It wasn’t until Bible college a few years later that my wife and I heard God’s very clear call to serve in Africa, specifically in Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of Congo). That call came through the invitation of a missionary. It was not something we sought out – it found us! That was the only time in my life I had a clear (more or less) plan for the future: to serve as a missionary-teacher in Congo. All the necessary preparation and support-raising took up the next five years. And then finally one day, we were there! It was wonderful, hard, life-changing, risky, and rewarding. I could never have guessed how life was going to unfold after that. Nothing else from that point on has gone the way I would have planned – including a year spent in a bush village planting a church. I didn’t see myself as a church planter/evangelist, or living in a bush village. I was a teacher. But every next step since those days has been nothing I would have expected or planned – it’s been so much better!
During our first years in Congo, my 5, 10, 20, even forty year plan was to go on doing what I was doing, what I loved – and nothing else. I’d found my place in the world. The only problem was, the world changed. At the five-year mark, bullets were bouncing off our house, military were on a rampage, our neighborhood was trashed, and we found ourselves on an emergency evacuation flight back to the USA. For the next two years I tried desperately to pick up the wreckage and resume our life in Congo – because I had no other plan and couldn’t envisage one – but the pieces refused to fit and life had irrevocably changed.
Eventually I had to surrender and just say, “Lord, you’re in control, please lead us.” He has, step by step. That was over 30 years ago. Since then, I’ve never made another long range plan. With each transition, the ‘next thing’ presented itself, or I was already doing it without realizing it was the next thing. After Congo, and fumbling around for a while, I became involved by degrees serving, teaching, leading worship and preaching for the congregation that had become our church family. I had always sworn I would never be a pastor, but by the time I was formerly asked to serve in this role and it became official, I was already neck deep in the job. What a learning curve, what a privilege, and what a mercy to me and my family to share life with those people!
During those years, I began making visits to Mali, West Africa, to teach a few weeks each year at a YWAM base, at the invitation of a friend who worked there. Relationships developed, weeks sometimes turned into months, and after 16 years of pastoral ministry, YWAM leaders asked me to consider coming to Mali to spearhead a church-planting project in an unreached area that was open to the Gospel. I had a wonderful associate pastor to whom I could entrust the church, and I didn’t see any good reason to refuse an opportunity to reach the unreached in yet another part of Africa I had grown to love, and to do it with people I had grown to love. I’m not saying that the doing of it was easy – there were lots of challenges, setbacks and hardships along the way (like almost dying of cancer) – but the direction and plan were never in question.
Getting there by donkey cart
Fast-forward 9 years. I was praying about transitioning out of the work in MalI and turning things over to our capable team there, with a desire to maybe have a larger reach in Africa. I had no idea what that would look like or how it could happen. I couldn’t see any specific thing to do about it. Then one day while in the village in Mali, I received a message (via Facebook), from a family friend. Would I be interested in training church leaders across Central Africa to reach their communities with the Gospel? Yes, as a matter of fact, I would! The details took several months to work out, but in a September 2019 I started a full-time job with Operation Christmas Child – something I would never have imagined myself doing! In a round-about way, this brought me full-circle, traveling frequently back to the Democratic Republic of Congo, where I’d started in ministry all those years ago.
I share all this personal history to make a simple point: most of my life – especially the big steps and major changes – has been unplanned, unlooked-for, and not what I would have imagined myself doing. I didn’t know enough about the future (and who among us really does?) to plan these things for myself. At the same time, each of these big transitions has felt natural, precisely because I wasn’t trying to orchestrate the next step. God did the orchestrating, all I did was step through – or sometimes stumble into – the next open door in front of me.
Some beautiful feet
It’s not that I have moved through life aimlessly, with no plan or sense of purpose, or easily, without significant hardships. It’s just that the plan has been exceedingly simple: walk with God.
That has been my only real plan, to follow Jesus in this world and to be useful. I can assure you that I’ve done this very imperfectly, with my share of missteps, mess-ups, and detours. But through all the twists and turns and ups and downs, He has been faithful. And this is my encouragement to you: if your desire is to follow Jesus and stay close to Him, if you set your heart to serve and be a blessing wherever you find yourself, the Good Shepherd will lead you and position you exactly where He wants you to be, one step at a time. He knows better than anyone where you will thrive, where you will be most useful, and what circumstances will best shape your life to His design in any particular season. You can trust Him. So… Walk with the King today, and be a blessing!
ESPOIR, DÉCEPTION ET PLUS GRANDS PROJETS (Lire Luc 1 : 5-80)
Je ne me lasse jamais des contes bibliques de la venue de Jésus dans le monde et de tous les détails que les Écritures nous donnent sur les événements entourant ce moment charnière de l’histoire. Les personnes impliquées dans ces événements étaient de vraies personnes comme nous, avec les mêmes types d’espoirs, de rêves, d’inquiétudes et de peurs que chacun d’entre nous pourrait éprouver au cours des hauts et des bas de la vie. Leurs expériences sont enregistrées pour notre bénéfice, et il y a tellement de belles leçons à apprendre si nous prenons le temps de réfléchir à ces histoires.
J’ai réfléchi cette semaine au « prologue » de l’histoire, trouvé dans Luc chapitre un, qui met en scène deux personnes fidèles, Zacharie et sa femme Elizabeth, qui sont devenues les parents de Jean-Baptiste. Zacharie et Elisabeth descendent tous deux d’une lignée sacerdotale. Luc nous dit qu’ils étaient irréprochables – des gens vraiment bons qui faisaient de leur mieux pour mener fidèlement leur vie selon les commandements de Dieu.
Ils vivaient également la tragédie suprême pour les gens de leur époque et de leur culture : ils n’avaient pas d’enfants malgré tout ce qu’ils faisaient correctement. Cette situation aurait entraîné une honte publique ainsi qu’un chagrin privé qui se sont poursuivis année après année, alors même que leurs espoirs d’avoir leur propre enfant s’estompaient avec le temps. La communauté aurait supposé que si Dieu avait refusé cette bénédiction la plus nécessaire et la plus fondamentale à Zacharie et à Elizabeth, c’était parce que quelque chose n’allait pas chez eux – un péché secret ou un profond défaut de caractère. Au cours de ces années difficiles de déception, de questions sans réponse, d’humiliation publique et de chagrin privé, jusqu’à ce que tout espoir d’avoir un enfant disparaisse, ils ont persévéré et sont restés fidèles à Dieu – non sans quelques blessures au cœur, et du moins pour Zacharie, certaines sentiment d’offense envers Dieu et difficulté à avoir foi en l’avenir.
Et puis quelque chose d’inattendu se produit. Zacharie est choisi pour entrer dans le temple de Jérusalem pour offrir de parfum et intercéder pour le peuple. Il y avait tellement de prêtres à cette époque dans l’histoire d’Israël qu’un homme pouvait servir comme prêtre toute sa vie sans jamais avoir cette opportunité, c’est donc un grand privilège. Une foule de gens attendent dehors tandis que Zacharie entre, et maintenant quelque chose d’encore plus inattendu se produit. Un ange apparaît à Zacharie et lui annonce que lui et sa femme Elisabeth auront un fils, et que cet enfant sera le précurseur du Messie qui annoncera sa venue ! Cela doit être la meilleure nouvelle que Zacharie ait jamais entendue, et nous pourrions imaginer qu’il soit extatique de joie… mais il a un problème. Après tant d’années d’espoir suivies de douloureuses déceptions, cela semble trop beau pour être vrai. Sa seule réponse à cette étonnante nouvelle est une expression de doute : « Comment puis-je en être sûr ? » avec un soupçon d’accusation contre Dieu – « ma femme et moi sommes trop vieux maintenant ». Pourquoi Dieu n’a-t-il pas répondu à nos prières plus tôt ? Pourquoi nous a-t-il laissé lutter toutes ces années ?
Ce qui me frappe dans cette rencontre entre Zacharie et l’ange Gabriel, c’est que Dieu n’explique pas le « pourquoi » à son prêtre fidèle – fidèle mais bien troublé. Il ne s’excuse pas auprès de Zacharie pour toutes ces longues années d’attente, pour toutes les déceptions et les chagrins. Notre Dieu est un consolateur, un guérisseur, un restaurateur d’espérance, un enseignant patient et un Père compatissant, mais il n’a pas l’habitude de s’excuser, car ses voies sont parfaites ! Alors, que fait Dieu de Zacharie ? Il l’envoie dans une « retraite silencieuse ». La réponse à la question de Zacharie, ainsi que les preuves de la bonté et de la fidélité de Dieu, sont toutes là dans les histoires sacrés de l’Écriture : Abraham et Sarah, Isaac et Rébecca, Hannah, des gens qui ont vécu l’expérience la stérilité, le brisement, de longues périodes d’attente et finalement la bénédiction alors qu’ils faisaient confiance au Fidèle. Zacharie allait avoir neuf mois pour réfléchir, écouter et régler les problèmes avec le Seigneur. Et il y parvient ! La prochaine fois qu’il parlera, ce sera pour annoncer la fidélité de Dieu à accomplir les promesses qu’il a faites il y a longtemps, et pour proclamer sa miséricorde, sa bonté et son pardon.
Dans ce même chapitre de l’Évangile de Luc, nous avons l’histoire de la visite de l’ange Gabriel à Marie pour faire une annonce similaire – un autre miracle de conception et de naissance en accomplissement des promesses de Dieu. Beaucoup de gens ont remarqué le grand contraste entre la question de Marie à l’ange : « Comment cela est-il possible ? – et la question de Zacharie. La question de Marie est posée avec foi, comme le montre sa réponse : « Je suis la servante du Seigneur. Que ta parole pour moi s’accomplisse ». La question de Zacharie est pleine de doute et d’incrédulité. Il est facile de critiquer ce frère aîné qui souffre depuis longtemps pour son manque de foi lorsque nous le comparons à Marie. Mais je pense que je comprends ce vieil homme – au moins un peu…
Marie est au début de son chemin de foi : jeune, prête à tout, pleine d’espérance et de courage. Elle a cette énergie et cette résilience de la jeunesse. Notre frère Zacharie, en revanche, est à l’autre bout de la vie – il a été abattu par des années de difficultés et littéralement des décennies de déception, alors ne soyons pas trop durs avec lui. En fin de compte, Zacharie voit la situation dans son ensemble – au moins suffisamment pour renouveler sa confiance dans la bonté d’un Dieu qui a réellement un plan, un plan qui non seulement nous inclut, mais un plan qui produira le plus grand bien pour nous, et la plus grande gloire pour Lui. Si nous pouvons tenir le coup comme Zacharie l’a fait, même malgré les retards, les déceptions et les chagrins, nous ne pouvons pas échouer – parce que Dieu sait ce qu’Il fait.
Et toi, mon cher ? Peut-être que vous portez encore la douleur d’une déception particulière ou que vous vous sentez blessé et oublié. Peut-être que quelqu’un a fait des promesses et vous a ensuite laissé tomber ou vous a profondément blessé. Il y a peut-être des gens qui vous doivent des excuses, que vous ne recevrez peut-être jamais ou non. Mais pas Dieu. Il ne vous a jamais fait de mal ni commis d’erreur en élaborant son plan pour votre vie. Ce que Zacharie et Elizabeth n’auraient pas pu savoir au cours de toutes ces longues années de douleur, c’est que Dieu leur accordait un privilège inimaginable : jouer un rôle direct dans l’avènement du Sauveur de l’humanité ! Ils ont été des acteurs clés dans une histoire qui aurait un impact bien au-delà de leur petit coin du monde, et leurs vies serviraient à jamais de panneaux indicateurs dirigeant les autres vers Celui qui est Fidèle et Digne de confiance.
Et maintenant? C’est notre tour ; chacun de nous est invité à jouer son rôle dans la Grande Histoire. « Car tout ce qui a été écrit autrefois l’a été pour notre instruction, afin que, par la persévérance et l’encouragement des Écritures, nous ayons l’espérance. » (Romains 15 : 4). En cette période de Noël, je vous souhaite de la persévérance, des encouragements et un espoir invaincu qui vous mèneront au-delà de toute déception.
I finished writing this devotional piece this morning to send to international staff serving in places like Sudan and South Sudan – challenging places where life is unpredictable, the work is hard, and disappointment is often part of the landscape. You might want to refresh your memory of Luke chapter one so that you’ll have the context fresh in your mind as you read. My hope is that this meditation will be an encouragement to you, wherever you are and whatever your circumstances look like today.
I never get tired of the biblical accounts of Jesus’ coming into the world, and all the details the Scriptures give us of the events surrounding this pivotal moment in history. The people caught up in these events were real people like us, with the same kinds of hopes, dreams, worries and fears that any of us might experience as we move through the ups and downs of life. Their experiences are recorded for our benefit, and there are so many great lessons to learn if we take time to ponder over these stories.
The Angel Appears to Zacharias – painted by William Blake 1799-1800
I’ve been reflecting this week on the ‘prologue’ to the story, found in Luke chapter one, which features two faithful people, Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth, who became the parents of John the Baptist. Zechariah and Elizabeth are both descendants of a priestly line. Luke tells us they were blameless – truly good people who did their best to order their lives faithfully according to God’s commands.
They were also living out the supreme tragedy for people of their day and culture: they were childless in spite of doing everything right. This situation would have meant public shame as well as private grief that continued year after year, even as their hopes for a child of their own faded with the passage of time. The community would have assumed that, if God had withheld this most necessary and basic blessing from Zechariah and Elizabeth, it was because something was wrong with them – some secret sin or deep character flaw. Through those difficult years of disappointment, unanswered questions, public humiliation and private grief, until all hope of having a child was gone, they persevered and remained faithful to God – but not without some wounds to their hearts, and at least for Zechariah, some sense of offense with God and difficulty in having faith for the future.
And then something unexpected happens. Zechariah is chosen to go into the temple at Jerusalem to burn incense and intercede for the people. There were so many priests by this time in Israel’s history, that a man could serve as a priest his entire life and never have this opportunity, so it’s a big deal. A crowd of people are waiting outside as Zechariah goes in, and now something even more unexpected happens. An angel appears to Zechariah and announces that he and his wife Elizabeth will have a son, and that this child will be the forerunner of the Messiah who will announce His coming! This has got to be the best news that Zechariah has ever heard, and we might expect him to be ecstatic with joy… but he has a problem. After so many years of hope followed by painful disappointment it sounds too good to be true. His only response to this amazing news is an expression of doubt – “How can I be sure of this?” along with a hint of accusation against God – “my wife and I are too old now.” Why didn’t God answer our prayers sooner? Why did He let us struggle all these years?
What stands out to me about this encounter between Zechariah and the angel Gabriel is that God doesn’t explain the ‘why’ to His faithful – but struggling – priest. He doesn’t apologize to Zechariah for all the long years of waiting, for all the disappointments and heartache. Our God is a comforter, healer, restorer of hope, a patient teacher and a compassionate Father, but He is not in the habit of apologizing, because His ways are perfect! So, what does God do with Zechariah? He sends him on a ‘silent retreat.’ The answer to Zechariah’s question, as well as the proofs of God’s goodness and faithfulness, are all there in the sacred stories of Scripture: Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Hannah, people who experienced barrenness, brokenness, long periods of waiting, and ultimately blessedness as they trusted in the Faithful One. Zechariah was going to have nine months to reflect, listen, and work things out with the Lord. And he does work it out! The next time he speaks it is to announce God’s faithfulness to fulfill the promises He made long ago, and to proclaim His mercy, kindness and forgiveness.
In this same chapter of Luke’s Gospel, we have the story of the angel Gabriel’s visit to Mary to make a similar announcement – another miracle of conception and birth in fulfillment of God’s promises. Many people have noted the great contrast between Mary’s question to the angel – “How can this be?” – and Zechariah’s question. Mary’s question is spoken in faith, as we see by her response: “I’m the Lord’s servant. May your word to me be fulfilled.” Zechariah’s question is full of doubt and unbelief. It’s easy to criticize this long-suffering older brother for his lack of faith as we compare him to Mary. But I think I understand this old man – at least a little bit…
Mary is at the beginning of her faith journey – young, ready for anything, full of hope and courage. She has that energy and resilience of youth. Our brother Zechariah, on the other hand, is at the other end of life – he’s been beaten down by years of hardship and literally decades of disappointment, so let’s not be too hard on him. In the end, Zechariah sees the bigger picture – at least enough of it to renew his trust in the goodness of a God who really does have a plan, a plan that not only includes us, but a plan that will produce the highest good for us and the most glory for Him. If we can hang in there like Zechariah did, even through the delays, disappointments and heartbreak, we cannot lose – because God knows what He is doing.
And what about you, dear one? Maybe you are still carrying around the pain of some particular disappointment, or feeling hurt and forgotten. Maybe someone made promises and then let you down or hurt you deeply. Maybe there are people who owe you an apology, which you may or may not ever receive. But not God. He has never, ever, done you wrong or made a mistake in working out His plan for your life. What Zechariah and Elizabeth could not have known through all those long years of pain, was that God was setting them up for unimaginable privilege – to have a direct role in ushering in the Savior of mankind! They were key players in a story that would have an impact far beyond their small corner of the world, and their lives would forever serve as signposts pointing others to the One who is Faithful and Trustworthy.
And now? It’s our turn; each of us is invited to fulfill our role in the Big Story. “For whatever was written in earlier times was written for our instruction, so that through perseverance and the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.” (Romans 15:4). In this Christmas season I wish you perseverance, encouragement, and undefeated hope that will carry you beyond any and every disappointment.
I know the plans that I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. (Jer. 29:11)
Before you roll your eyes at someone taking this verse out of context for the millionth time, I’m aware of the context. The people of Judah & Jerusalem were about to go into a seventy year period of captivity in a foreign land, and the future seemed utterly hopeless. But the thing is, people need hope to survive – especially when things appear bleak. So God sent this word of hope, this good news, to His people through Jeremiah, nestled right in the middle of a message of judgement and ‘bad news.’ It would be something to hang on to.
And what got me thinking about hope recently, was a somewhat bizarre experience at the hotel where I’m staying in N’Djamena, Chad. This hotel is a little off the beaten path and not one frequented by visitors from the West. But affordable and nice enough. (OK, in this type of hotel, the toilet seat will most likely be broken, there may or may not be hot water for the shower, the decor – if there is any – will be gauche and not in line with western sensibilities – and there may be a vase of plastic flowers on the ornate, faux marble coffee table. But if it’s clean and reasonably comfortable, I really don’t care). So what happened in this hotel, before I took off for a long road trip to get things done in several towns down south, not far from the border with Central African Republic?
Our first night here was peaceful enough… but the next day, as we were having a work meeting on a balcony looking out over the front courtyard and entrance, two buses – very full buses – pulled up and discharged a hoard of mostly young men. Within a few more minutes, they were coming up the stairs (no elevator here), and dispersing everywhere to find their assigned rooms. Several of them, one after another, interrupted our meeting to greet us as you would normally do in a rural village setting. And nothing was peaceful after that. This group had obviously never been in a hotel before, and probably had never been in the city either. They were as lost in this building as I would be in Kathmandu, roaming up and down the corridors, banging on doors and sometimes opening unlocked doors trying to find their friends, or sometimes just their own rooms. They called to each other at the top of their voices as if they were back in the village herding camels. It was mayhem, and I was intrigued – who were they and why were they all here? At first I was mistakenly told they were Chadian nationals repatriated from Sudan because of the ongoing war there. It didn’t seem that any of them spoke French, just Chadian Arabic, but I really wanted to talk to one of them and get their story.
The next day I was able to have that conversation. As I was passing one of these guys in the hallyway on my floor – someone who seemed a bit older than most of them – I stopped to ask him if he spoke French, and he did. I asked him where they were from and why they were here. His accent was a bit strange to my ears, and I’m sure mine was to his as well, but we both made an effort to connect and communicate. I’m usually not this persistent with a stranger, but it just felt important to understand. And what was the story? He and all the others had just arrived from Libya, which was not at all what I’d expected.
They were all Chadian nationals from the north – a desert region – and had all at one time or another crossed over the border into Libya, illegal immigrants looking for work, for a way forward, for some kind of a future. There is little opportunity for education, for work, or for any kind of advancement if you’re a young person in one of these northern villages – unless you want to simply be a livestock herder and barely eke out an existence in an increasingly harsh climate. Like so many do, they had crossed over the border into Libya with some meager hope of a better life.
So what happened? I’ll be direct here and just say it – people in the Arab world in places like Libya bear extreme prejudice against black Africans and treat them shamefully. One by one, all these young men were arrested and put in prison. Some had been there just 3 or 4 months, some longer. All had suffered. The Chadian ambassador to Libya had negotiated for their release, and just the day before I spoke with this man, whose name is Moussa, by the way, they had been released from prison at 1 a.m. and transported directly to N’Djamena. The government put them up in this hotel and they were to receive 2 days of training to help them reintegrate into society here in Chad. There was some conjecture that the government was going to give each of them a certain sum of money to get resettled. My heart. So much struggle, so little hope, so much desperation that would force people to venture into a country where racism against black Africans and terrible mistreatment are well-known facts.
I asked Moussa what his dream – his hope – for the future was. He told me if he could get the start-up money, he wanted to be a ‘commerçant.’ (A French word for a shopkeeper, merchant, businessman). A practical, reasonable hope – nothing grand or outrageous, but maybe as out of reach as the moon. Moussa was soft-spoken, with a kind face and a gentle smile. I asked him if he had heard of Jesus.
“Well of course,” he replied. So I encouraged to him to pray in the name of Jesus, to ask God to reveal Himself and to direct his steps, to show him the way forward. I shared a little bit with him about how sick I had been with cancer 10 years ago, and how sure I was that I was going to die. I told him how Jesus assured me I would live and then brought me back to health. I wanted so much to share hope with Moussa, to impart it to him, to make sure he walked away from that encounter with some measure of hope firmly planted in his heart. I asked him if I could pray for him, and he gladly accepted. I don’t remember the exact words I used, but I put my hopes for Moussa into that prayer, that he would know Jesus and the eternal hope we can have in Him, and that our good Father in heaven would make a way for him in the here and now and provide his needs. He seemed genuinely touched and shook my hand warmly as we said our farewells.
I’ll be honest and say that there’s a side of me that wanted to be irritated and put out that this unruly group, who were so clueless about city etiquette, much less hotel etiquette, had to show up at this particular hotel during my brief stay, just when I really needed a few good nights of rest before the next grueling leg of this work trip. But on the other hand, maybe this was more of an opportunity that an annoying coincidence. As I said at the start of this little story, people need hope to survive, life can be so much harder than we realize for so many, and desperation can push people to trespass all kinds of borders. So let’s not be quick to disapprove, to frown and judge. Let’s share the hope we have in abundance as believers in Jesus. Maybe that encounter with Moussa was a divine appointment, and maybe he walked away from our brief conversation with a new kind of hope.
I’ve just done something I’ve never done before, and would never have pictured myself doing. It’s kind of about cancer, and about fitness and how it helps me stay a step ahead, and … well… I’ve just entered a fitness competition! I was worried that people might think this was a ‘show-off’ kind of thing, and out of character for a pastor/missionary/international Christian worker. And then I remembered I’ll be 65 this year and that worrying over-much about people’s opinions should be something I’m over, or at least getting over. At the end of this post you’ll find a link to my profile page for this online competition, with all the details. But first, a little backstory…
Chemo day, which is a once a month thing these days.
Sometimes in life I’ve felt the pressure to prove myself. When you’re a short, small guy and you don’t burst on the scene loud & proud, bragging about all the great things you’re going to do, people tend to underestimate & overlook you. 38 years ago when my wife and I were preparing to go to Congo as missionaries, many of our friends and peers had doubts… “Little Paul & Cindy, (I was 5’6” and 120 pounds soaking wet, Cindy petite and under 5 feet). “How are they going to make it in a rough place like Congo? I can’t see them lasting.” We were too nice, too gentle, too timid, to shy, too naive, not bold enough and not brave enough, etc.
But strength and resilience are more internal than external realities and often not visible on the surface – until circumstances call for them. By God’s grace, we not only survived, we thrived. We embraced our new country and culture with open arms and hearts, lots of flexibility, and certainly some mistakes along the way. We didn’t really have to prove ourselves – circumstances proved us while we weathered the inevitable storms. And that’s how life works if we can trust God and be humble.
Way back in the day – the family of 5 that fit on a Yamaha
But these days, I don’t feel that pressure. After Friday’s chemo, which leaves me really tired for several hours, I took a nap, and eventually went to the gym. No need to prove to anyone that I’m strong, resilient and I don’t need rest. I need it, believe me, and age is definitely a factor – but also an advantage… I’ve done the hard stuff, the risky stuff, lived in some of the most difficult places in the world, faced plenty of dangers, argued my way through military blockades manned by drunken soldiers waving guns, become fluent in two languages besides English, and served people in need on several continents. I plan to continue. It’s been a joy, a privilege and it’s all by God’s grace. But at this stage in life I don’t need to prove anything. I’m just hoping to continue improving myself and to be an encouragement to others.
So… I’ve entered this competition – because I thought it would be fun to do something totally different – which can also serve as an opportunity to encourage people toward fitness, as well as a chance to do some more good in this world. Check it out! Voting starts Monday, May 1st. Follow the link below. And thanks!
If you’ve ever failed miserably, let others down and disappointed yourself beyond what you thought possible, here is some is good news. The Gospel accounts of events leading up to Jesus’ death on the cross and those surrounding His resurrection are full of lessons for us – if we will take the time to look, listen and learn. Let’s explore just one of those lessons, which plays out in the life of Peter.
“You will all fall away,” Jesus told them, “for it is written: “‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.’ But after I have risen, I will go ahead of you into Galilee.” Peter declared, “Even if all fall away, I will not.” “Truly I tell you,” Jesus answered, “today—yes, tonight—before the rooster crows twice you yourself will disown me three times.” But Peter insisted emphatically, “Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you.” And all the others said the same. (Mark 14:27-31)
“My children, I will be with you only a little longer. You will look for me, and just as I told the Jews, so I tell you now: Where I am going, you cannot come. A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Simon Peter asked him, “Lord, where are you going?” Jesus replied, “Where I am going, you cannot follow now, but you will follow later.” Peter asked, “Lord, why can’t I follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.”
Then Jesus answered, “Will you really lay down your life for me? Very truly I tell you, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times! “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.” (John 13:33 – 4:4)
From the start, Peter had been part of Jesus’ inner circle. Along with James and John, he had been included in some of the most powerful encounters and intimate moments of the Lord’s three and a half years of ministry—but yet he often missed the point and failed to see beyond the surface to receive Jesus’ self-revelation in those moments. He was more focused on the “success” of the enterprise and what he could do to ensure that success (especially as Jesus’ most dedicated disciple—in his own mind at least), and so he failed to experience the intimacy that was being offered. It’s hard to experience intimacy in relationships when you’ve always got something to prove. But now Jesus was going away, and this time the disciples couldn’t follow—not even Peter. He couldn’t accept that there was something he was not capable of doing, especially when it was the most important thing of all.
Observe in Mark’s account of the Upper Room scene how Peter essentially claimed to be the most dedicated disciple: “Even if all fall away, I will not!” I wonder how the other disciples felt about that statement? I’m sure Peter’s heart sank like a stone when Jesus looked at him and said, “No, Peter, not only are you incapable of following Me right now, but you’re going to fall flat on your face just trying!”
Imagine yourself in Peter’s place. After all this time working your hardest, trying your utmost to prove your worth, to be the best, Jesus has just told you that you will fail—and fail badly! You would feel sick with dismay and disbelief. But then, in His very next breath, Jesus said the craziest thing: “Don’t worry about it—it’s going to be okay. Trust God, and trust Me! (Maybe as opposed to trusting in your own ability get everything right). I’m going to do something for you, something that will make it possible for you to follow Me and to be with Me—really be with me—where I am. I’m going to bring you to a place of intimacy you could never get to on your own!”
As that night progressed, events unfolded just as Jesus predicted. When He was arrested and taken to the residence of the high priest, Peter and John followed at a distance. John was somehow already known to the high priest’s family, so he went in, but Peter had to wait at the gate until John came back out to vouch for him. And this was where Peter’s bold claims—that he would follow Jesus to the end and never falter— pitifully unraveled. A servant girl, the most unimportant person imaginable in that day, was on-duty at the gate. And suddenly all of Peter’s bold self-confidence, all of his formidable selfstrength, crumbled in that moment as she challenged him with the question: “You aren’t one of this man’s disciples too, are you?”
“I am not!” All the hidden fear, all the human weakness that he could never acknowledge, betrayed him in that moment, and he couldn’t stand up to even a young teenage girl—let alone the men who would question him a second and third time as they all stood around a charcoal fire to stay warm. He would make the same denial at each challenge, finally with some angry curses thrown in for good measure. He would come to intimately understand the reality of his weakness as a man, the limits of his own ability. The Scripture tells us that after that took place, he went out and wept bitterly. My guess is that he was not only weeping over the fact that he had publicly disowned the dearest Friend a man could ever have, but he was equally weeping over the shattering of that false but cherished self-image he had held as the strongest, the best, the most devoted disciple. When that image you’ve lovingly polished and protected lies in pieces around you and you are brought to realize that you’ve done no better than anyone else—and possibly much worse— it’s a bitter moment indeed. But it’s also a blessed one. It was by far the worst thing and, at the same time, the best thing that could have happened to Peter. That native independence, born of a naïve trust in his own abilities, was finally crumbling.
Follow Me—Intimacy through Obedience
If you’ve read the gospel accounts, you know the rest of the story. In the days following Jesus’ resurrection, He appeared to the group of disciples on several occasions with words of peace, reassurance, and the hope of good things to come. Beneath the mind-blowing joy they must have experienced, however, I wonder what was going on in Peter’s heart and mind. From the confusion of Jesus’ arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane, where “they all left Him and fled,” to Peter’s pivotal failure in the courtyard of the high priest, none of them had exactly been star performers! The private conversations Jesus must have had with the disciples after His resurrection are not recorded for us (and I like that fact, actually!), but this “inbetween time” had to have been somewhat awkward while everyone waited for whatever was coming next. You see, there was an “elephant in the room”—Peter’s profanity-laced denial of Jesus—which no one was talking about. Peter must have been wondering if things could ever be the same between him and the Lord—but Jesus had a plan. And no, this relationship would never be the same. It would actually be better and deeper than ever before.
Finally the day came for a “reboot” of Peter’s relationship with Jesus, the day to clear the air and to begin again. Take a few moments to read about it in John 21: “Afterward Jesus appeared again to his disciples, by the Sea of Galilee. It happened this way: Simon Peter, Thomas (also known as Didymus), Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two other disciples were together. “I’m going out to fish,” Simon Peter told them, and they said, “We’ll go with you.” So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus. He called out to them, “Friends, haven’t you any fish?” “No,” they answered. He said, “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” When they did, they were unable to haul the net in because of the large number of fish. Then the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” As soon as Simon Peter heard him say, “It is the Lord,” he wrapped his outer garment around him (for he had taken it off) and jumped into the water. The other disciples followed in the boat, towing the net full of fish, for they were not far from shore, about a hundred yards. When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you have just caught.”
So Simon Peter climbed back into the boat and dragged the net ashore. It was full of large fish, 153, but even with so many the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” None of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. Jesus came, took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. This was now the third time Jesus appeared to his disciples after he was raised from the dead. When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” “Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.” Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.” The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!” Peter turned and saw that the disciple whom Jesus loved was following them. (This was the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper and had said, “Lord, who is going to betray you?”) When Peter saw him, he asked, “Lord, what about him?” Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.”
Peter’s journey with Jesus had begun several years before with a very similar event, after he had fished all night with his companions and caught nothing, but then after following Jesus’ instructions, he had put down the nets one more time and hauled in a huge catch. At that time, he was overwhelmed with the realization of his own weakness and Jesus’ supreme ability and authority, and he humbled himself. (See Luke 5:1–11.) Jesus’ response was simply, “Don’t be afraid!” with an invitation to follow Him. So maybe this scene in John 21 signaled a new beginning for Peter, another chance to leave behind his own way of doing things through brash self-confidence, and to become a trusting, obedient follower submitted to the Father’s will. I love the way Jesus confronted and restored Peter as they all sat around a charcoal fire on the beach. It was simple, it was kind, and it cut right to the heart of the matter. There was no formal inquisition in front of a tribunal to rehearse Peter’s failure, to underscore how terrible it was. Just a conversation that took place in a circle of intimate friends, dealing with matters of the heart.
“Peter, do you love Me more than these?” Remember Peter’s confident boast—that even if everyone else fell away, he would still be right there at Jesus’ side? There’s no boast now, just a humble, sincere, “Yes, Lord, You know that I love You.” He didn’t add anything to it, no big claims, no declarations of the great things he was going to do or the impressive plans he had. Peter finally understood his own weakness, his capacity for failure, and his deep need. From that day on, he was letting Jesus take the lead and set the agenda. Twice more, the same question, until Peter’s heart was sore. But this question was the only one that really mattered. Love. It means we’re not free to do our own thing, run our own show, and go our own way. That independent way of life and those days of immaturity must be left behind; things are different now. Love binds us to the Beloved, to His agenda, His people, His priorities. This is the intimacy of obedience.
The command that Jesus attaches to love is the command to serve, to take care of others for His sake, rather than to chase greatness in an attempt to prove our own ability and worth. Jesus’ final words to Peter in this chapter may sound ominous, this contrast between when he was younger, when he did what he wanted and went where he pleased, and the future, when he would abandon his freedom utterly for the sake of love—even to the point of death. But the reward was intimate fellowship with Jesus, and so one last time, the invitation came with the force of a command: “Follow Me!”
There is a daily choice set before us between the independence of self-sufficiency (which is so admired in this world), and that special fellowship with God that we can only experience through humility, dependence, and obedience. And this is the one thing that will truly satisfy our souls.
Hast thou no scar? No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand? I hear thee sung as mighty in the land; I hear them hail thy bright, ascendant star. Hast thou no scar?
Hast thou no wound? Yet I was wounded by the archers; spent, Leaned Me against a tree to die; and rent By ravening beasts that compassed Me, I swooned. Hast thou no wound?
No wound? No scar? Yet, as the Master shall the servant be, And piercèd are the feet that follow Me. But thine are whole; can he have followed far Who has no wound or scar? (Author: Amy Carmichael)
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts usi in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. 2 Corinthians 1:3-4
A long time ago:
1988, Kinshasa, Zaire – our little family with some friends.
It would take too long to give you the backstory, all the how and why and history that led to this situation – and it would cause your eyes to glaze over with boredom anyway. So I’ll just give you the basic “what.” September 24-25, 1991, Kinshasa, Zaire. An economy in free-fall. (And I don’t mean the price of eggs was high. I mean parents eating every other day so they could maybe feed their children once a day). Unpaid military going on a wild rampage, looting and shooting up most of the city, including our neighborhood. Non-stop gunfire and a night spent on the floor in the hallway with the kids, while bullets bounced off the house. In the morning, a brief calm, which seemed like a good opportunity make a run for it and join some friends on a nearby street. Not because it was any safer, but just for moral support. We grabbed passports and threw a few essentials in backpacks, and hurried there on foot. Just as we began to feel some calm and breathe a sigh of relief, a large, angry mob appeared, intent on looting whatever the soldiers might have passed over.
Glass shattering.
Rocks and chunks of broken cement crashing against the security bars over the windows.
And the the front doors – metal doors also with glass and security bars – being bashed in and wrenched. The sound was sickening.
There was no negotiating with this mob. I tried, and quickly jumped out of the way of a barrage of rocks thrown at my face. We gathered everyone in the small hallway, the adults surrounding the kids. My three little boys were looking up at my face, wide-eyed. I assured them we’d be fine, that the Lord would take care of us. I believed that. But I was also trying to work out in my mind how I could shield my sons and my wonderfully calm wife with my body – all 125 pounds of me – if this crazed mob succeeded in breaking down the doors. They did not succeed, we got out safely, and three days later found ourselves on an evacuation flight straight to Andrews Airforce Base in Maryland, USA.
In the immediate aftermath we thought we were all fine. We’d gotten out with our lives, if not our possessions. We were convinced that God is always good – and it was maybe a point of pride to let everyone see that we were tough, resilient, and that it was all no big deal. We framed it as a great adventure. As my wife would say, “just an occupational hazard.” And it still is. But we were not OK. Aside from the reverse culture shock and disorientation we felt being suddenly back in America, unplanned, we were struggling to manage grief we didn’t know what to do with, grief that no one around us could understand or share. From the point of view of friends and loved ones in America, we were ‘back home’ safe and sound. That’s what mattered and we should be thankful. But the reality was that we had not only left, but had just lost our home, our cherished friends, our ministry – an entire life that we knew and loved, a dream-come-true that we’d hoped would never end. It was gone in a matter of a few days.
The good life, in Lodja, Zaire, 1990
Our mission organization didn’t exactly know what to do with us. PTSD counseling wasn’t really a thing in those days, or at least not a thing we knew about. We muddled through, our boys muddled through, and though we all looked good on the outside, it took a while before we were really OK. There was so much kindness extended to us, a church family that welcomed us, loved on us and was patient with us. God provided for our needs in wonderful ways. He had a truly good plan for us, but it took me a while to let go of my own shattered dreams and to be able to accept that new plan. Things turned out better than I could have ever imagined, and I’m eternally grateful.
We did not come through it all unscathed, however. There are scars on our souls that are still sensitive 32 years later, that throb and ache on occasion. We are OK with that. We were in the place God called us to be, doing what He had called us to do, so we have no regrets. But we live with consequences. It hurts to know that our grown sons, who are all fine men of integrity, have struggled with anxiety issues as adults, stemming from that ‘adventure.’ And we are proud that they have all shown great wisdom and courage to seek out help – and as a result have grown tremendously. There is a grace that accompanies these scars, these old aches – a grace and comfort that are expressed in absolute dependence on our good Father, and in empathy and compassion for others. That’s not a bad thing, because through our weakness and vulnerability, the Father shows Himself strong. But in most Christian traditions – and especially American Christianity – we despise weakness and adore the appearance of strength, which so often makes us dishonest, even with our own selves.
American Christianity is afflicted with a triumphalism that is unrealistic and that forces people to live in denial – a theology that insists on complete, perfect healing in the here and now for every grief and loss. I’m a firm believer in divine, miraculous healing, in restoration, in abundant life. I’ve experienced it, and I am experiencing it even now, while I continue to live with some holes in my soul, some pains that may never be healed this side of heaven. That is the testimony of the Apostle Paul as well as many saints through the ages. It is far better, and far more powerful, to live with those ‘thorns in the flesh’, in humble dependence on the God whose grace is sufficient, than to live in proud denial, insisting that everything is ‘fine.’
Resilience is an indispensable quality we must develop, but it cannot be based on our own strength, grit and fierce independence. If it is, we become brittle, hard-hearted, and grace-less toward those around us. I know because I was definitely there at one point! Resilience must be rooted in an unshakable belief in the goodness of God and in a willing dependence on Him – and on those helpers he sends to us.
Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Cor. 12:7-10
To sum up, not every wound will be perfectly healed, every scar erased, every unsatisfied longing filled in this present age. There is a difference between Here-and-Now, and Then-and-There. And in the meantime, in this time, those scars, those holes in our souls with ragged edges, can become portals through which the powerful grace of God flows to us and through us to those around us who need it so much. And that, beloved of the Lord, is a privilege and not a burden, while we hopefully wait for the restoration of all things.
And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” (Rev. 21:3-5)
Here we are, well into 2023 already! Once again, it’s been a while since I’ve updated this blog, and I really am going to post more Africa chronicles in the months to come… But for now, I just want to share a recent experience, along with some reflections, that I hope will be insightful and maybe even helpful for you in your own journey, as we step into a new year.
I hope you believe – I mean I hope you are convinced in your heart of hearts – that God in his infinite kindness is always seeking to do you good. In a world where we go through so many hard things, where loss, grief, trauma and difficulties of all kinds seem to be par for the course, He is actively at work – often unnoticed by us – arranging circumstances and setting us up to receive exactly what we need, even when we don’t what that is. It was this way for me recently.
In the course of my work I had been assigned to help out with a project in Baltimore, Maryland for 2 weeks. To be honest, I was not especially excited about being away from home for this chunk of time between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Working in a busy warehouse, in close contact with hundreds of volunteers each day – this made me anxious as well. Being on monthly chemotherapy for multiple myeloma makes me a bit more susceptible to catching colds, flu, or even Covid, and this did not seem like an ideal scenario from a health standpoint. On the other hand, I’d been traveling internationally all year long, moving through busy airports and sitting on full flights for hours on end, and had managed to stay healthy (mostly). So off I went to Baltimore. Not Atlanta, or Denver, or Chicago – which were all possibilities, and I could have been sent to any of these locations.
Working with Operation Christmas Child volunteers in a Baltimore warehouse.
Baltimore is special, because this is where Cindy and I lived for 25 years before moving to the mountains of Western North Carolina. The warehouse where the project was going on was just down the road from the church where I served as pastor for 16 of those 25 years, and where we remained deeply involved until I left in September 2019. Happily, I was invited to preach there while in town for the project, and this would give me an opportunity to catch up with this dear group of people with whom we had experienced so much over the years – triumphs, tragedies, change and growth and all the ups and downs of following Jesus together in this broken world.
I was excited not only for the chance to bring everyone up to date on the big happenings of life and ministry over the last three years, but also to share a Word from the Lord that seemed so appropriate for this family of believers. What I was not prepared for was the flood of emotion that hit me as people began to arrive – these precious, dearly loved saints – that I had not seen face to face for far too long. Someone would come in, we’d look at each other, and the tears would start to flow. I could not stop them as people hugged my neck, and even as I stood up in front of the congregation to preach. As I looked out over this gathering, with each face I was seeing a story – stories of brokenness, healing, survival through crushing loss, restoration, miracles of mercy and triumphs of grace, so much growth – all the various ways God had shown Himself faithful in individual lives over the years. Often, I’d had a front-row seat as a helper, hand-holder, counselor and friend as these stories had unfolded. Love demands so much, but the rewards are rich and deep.
Preaching at Community Gospel Church in December 2022
It’s not an exaggeration to say that this gathering on the first Sunday of December was cathartic, at least for me. I was being healed in ways I didn’t know I needed to be healed. It took me a few days of reflection to process and to understand what was happening. There is a backstory of events that were, in their own small way, traumatic. Unexpected, unintended loss – things that had wounded my soul, events that I had pushed through without much thought in my forward-looking, ‘let’s get on to the next thing’ way of moving through life.
When I left the Baltimore area in September 2019, I had no idea it would be more than three years before I’d be able to return. I’d planned to return – even to make several trips – during the ensuing months, so that Cindy and I could get our house sold, pack up our belongings, have those farewell visits and a proper send-off with our church family. Because of events beyond anyone’s control, none of that happened. For the first several months I was just busy getting settled into my new job and traveling in Central Africa with Operation Christmas Child. Then without warning, my cancer numbers doubled – the multiple myeloma was quickly coming back. (Up until then I’d been coasting along with no treatment, in remission or close enough, for a few years). About the same time, Covid lockdowns began AND I started weekly chemo treatments, with Cindy still in Maryland and me in North Carolina. No one could go anywhere, we all started working from home, and I was alone. The situation wasn’t impossible, but it was a new kind of hard. Eventually Cindy was able to join me in North Carolina. The health journey continued to be an adventure involving difficult decisions. While going through screening for a stem cell transplant it was discovered that I had colon cancer. I had surgery for that instead of the stem cell transplant, and started a new course of chemotherapy for the multiple myeloma, all before 2020 came to a close. With the new chemo regimen, I had to work from home for the first four months of 2021. For an extrovert who thrives on connection, this kind of isolation was another hard thing. So that’s the backstory. Eventually things eased up, I returned to working in an office, and also to travel in Africa, and we forged ahead without a backward glance.
It’s called resilience – the ability to bounce back, to push forward, to keep your head up and keep going in the face of hardship. It’s a great quality. But I was mostly unaware of the holes all these hardships had punched in my soul: the sadness of farewells that were left unsaid, and the send-off that could never happen; how deeply I missed my church family; the trauma of bad health news, bone-marrow biopsies, starting another round of chemo – this time with not a friend on hand to offer a hug (until Cindy was able to join me). And so many major changes in a relatively short time. Was God faithful through it all? Absolutely! Faithful and merciful. But the emotional impact, the loss – those holes in my soul – were also real, even though I was hardly aware of them. I kept assuring everyone that I was fine. But I needed some patching up, some closure, some comfort and healing that I wouldn’t have known how to arrange, even if I could have. So the Lord lovingly arranged it all for me in a place where the tears could flow and people would understand. I’m still, weeks later, reflecting, praying, unpacking some things from that special Sunday morning. The hugs, words of encouragement, people sharing with me the impact I’d had on their lives and their walk with God – all of these were unexpected gifts that day.
Why am I sharing all this? It’s not simply to talk about myself or to impress on you what a hard time I’ve had – everyone goes through hard times. My point is this: we all go through seasons and experiences that leave us with wounds, losses, and accompanying heartache or trauma. Often we are so busy just trying to navigate through these seasons and keep our heads above water that we hardly notice the impact on our souls. We keep ourselves anesthetized with activity and simply plow ahead to the next thing, maybe breathing a sigh of relief that we made it through. Eventually, however, those losses never grieved, wounds never addressed, pages of our story ripped out of the book rather than gently turned – they become weights that make life heavy, or locked doors that seem to block us from forming new friendships, or an unease that makes quiet meditation and stillness almost unbearable. So this is a call – an invitation – to quiet, personal reflection on your journey, and maybe to healing.
In Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, where he talks plainly about some of his own hardships in the course of following Jesus and serving God’s people, he calls God ‘the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort others with the same comfort we have received.’ Comfort is an intangible, but nonetheless essential and powerful element in our emotional well-being. If you never receive it, you are not equipped to give it. Without taking you through an extensive Bible study, I’ll just say that comfort – both receiving and giving it – is a key concept in Scripture. Without it, the qualities of strength and resilience that we admire so much can turn into hard-heartedness and cold stoicism, and that’s not Jesus. We are all of us more fragile than we realize or like to admit, but our Creator understands us. ‘He remembers that we are dust’ according to Psalm 103, and He has compassion on us like a father for his children.
He is always ready to comfort us, whenever we are ready to recognize that we need it and open our hearts to receive it. Comfort doesn’t undo what has been done, it doesn’t compensate the losses or turn back time. But it eases the pain and validates the grief. Comfort says, ‘what happened matters, it’s signifiant, you are significant, your are not alone, and one day, all will be made right.’ For me, that makes all the difference, and maybe it will for you too. My prayer is that God in His kindness, who knows just what you need, will lead you to that place as we make our way forward in 2023.
A note: This post is a little parentheses in the ‘village chronicles’. During that first year of ministry and of getting our team established in the village in Mali, my health began to visibly deteriorate. In September 2013 I was diagnosed with an incurable blood cancer. I was in the last stage and it seemed I would die. I didn’t die and retuned to work in the village 6 months later. Now, nine years later, I’m still here by God’s grace. I’ve learned a few lessons, and I’d like to share one of them here.
I like to think of myself as the eternal optimist. You know, the ‘don’t-worry-be-happy-have-faith-and-everything-will-work-out-just-fine’ kind of person. The problem with that positive self-image is that my behavior doesn’t always line up with it.To be frank, I’m an experienced complainer, but since I know how unwelcome and unpleasant complaining is for the people around me, I try to keep it to myself. So I murmur, I grumble under my breath, and I heave sighs of exasperation when things don’t go my way. Often these ‘things’ are minor irritations, not even worth the breath it takes to heave that sigh.
It’s not that I’ve never read the many biblical admonitions to be thankful, or those very clear warnings against complaining and grumbling. It’s just that ingrained habits are hard to change, even when we want to change them! How fortunate for me that in the fall of 2013, I was given a golden opportunity in the form of some very sobering news: I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, an incurable cancer of the bone marrow, which in my case had already progressed to the third and final stage. News like this is way too big to be handled with childish whining and complaining, which never helps anyone to experience the grace of God – and I needed that grace! Here’s how it came. Instead of fear (although there were occasional moments of fear), or anger, or self-pity, a deep sense of thankfulness began to well up in me – thankfulness that I belong to the Lord, that he is good, that He loves me, and that he is in control of a situation that is beyond my ability to fix.
The sheer number of people who began pray for me was not only encouraging, it was extremely humbling. After all, who am I to merit so much love and attention? But then that’s grace – the kindness and favor of God that we could never earn. Over the weeks and months of doctor visits and chemotherapy sessions, I gained a deeper appreciation for simple, daily gifts of grace, – like the energy to prepare a meal or rake leaves in the backyard – and a deeper perspective on being thankful. That’s what I want to share with you here.
“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His love endures forever.” Psalm 136:1
The second part of this simple refrain – His love endures forever – is repeated in each of the twenty-six verses of Psalm 136. Maybe with the original music it was just too irresistible, like the ‘hook’ in a good pop song that sticks in your head all day and won’t quit. It might have been! But since Scripture is divinely inspired, whatever the artistic reasons of the psalmist, it seems obvious that the Author behind the artist wanted us to learn something, and learn it well! For some of us, the song has to be accompanied by a life-altering event before the message sinks in, but the Lord is a patient and persistent teacher…
Learning to say ‘Grace‘
To ‘say grace’ is a common expression we use in English, meaning to offer a prayer of thanks at the start of a meal. Like most idioms or figures of speech, it doesn’t make much sense if taken literally, but the meaning behind it is fairly obvious. ‘Saying grace’ is a humble acknowledgement that the food in front of us is a sheer gift of God’s grace and not something we deserve as our right, or something we earned without God’s gracious help.
“Now wait just a minute!” you might say. “It was my hard work that put that food on the table, and the roof over our heads too. There’s no hand-out here – I earned every bit of this!” Yes, but that’s not the whole story…
Entitlement is the subtle but destructive enemy of a thankful heart, the very antithesis of grace. It’s the assumption that others, God, or life in general owe me something because I’ve been good, I’ve kept the rules, I’ve worked hard; or because I’ve had a hard time of it, I’ve been wronged somehow, and now I deserve compensation. The Bible is clear, however, that the goodness of God is the ultimate source of every good thing we receive or experience in life. Every good thing that comes to us comes not because we are good, but because He is. Consider these verses:
Be careful that you do not forget the Lord your God… Otherwise, when you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery… You may say to yourself, “My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me.” But remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms his covenant, which he swore to your ancestors, as it is today. (Deuteronomy 8:11-18, selected verses).
Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. (James 1:17)
The truth is that life is fragile, weare fragile. Wealth, health and strength, our intellectual ability, our comfortable circumstances – all the things we take for granted – are gifts, not guarantees. They can be gone in a single heartbeat. I knew all this before, but now I know it firsthand. The fact that you have a job, the strength and ability to do that job, as well as the circumstances and events that led you there – all of it is grace. Not one of us is ‘self-made. Entitlement thinking robs us of this perspective; it makes us cranky, peevish and offended with God when the road gets bumpy. And it tends to makes us proud, smug, and insensitive to others when our particular road is smooth and trouble-free.
Nebuchadnezzar is a biblical character who had to learn this lesson the hard way, and you can read about it in the Old Testament book of Daniel, chapter four. Nebuchadnezzar’s accomplishments were stellar. In 605 B.C. while his father was king, he led the Babylonian army in the defeat of both the Egyptian and Assyrian armies at the battle of Carchemish, and the regions of Syria and Phoenicia were added to Babylon’s empire. Becoming Babylon’s king after his father’s death, he continued to enlarge and consolidate the empire, and then turned to an ambitious project of public works that was unrivaled in his day. He had much to be proud of, but he failed to realize how much of his success was due to God’s providence and that ultimately, he was in such a position of power because the ‘God of heaven’ had put him there.
Nebuchadnezzar was warned in a dream to change his attitude, humble himself and acknowledge God’s grace in his life, or risk losing everything. Unfortunately, he didn’t take the warning to heart. Twelve months later, as he was congratulating himself once more on his great achievements, he lost his mind and with it his ability to rule – not to mention his dignity! The details of the story are rather shocking to our modern sensibilities in this politically correct world, where being a ‘nice person’ is the very pinnacle of good character. Would a good God really do something like that to someone!? Apparently He would, and he did; but we should realize that a good God and a ‘nice’ God are not at all the same thing. I’m convinced that God’s intentions are always good, but he’s never been shy about resorting to drastic measures when necessary. The king of Babylon spent the next seven years living literally like an animal, until, in his own words,“I, Nebuchadnezzar, raised my eyes toward heaven, and my sanity was restored. Then I praised the Most High; I honored and glorified him who lives forever…” (Daniel 4:34). In the remainder of his confession, he acknowledges that his power, position and privilege are gifts bestowed by a good and sovereign God. Among the many observations that could be made from this story, one that strikes me is that agrateful heart is essential to a sound mind. Finally, Nebuchadnezzar learned to say ‘grace’ over his circumstances, and so should we.
Learning About Forever
Psalm 136:1 tells us that we can and should give thanks because 1) the Lord is good, and 2) his love endures forever. These are not simply reasons to maintain a thankful heart, they are eternal realities that give us a foundation for continual thanks. A thankful heart has it’s roots in the dependable, unchanging character of God, rather than in circumstances which are always subject to change. Learning more about forever, and those things that are eternal, will set us free to savor the good times without anxiety, and strengthen us to ride out the difficult days with hope and a thankful heart. No matter what is happening in the present, it is passing; and after it has all passed, we’re going to have forever to experience the kindness of God! Consider this passage from Ephesians:
And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. (Ephesians 2:6-7)
Exactly why did God ‘raise you up’ and make you part of his family? In order to show off the ‘riches of is grace.’ And how is he going to do that? By showering you with his kindness throughout the coming ages. God has plans to do you good throughout all eternity! Now that’s a reason to be thankful every day of your life.
Even the temporal blessings we receive – those happy events, answers to prayer, financial provision – are more than mere gifts to meet the need of the moment. As well as being gracious gifts, they are signs, intended to turn our focus from the immediate need or crisis to the Love that lasts forever, so that instead of living from crisis to crisis or need to need, we will learn to live in the security of that love. So often I have been guilty of receiving the gift – with short-lived thanks and a measure of relief – and then using it up without ever getting the message: “I am with you, I am for you, and it’s going to be OK!”
One occasion in particular comes to mind. I was a young husband, father, and Bible college student, struggling to make ends meet each month. I had a heavy course load, a part-time job, and traveled on weekends with a ministry team. One Friday afternoon, preparing to leave for another busy weekend, I had to face the fact that our fridge was empty and we had no money to buy food – much less to pay the rent which would be due in another two weeks. Although my wife Cindy tends to remain calm in situations like this, I was stressed to the limit and on the verge of quitting the ministry team then and there. And then there was a knock on the door. Here was an older couple we had never met, smiling uncertainly and holding out a check. “We don’t know you, but the Lord told us to give you this – ” it was a check for twenty-five dollars. The timing could not have been more perfect, nor the message more clear. Did I get it? Well, my face still goes hot with shame when I think about my reaction… Of course I warmly thanked the couple, they went on their way, and I experienced a momentary sense of relief. But on the heels of that relief came this thought: “Well, it’ll buy groceries, but it’s not going to pay the rent.” What an ungrateful jerk!! (Yes, I know that’s what you’re thinking, and you’re right). What was my problem? All I saw was twenty-five dollars, instead of seeing the good God to whom it pointed. I was looking at something that would be quickly used up, without recognizing the faithful love that provided it and that would go on providing. I can be a slow learner, but through that and several other incidents, I started to get it. And for the record, the rent got paid too – that month and every month thereafter.
Learning To Let Go
“At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens.” The words “once more” indicate the removing of what can be shaken—that is, created things—so that what cannot be shaken may remain. Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our “God is a consuming fire.”
I’ve noticed that so often, just when I think I have life figured out, change happens. It can be frustrating, and sometimes downright scary! But that’s why learning to let go is essential to maintaining a thankful attitude. On this side of eternity we are pilgrims, and hanging on too tightly to what we have, and to the way things are, inevitably leads to resentment and unhappiness. Whether we want it to happen or not, the scenery will change and the furniture of life will get rearranged time and again. Our souls are continually seeking permanence and security. The problem is that the things of this world – be they material or circumstantial – can only give us an illusion of permanence, not the real thing. We have to keep reminding ourselves of the difference between now and Then, between here and There, between the world that is passing away and the Kingdom Which Cannot Be Shaken.
When the winds of change blow and what seemed so solid is suddenly gone like a puff of smoke, we can still be thankful because we are receiving something that is solid, real and that will last forever. That’s hard to do if we’re hanging on to temporary things with a death grip – and that kind of hanging on is what leads to shaking an angry – and empty – fist at God. Better to open our hands, let go, and choose to be thankful because something better is coming. When the cancer diagnosis came, it was my opportunity to let go in a big way, to lay down current activities, future plans and to simply thank God for each day as it came. I really didn’t know how things would turn out. Six months later, the cancer had been quelled and I was in a full remission, but my focus on eternity had been renewed.
Thankfulness is an attitude, a perspective on life that we can choose. The really good news is that it’s not based on wishful thinking, but on eternal realities: The Lord is good, and his love endures forever. And for that I’m eternally grateful.
God spoke to me so much through these individuals, many of whom had never filled out an application form in their lives and were not comfortable talking about themselves. More than ever, my conviction has been confirmed that the Lord is actively at work in our world, doing amazing things on a regular basis through ordinary, unknown people who love Jesus – people who are not now nor ever will be in the limelight. They are faithfully living out their ordinary lives and fighting the good fight of faith in places I never knew existed until recently – places in which Christianity has nothing to do with multi-million dollar stadium events, expensive fashion trends and Christian subculture social media fame.
Know This Love 