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The Thick Fog of Suffering & The Sight of the Savior

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Our youngest son is already dreading the days when his beloved older brothers fly the coop for college. Last summer, in an attempt to create a hopeful experience of life with just the three of us, we took a trip to San Fransisco while the bigs were at camp. I came terribly unprepared. My sundresses and Birkenstocks were a terrible mismatch for the cold and the fog.

Apparently, the fog in SF even goes by the name Carl. Carl taught me a few things on that trip: when going to SF, always bring a hoodie, Birks are incompatible with hills, and fog is a powerful reality.

Just as Carl had the ability to completely hide a massive, fire-engine red bridge from sight, suffering obscures sight. I love Elisabeth Eliot’s simple, yet profound definition of suffering: wanting what you don’t have or having what you don’t want. God cares about all human suffering, even the kind we bring upon ourselves.

A few weekends back, I spoke at a retreat on suffering. The preparation, the delivery, and the stories I heard over the weekend were a heavy reminder of the reality of suffering and how quickly suffering obscures our view of our Savior. I’ve been bent over by brokenness, which is why the following verses and quotes have been balm to my soul this week.

God Lives with & Lifts the Lowly

Through the prophet of Isaiah, who served as the mouthpiece for a fair amount of hard realities, God offers precious words of hope and comfort to his sin-laden, brokenness-bound people. He reminds them (and us) his essence and character even and especially as we walk through brokenness.

“I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly, and to revive the heart of the contrite. For I will not contend forever, nor will I always be andy, for the spirit would grow faint before me, and the breath of life that I made.” (Isaiah 57:15–16).

The Lord loves to live with the lowly. The Hebrew word daka translates as “broken, crushed, beaten, small, and trodden down.” Though our God is high and holy, he does not stand aloof from the hurting; rather, he stoops to offer succor. David captures the same sentiment when he writes, “The Lord is near to the broken-hearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

It’s not just that the Lord loves to live with the lowly and dwell with the devastated, he loves to restore and comfort. A few verses later, Isaiah continues, saying, “I have seen his ways, but I will heal him; I will lead him and restore comfort to him and his mourners, creating the fruit of the lips” (Isaiah 57:18).

He dwells with the lowly, but he also delights to lift them, not based on their perfect or even mediocre response to suffering, but based on his character. Despite seeing (Hebrew raah) the backsliding, closed-eared way of his people, he still chose to heal them (rapha). He sees and knows us completely, sin and all, but he still chooses to mend us by sewing us together. Just a few chapters earlier, the prophet Isaiah had hinted at the way this would happen: One would come who would be crushed (same root word daka) to mend the crushed (Isaiah 53:5).

Not Seeing, but Still Trusting

Isaiah looked ahead to a coming Suffering Savior; we look back upon him. Yet even for those who know him well, suffering acts like a thick fog that obscures the eyes of our hearts. When we suffer, we struggle to see, something the Apostle Peter understood well.

When seeking to comfort a terribly hurting people, he wrote, “Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls” (1 Peter 1:8–9).

It was true in a double sense that the beleaguered believers had not seen Chris. They were one generation removed from actually having laid physical eyes upon Jesus. They were also struggling to even see him through the eyes of faith due to the thick fogs of suffering.

In his sermon entitled “The Eloi,” George MacDonald writes the following powerful words regarding striving to believe when we are straining to see:

“Troubled soul, thou art not bound to feel, but thou art bound to arise. God loves thee whether thou feelest or not….For he sees through all the gloom through which thou canst not see him.”

When my son and I had trekked miles (in the aforementioned Birkenstocks) to the bay to get a picture of the iconic Golden Gate Bridge, we were deeply disappointed by the fog. Carl was ruining our plans, so we decided to sit until we could see. We sat stubbornly for an hour to catch grayed glimpses of the bridge. Finally, the sun began to break through, allowing us to see glimpses of the beauty for which we came and of which we had heard.

My lowly, brokenness-bent, suffering friends, the fog will lift and your eyes will behold your Savior. In the meanwhile, he sees you as you strain to see him. He longs to lift you and delights to comfort you.

Shifting from Security in Place to Security in Presence

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God’s incredible interactions with Abram have long been precious Scripture passages for me. I’ve studied them so many times that I honestly thought I’d mined out most of the gold there. Silly me.

Having begun a new series on the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob at church, I’ve found my soul camped out with Abram once again. As I sat studying passages deeply familiar to my soul, I found myself crying at the freshness of the words to me today.

Abram, having recently returned from the risky rescue of his nephew Lot and even more recently rejected the riches offered him by the world, finds himself in the grips of fear (Genesis 14). Perhaps Abram fears the marauders coming after him in vengeance for his rescue of Lot; if this is the case, it makes sense why he mentions to God his lack of a proper heir. Perhaps it wasn’t even death itself that he feared, but, rather, dying without the heir that would have been necessary to seed the lineage of nations that God had promised to him. After all, years have elapsed since God’s first initiation toward him which prompted his leaving of country and kindred to follow the self-revealing God (Genesis 12: 1–4); however, the promised child was nowhere in sight.

Either way, God comes to him and speaks rich blessing over fearful Abram:

“Fear not, Abram, I am your shied; your reward shall be very great” (Genesis 15:1).

Security of Presence

The Scriptures are replete with imagery of God as refuge to his people. When I think refuge, I tend to think place (fortresses and cleft in the rock kind of refuges). When our boys were younger, I spend most of my time and energy doing my best to create a home that was a place of security, stability, order, refuge, and safety for them (and for my own sanity). in those early years, they needed the security of place.

But God had previously and distinctly called Abram away from the safety of place. He bid him leave the places and positions that were comfortable to him to trade them for a life of following him (Genesis 12: 1–4). In light of this call to leave the security of place, God’s promise of security through presence stands out.

The Hebrew word God used for shield implies a buckler, a small shield that is used as covering or protection. This is an offer of as-you-go-protection and security for Abram and Sarai. This is an offer of security through presence.

My heart was strengthened to remember that God does not simply promise to provide a shield (though that would be generous in and of itself). No, God goes far beyond provision of a shield: he promises to be Abram’s shield.

I didn’t know how much my soul needed this reminder of the security of God’s presence until my eyes welled up with tears. As my boys grow (physically, spiritually, emotionally, and relationally), they need as-you-go-security of God’s presence, his promises of protection and nearness, more than than they need the security of place that is our home. Though they still need a safe place to land and regroup, their worlds are getting larger and larger and the leash between them and myself is getting longer and longer. The as-you-go security of the indwelling Spirit of God settles my heart as they spread their wings. He is with him. He has attached himself to them. He is their security through all the changing scenes that are sure to come.

And the same promise applies to me as the seasons of motherhood (which has become a place of security for me) change. My security is not in the presence of my children or having them all under one roof or in one car; my security is the sure, steady presence of Christ in me.

Security of Presence that Leads us Towards the Security of Place

It’s a good thing God had not promised Abram the security of place, because his life remained one of much changing and moving. As Abram waited upon the fulfillment of the flourish of promises God made to him, he learned what we, too, must learn: his security would not be found in any earthly city or any temporary season of stasis, but in the city that was to come, whose builder and architect was God (Hebrews 11: 10). Through the security of presence, Abram, by faith, moved towards the security of place that is the New Heavens and the New Earth.

Abraham and Sarah, along with all the saints who have gone before us, let the security of God’s presence lead them toward the security of God’s place (wherein we will also experience the fullness of his presence).

“These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth” (Hebrews 11:13–14).

We join a long train of sanctified sinners acknowledging that no place on this earth or season of life will ever fully offer us security. He alone is our shield and our very great reward.

To Remember Rightly: The Great & Terrible Wilderness and the Great & Awesome God

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Memory is a funny thing, isn’t it? My first memory is being pushed around in a dolphin cart at Sea World by my beloved Grandpa. But, then again, I don’t know if I actually remember it, or if looking at a tattered picture created a memory to which I cling. Either way, I treasure it because (though the picture holds no hints) my grandfather was very sick with the cancer that would take his life earlier than any of us would have liked.

The Scriptures are replete with the command to remember; however, there are two ditches we can fall into when traveling the backwards path of time: remembering with rose-colored glasses or remembering through melancholic lenses.

Remember

The Hebrew word for remember is used fifteen times throughout the book of Deuteronomy. The aged Moses reminds God’s people to “remember that you were a slave in Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm” (Deuteronomy 5:15). A few chapters later, he bids them to “not be afraid of them” but instead “to remember what the Lord your God did to Pharaoh and all Egypt” (Deuteronomy 7:18). My favorite of the string of remember verses occurs one chapter later, when Moses commands them to remember the whole commandment and the whole way:

The whole commandment that I command you today you shall be careful to do, that you may live and multiply, and go in and possess the land that the Lord swore to give to your fathers. And you remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you” (Deuteronomy 8:1–2).

Whole is the world that trips me up: obey the whole of the commandment to remember wholly. To remember rightly is to remember wholly (the good, the bad, the ugly, the shameful, the embarrassing, the delightful, the traumatic and the triumphant).

Remember Rightly

This past week, I did not plan to take a time-traveling drive in a DeLorean, but some triggers led me back to some parts of my story I don’t like to remember. In fact, I have become adept at side-stepping or sugar-coating or suppressing (depending on which works for the moment). The Spirit brought two phrases from early in Deuteronomy to heart and mind: “that great and terrible wilderness” (Deuteronomy 1:19) and the aforementioned”the whole way the Lord your God has led you” (Deuteronomy 8:2).

I don’t like remembering “that great and terrible wilderness,” and I would bet the Israelites did not like it either: the hunger, the thirst, the confusion, and the long-wandering; the reminders of their unbelief, murmuring, and disobedience; the just punishment for their acts. That’s a long parade to parse and ponder. Yet, Moses (or more precisely, the Lord through Moses) bids us remember rightly.

We all have our own great & terrible wildernesses, don’t we? But those parts of our stories that we try to hide or repaint with gold-colored hues are significant pieces of the whole way the Lord has led each of us. To truncate them or to try to spin the story differently is to siphon glory from the stories of glory and redemption the Lord is writing for his glory and our good.

Bleached stories don’t show off his many-colored, variegated grace (1 Peter 4:8 &10). Books with chapters torn out don’t honor the author or show off his skill and artistry. In all the trials of the great and terrible wilderness, even those they brought upon themselves, God was with his people. Moses reminded the Israelites, “These forty years the Lord your God has been with you. You have lacked nothing” (Deuteronomy 2: 7). Later, he exclaims, “For what great nation is there that has a god so near to it as the Lord our God is to us, whenever we call upon him?” (Deuteronomy 4:7).

We can remember our great and terrible wildernesses because we know our “great and awesome God” (Deuteronomy 7:21). Not only can we remember them, we can even learn to rejoice in them as pointers to the power and presence of our God.

That Great & Terrible Wilderness

That great and terrible wilderness
His faithfulness has fully tamed.
Follow the crumbs of the manna,
Remember all Christ has claimed!

Retrace His ways in this wilderness,
Admitting your lack and His love.
Mark out your own meager faith
And His plenty-dropping from above.

That great and terrible wilderness?
His mercy has made it a garden!
Remember the whole way He led,
Lest your heart in forgetting harden.

I don’t know your great and terrible wildernesses, but I do know the great and awesome God. I pray that he would gently lead to remember rightly the whole way he has led you thus far. His gentle leading of his children will not stop until he has walked us all the way into glory (Isaiah 40:11; Psalm 73:23–24).

How Teenagers Have Changed My Prayer Life

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Before parenting teenagers, I would have given myself a passing grade at prayer. I felt, at least, moderately faithful and fervent in prayer. I have Scripture cards in my purse for praying in carlines and at halftimes. I journal prayers for my boys weekly during my Sabbath time. All in all, I thought I was doing pretty well. However, recently, I have discovered that as my teen’s worlds are expanding, God is doing a similarly expansive work in my prayer life.

Shifting from Prosperity to Presence

My limited knowledge of the future and my extensive knowledge of our budget has had me praying about college funding for my boys for the past few years. As the distance between my sons and graduation diminishes, academics and athletics have, for better or worse, become pressurized. I am embarrassed to admit it, but my prayers for one of our boys, who happens to be very fast, have been inching toward prayers that sound like, “Keep him fast, Lord.” Thankfully, the Holy Spirit, who does his convicting work both excellently and gently, has been shifting me from the fearful prayer, “Keep him fast,” to the hopeful prayer, “Keep him near to you.”

One of the prayers I have been praying over my boys for years comes from Psalm 104.

“These all look to you, to give them their food in due season. When you give it to them, they gather it up; when you open your hand, they are filled with good things. When you hide your face, they are dismayed; when you take away their breath, they die and return to their dust. When you send forth your Spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the ground” (Psalm 104:27–30).

I memorized this particular psalm precisely because it emphasized our ultimate dependence upon God for every breath, every success, and every blessing. After all, every good thing given comes down from above from his opened hands (James 1:17). However, even while praying the Scriptures, I find ways to try to twist God’s will toward mine rather than bending mine toward his. I cannot tell you how many times I have asked God to open his hands for my children (in provision, in protection, in blessing).

Recently, however, I have found that I am praying for God to open his hands, not first so he can bless them, but first so that he can hold their hands.

Of course, I want good things for them, and I know from whence all good things come. But I am increasingly, ever-so-slowly realizing (for myself and for them) that his nearness is our good (Psalm 73: 28). Yes, I want my children to have prosperous lives; I long for their provision. However, I most long for God’s presence and nearness in their lives. Keep them near, Lord. Open your hands, so they can hold them..

Shifting from Safety to Security in Christ

We have always prayed in the morning on the way to school and before trips for God’s protection and safety. I have prayed prayers for safety so often that they ought be tattooed on my palms by now. As my teenager’s worlds get bigger, the dangers they face grow proportionally. Yet, I have found myself surprised by the Spirit’s help in beginning to shift those prayers for safety to prayers for a more robust security in Christ. Just when I thought i would be a puddle of desperate prayers for safe driving and street smarts in a fragile world, I find myself begging for my boys to know sturdy security in Christ (Colossians 3: 1–4).

My prayers have shifted from a bubble of protection to a boldness of faith, a resilience of spirit, and a cemented confidence in Christ. By God’s grace, I am learning to let them risk and beginning to believe that experience really is a trustworthy teacher. I find hope and courage in the father from the parable who, rather than bolting the doors and battening down the hatches, entrusted his son to the Lord and let him wander off (believing he would wander back home transformed).

The Scriptural truths upon which these boys have been raised stand up under suffering and storms. The Spirit of the living God dwells within them and goes where I cannot and ought not go (1 Corinthians 1: 10–13; 3: 16). They are secure even when, from my vantage point, things feel less safe, predictable, and controlled. I am learning to pray with Moses, “There is none like God, O Jeshrun, who rides through the heavens to your help, through the skies in his majesty. The eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms” (Deuteronomy 33: 27–28).

Shifting from Solutions to Questions

Finally, I find that my prayer for my teenagers consists much more of honest questions than sincerely offered solutions. I still think that I have some insight into my boys and their lives, but I am less likely to storm into the throne room like its a war room roundtable with my plans and potential solutions. I am much more like a tired parent/child longing to rest in the presence of one immeasurably more responsible, wise, and good than myself (Hebrews 4:16). .

The Spirit is helping me replace, “Lord, please do x, y, and z” with “Lord, what are you trying to teach son x, y, or z?” The following are some of the question/ requests I frequently bring to the presence of God for my teens:

  • Lord, in this situation, what is mine to do? Theirs? Yours?
  • Lord, how have you wired them? What wisdom might you have for me in this situation?
  • Lord, what are you trying to do and how can I come alongside you?
  • Spirit, bring to mind specific Scriptures I can pray for them, offer to them, and./or discuss with them.
  • Lord, to what are you calling them? Give them that which will help prepare them for just that.

I love that we will never reach the end of growth in prayer this side of glory. I love that I am growing spiritually alongside these boys of mine.

Early in the Morning

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To know me well is to know that I am not a morning person. I want to be because of the early bird and the worm and such, but my mind and soul come alive after the hour of 10 am even if my body is up earlier. Six am feels early to me and anything before 5 am feels unthinkable. At this point, all the morning people in my life start telling me about the stillness of the morning and the rising sun and how productive they feel before the rest of the world is awake. I hear them, but my body does not seem to get the point. I have stillness in my bed. My sleep is very productive in its own kind of way.

I give this as context because, as I was studying the last few days of Jesus’s life, the phrase the Lord used to draw me toward him in wonder was “in the morning.” Of all the things in the living and active word of God, it was the Greek word proi, which means “early in the morning; at dawn.” God certainly has a sense of humor!

Two Very Different Morning Motivations

In Mark 15, we hear that the chief priests, “as soon as it was morning,” held a counsel after which they “bound Jesus and led him away and delivered him over to Pilate” (Mark 15:1). In the Greek, the words are much stronger: “Euthus proi” begins the verse. Euthus means straight away; immediately; without any unnecessary zig zags or delay.”

As much as it may seem like mincing words, the strength of these words shows the organizing passion of their lives. Straightaway, as soon as they could, before dawn, without delay, the priests had to meet to get rid of Jesus. What made them rise early was their need to stop the one who was threatening their power, position, and tradition.

We hear proi again with a different additional descriptor a chapter later, in Mark 16. The Marys and Salome “brought spices, so that they might go and anoint him” (Mark 16:1). “And very early on the first day of the week, when the had risen, they went to the tomb” (Mark 16:2).

This time, we see in the Greek lian proi: very early, exceedingly early, utterly early. The emphatic lian adds intensity of intention to the women rising early in the morning. While the chief priests rose early and with straightaway intensity to destroy the body of Jesus, the doting women rose exceedingly early to show their devotion to the torn body of Jesus. Of course, the Spirit was quick to prod me with the questions, “What makes you rise early in the morning?” and ” What are the ordering passions of your life?”

The One who Rose Early for the Father

These are not the first occurrences of the phrase “early in the morning” in Mark’s gospel. Way back in the first chapter of his gospel, Mark writes the following of Jesus:

“And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, he departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed” (Mark 1:35).

In the Greek, we have lian proi (like we saw with the ladies heading to the tomb), but we also have the added ennuchos, meaning “while it was still night.”

Again, it may seem like splitting hairs, but words create worlds. Underneath that rising-early-before-the-dark-Jesus, we sense the passion, the urgency, the priority of being with the Father.

Long before Jesus rose from the tomb, he was raising early to be with the Father. Love for the Father, hunger for his nearness, and readiness to obey him were the organizing passions of Jesus’s life. What got him out of bed every morning was the existing, eternal smile of the Father and his desire to live ever-pleasing the Father while walking the earth.

Jesus never wavered in his morning motivation. I do. Jesus never missed a moment of being with the Father. I do. Yet, he rose from the dead that I might be empowered by the indwelling Spirit to rise with the desire to please the One already fully at pleasure with me through Christ. No matter how early I rise, there is one already waiting for me.

I was reminded of one of my favorite George Herbert’s poems, “Easter (II).”

“I got me flowers to straw thy way;
I got me boughs off many a tree:
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st thy sweets along with thee.

The Sun arising in the East,
Through he give light, and th’ East perfume;
If they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many suns to shine endeavor?
We count three hundred , but we miss:
there is but one, and that one ever.”

Herbert recognized that no matter how early arose on Easter morning to greet Jesus, Jesus was already risen and ready to greet him. The same is true of us daily.

Behind the Basin

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Last memories matter.

It should come as no surprise to us that Jesus, who was the most intentional human to ever walk this globe, was very intentional about His lasts with His disciples. Of course Jesus wanted to leave a few specific scenes burned on the brains and seared onto the souls of His disciples and best friends.

What does shock and surprise me, and should scare the flesh in all of us, are the specific last scenes that Jesus intentionally played out for his friends.  The two symbols that Jesus left with His followers that night were a table and a basin, two ordinary objects that conveyed sacrifice and service in community.

He could have given them a scepter as a last group impression, a symbol of power and sovereignty.  Yet, for His last lesson with the band of brothers who had literally followed him in the world’s classroom of highways and byways, He chose to wash nasty feet.

Feet. Jesus dreamed up the tarsals and metatarsals. He spoke and the bones were formed in the foot of the first man.  He did the unthinkable and became a baby who played with His feet. He stubbed His toes and likely got callouses as He logged some serious mileage on those two puppies.

One of the last scenes of his short life involved Him dressing himself like a common household servant and washing the nasty feet of his friends. He slowly went around a room of twelve dear friends, one of whom He knew would betray him in a few short hours, caressing and cleaning their feet.

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He has called us to be people of the basin. Basins imply a lifetime of unsexy, selfless service. Basin living looks different for each of us and changes in different seasons. Basin living may mean changing diapers in the nursery or soiled bed sheets as you care for an aging parent. It may mean investing in the lives of students who have little support outside of the classroom or it may mean folding laundry.

While the spaces and places where we use our basins look widely different, the people behind the basins share one thing in common: behind the basin must be stand someone who is convinced that he or she is the beloved of God.

In his prelude to his series of Last Supper stories which covers the majority of his gospel, John lets us into a few clues of what enabled and empowered the Savior’s service leading up to the ultimate Sacrifice on the Cross.

Now before the Feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. During supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon’s son, to betray his, Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments and, taking a towel, tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him. John 13: 1-5 (emphasis mine), 

Jesus lived all of his life in an atmosphere of assurance of the love of His Father. He knew that the Father had given and would give Him all He needed to do His will. He knew that the embrace of the Father whom He had willingly left to become a man was waiting for Him upon His return from His quick dash to the earth.

The love of the Father freed Jesus to pick up the basin and put down His own rights, yet again. Assurance of His place as the Beloved of the Father freed Him to take the place of a servant, even a servant who would wash the feet that would flee to betray him moments later.

Through faith in Christ’s life, death and resurrection we are named the beloved of God. We are invited, through faith, into the same atmosphere of beloved-ness that compelled Christ to the basin.

Dirty feet, dashed heart and desperate neighbors abound. May we bask in the undeserved, unearned and unconditional love of God, and thus become people of the basin and towel.

 

 

Followers, Not Admirers

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We are approaching Easter weekend. Outside of Christmas, these days commemorating the death and resurrection are among the most approachable and accessible to the watching world.

For at least a few days, even those who would not consider themselves devout slow down to admire Jesus. While this is a beautiful access point, it was never Jesus’s end goal in going to the Cross. In the words of Soren Kierkegaard, Jesus does not want admirers, he wants followers.

Born & Bored on the Same Day

People love a show; we always have. I remember being a little girl and watching the circus train arrive in our small town on the Jersey Shore. We would watch them unload the animals and scatter hay all over the muddy, trodden grounds. There was such a sense of eager anticipation that I thought my tiny heart would burst.

Entirely too much candy and popcorn would be consumed. There would be a few minutes of wonder. And then, we would head home and promptly forget about it for a calendar year.

Annie Dillard notices a similar tendency in the human heart in her book Teaching A Stone to Talk. She describes the crowds of people she joined to watch a full solar eclipse on Mount Adams. She remembers the screams of wonder, shock, and delight as the sun went dark. As shocking as it was to experience something so other-worldly together, she was equally shocked at how quickly everyone moved on:

“I remember now: we all hurried away. We were born and bored at a stroke. We rushed down the hill. We found our car; we saw the other people streaming down the hillsides; we joined the highway traffic and drove away.”

I fear that my heart often responds the same to the events of Easter each year: the build up, the anticipation, the emotion, the wonder, the disassembling and moving on.

We dress up; we prepare an extra full worship band; we up our signage game. Then we move on as admirers rather than pick up our crosses as followers. We are tempted to treat the resurrection of Christ as a day worth noting rather than the revolutionary day that it is. This day we remember, this day when a dead Savior breathed again, conquering death, this day demands a lifelong response not a check box on a response card.

Followers vs. Admirers

Pastor/poet George Herbert captures this conundrum we face at Easter so well in his poem “Easter (II)” :

“Can there be any day but this, 
Though many suns to shine endeavor?
We count three hundred, but we miss:
There is but one, and that one ever.”

An admirer says this day is significant and moves on. A follower says there is no day but this. According to Kierkegaard, “An admirer…keeps himself personally detached. He fails to see that what is admired involves a claim upon him.” He goes on to say the following convicting words about admirers of Christ:

“The admirer never makes any true sacrifices. He always plays it safe. Though in word he is inexhaustible about how highly he prizes Christ, he renounces nothing, will not reconstruct his life, and will not let his life express what it is he supposedly admires. Not so the follower. No, No. The follower aspires with all his strength to be what he admires.”

I long to be a follower, not a mere admirer. I don’t want to be born and bored on the same day. I want to be born and bored through by the reality of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection.

In the words of the Apostle Paul, “If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied. But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead” (1 Corinth. 15:19-20).

The right response to the life, death, and resurrection of Christ is to hidden in life, death, and resurrection:

“I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I live now in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me” (Galatians 2:20).

Hosting the Lord of Hosts

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I am not a natural host, as the domestic arts are usually not my strong suit. It takes work for me to meal plan and to clean our home beyond our usual surface cleaning. I usually work myself up into a bit of a tizzy before guests come, as my husband and children will attest. However, all the preparation and planning are always worth it once the guests arrive.

Hosting guests in your home has inherent duties and delights. The invitation of the other interrupts regular routines and rhythms which is simultaneously exhausting and exhilarating. Having new sets of eyes in our homes and cities, in addition to helping us see the dust and dings in our houses, gives us permission to see the ordinary in new light. We become tourists in our own cities, enjoying its unique beauty and noticing its particular brokenness anew.

The ordinary is infused with perspective and the overly-crowded table encourages fresh conversations. However, the hosts or hostesses must give focused attention to their guests, interrupt their normal routines, and limit their own activity to best serve their guests.

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Perhaps because we host quite often, or perhaps because it was written so poetically, a short eight lines from Emily Dickinson offered fresh perspective for my soul this morning.

“The Soul that has a Guest,
Doth seldom go abroad,
Diviner Crowd at home
Obliterate the need,
And courtesy forbid
A host’s departure, when
Upon Himself be visiting
The Emperor of Men!”

Every believer is a constant host to the Lord of hosts through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. Such a reality should shock and stir us, keeping us preoccupied with desire to make our guest most comfortable and at home within us. It should rearrange our desires and reprioritize our time just as much as and even more than having a human guest within our physical walls. It should give us permission to live differently than those around us who are not hosting such a divine dignitary. Such constant divine presence should give us pause when we are tempted to sin as much and even more than having extra sets of eyes around us keeps us on our best behavior.

Zacchaeus was shocked enough to nearly fall out his tree when the Messiah invited himself into his home  (Luke 19:1-6). After all, as a tax collector, he was hated by his own people whom he willingly stole from in the light of day and with Rome’s blessing. People avoided him like the plague, crossing streets to avoid him. Yet, the treasured rabbi chose to stay in his home, allowing him who was a parasite the dignity of being a host.

We ought be far more shocked than Zacchaeus by the fact that the Holy Spirit has chosen to make his abode within our crowded, cantankerous hearts. The disciples understandably did not understand what Jesus was hinting at in his final discourses with them before the Cross.

Jesus answered him, “If anyone loves me, he will keep my  word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him” (John 14:23). 

It had not fully clicked yet that Jesus was God come to pitch his tent among humanity (skenoo, the Greek word used in John 1:14, literally means “to pitch one’s tent among”). If they struggled to understand this reality, how were they to understand that the Helper, the One whom Jesus would send after his return to the Father, would literally live within them?

None of it made sense until the Spirit descended upon them and took lodging within them at Pentecost. Even then, it probably made no sense. Why would the Third Person of the Trinity choose to dwell inside humans? How could this be? What an honor and a privilege that must have been to them initially, as it was in the early days of conversion to all who believe.

Sometimes, nay, often, I forget that my soul has a guest — not just any guest, but the dignitary of all dignitaries, the Spirit of the King of Kings and the Lord of lords (Revelation 19:16).

I long for my guest to be at ease in my soul, to find spaciousness and suitable desires for company.  A soul cluttered about with cares and concerns, lies and other liabilities, has little room for a guest to make Himself comfortably at home.

I pray that I would begin to treat this God-guest with exceedingly more care and concern than I approach human company. I pray that I would linger long in His company and gladly prioritize my day around His priorities until the day that we are physically at home and face-to-face with Christ, the forever host.

A Redeemer Who Runs

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I’ve always loved Isaiah 30. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve studied this chapter, yet the Spirit continually brings me back here, as to a favorite, well-loved spot. The imagery Isaiah uses to rebuke God’s running people is memorable and convicting, especially to a heart prone to feverish activity and idolatry.

Running to False Refuge

Isaiah calls out God’s frantic people who are bent on running back to Egypt for help and refuge. In one sense, you cannot blame them: Egypt was powerful, boasting resources and historic strength. God’s people have always struggled to trust an unseen source. In their infancy as a people, they smelted a statue that could be seen. In their “teenage years” as a people, they demanded to have a human king that they could see so they could be like everyone else. And now that they are a divided people on the verge of exile, the same stubborn pattern remains. They wanted physical help from what seemed to be a strong refuge.

In his prophesy, Isaiah tells them how foolish they look as they load their treasures on the backs of camels to head through a land of danger (lions, lionesses, adders, tight places) to a people who would not profit them (Isaiah 30: 6). Initially, I chuckle at the idiocy of their attempt — until I realize I am them.

I constantly look for places of refuge, security, safety, protection, and profit. Sure, I don’t physically load up a camel and venture to Egypt, but I do so proverbially all the time. I load up my hopes and quickly flee to would-be refuges: publishers, teams, organizations, opportunities, people, vacations, and the like.

The whole thrust of this chapter is a God who says, ”In returning and rest you will be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength” and a people who say, “No! We will flee” (Isaiah 30:15). Through Isaiah, God uses all the strength of vocabulary and imagery to warn his people that their bent to run to false saviors will not only not profit them, but will harm them (Isaiah 30: 3–5).

Rahab who Sits Still and a Redeemer who Runs

This week, what struck me was the name God gives Egypt (and our current collections of false saviors): “Rahab who sits still” (Isaiah 30: 7). The Hebrew word for “sits still” literally means “to sit indolently or proudly.” Even as we run to false saviors, they don’t move towards our help: they sit haughtily and powerlessly. 

Juxtaposed with Rahab who sits still is our Redeemer who runs to us. In the incarnation, the Second Person of the Trinity comes to us, moves towards us in an unthinkable condescension on an unbelievable rescue mission. Though we keep running to false refuges and refusing to return to him, he came to seek and to save us (Luke 19: 10).

Earlier in his gospel, Luke records the parable Jesus told concerning the lavish forgiveness and love of God. The prodigal son, having blown his money and bottomed out, comes to himself and heads home. Upon his return, the father is not sitting on his property with arms crossed and a ledger of the losses he has incurred at the expense of his rebellious son. Instead, “while he was still a long way off, his fathers aw him and felt compassion and ran and embraced him and kissed him” (Luke 16: 20).

In Isaiah 30, we see a similar response from God. Though his people are actively running towards Rahabs who sit still, he longs and waits to show compassion on them:

“Therefore, the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you” (Isaiah 30: 18).

The picture that comes to mind is a damn storing up the potential energy of God’s love until it is released in the Redeemer.

May the Holy Spirit show you this week when you are acting like Israel, loading up your camels to flee to false refuges. May the Spirit invite you to return and rest in the Redeemer who runs towards you.

Inscape in an Escapist World

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Our newsfeeds, both the ones in our minds and the real ones that capture our attention, constantly bid us to escape from our realities. They invite us to wish we were on a secluded, tropical island or exploring the French Riviera. They tell us that if we could only get a new set of mid-century modern furniture and some macrame hanging plants, our lives would be richer, simpler, and more beautiful.

Our escapist culture allures us, whether explicitly or implicitly, to run away to external things for renewal and refreshment. On the backdrop of such an escapist world, inscape, a concept termed by the Jesuit poet Gerard Manly Hopkins, resonates deeply.

The Dearest Freshness Deep Down Things

Hopkins used inscape to describe the unified and complex characteristics that give each thing its uniqueness, and he captures this concept poetically in his famous poem God’s Grandeur where he wrote, “There lives the dearest freshness deep down things.”

While the world bids us look out, Hopkins invites us to look deeper into the things, places, and people all around us. When I find myself imagining that a trip to Hawaii would satisfy me, Hopkins would invite me to fight to see the beauty of the Hibiscus flower growing in a pot in my own backyard. When I find myself buying the lie that what I need is a new set of circumstances, Hopkins gently invites me to ask God for new eyes to see the same things more deeply and differently. With the help of the Holy Spirit and an attuned focus, the mundane drives to soccer and baseball practices with my sons become opportunities to see who God has made them with fresh eyes.

When the world lures me to run away, Hopkins bids me grab a spiritual shovel to begin digging for a dearer freshness deep down the things and people in my present life. Hopkins can say this because he knew that those who dig deep enough would eventually find God, the Creator, at the bottom. For freshness can only come from the abundance of the life-giver and source of all refreshment: the Triune God.

The Dearest Freshness Deep Within Us

Scripturally, we see a similar invitation in the Word of God. Although Christianity is the farthest thing from navel-gazing and looking for life in things and people themselves, Christ gives his children new eyes to see God in all things. The Scriptures are replete with terms like “inner man,” “within,” and “the secret place” which reminds us that God sees us all the way through. While the world looks upon the outward appearance, God looks upon the heart or in the inscape, to borrow Hopkins’ term (1 Samuel 16:7).

Our God desires truth plastered not only on our newsfeeds and walls but more significantly within our deepest parts: “Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being, and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart” (Psalm 51:6). The psalmists found hope and stability knowing that even if the earth gave way and the mountains slipped into the sea, God is in the midst of his people therefore, they would not be moved (Psalm 46:2-5). Similarly. the Apostle Paul prayed that the church in Ephesus would be “strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith” (Ephesians 3:16-17).

Freshness without our sin-flawed hearts only happens by grace through faith in Christ. For Christ alone had truth in his inmost part and wisdom in his inmost place. He alone constantly drew strength and life from the source of life. He always saw as God sees, looking past appearances to the reality. Yet, he took within him the foulness of our sin, drinking to the very dregs the wrath of God we deserved. After rising and ascending to the Father, he sent us the Spirit who would dwell within us, making his home in us and inviting us to make our home within the Triune God.

The Holy Spirit within us gives us the dearest freshness deep down at the soul level. Even if outwardly we are wasting away and the world around us is fading, yet inwardly, we are being renewed day by day (2 Corinthians 4:16-18). By the power of the Holy Spirit, we are invited to begin to see as God sees and to think with the very mind of Christ (2 Corinthians 5:16; 1 Corinthians 2:16). As such, we don’t need to escape our circumstances, but we need to run and hide in the arms of the One who lovingly ordered our circumstances (Psalm 16:5-6). We get to ask him to show us more of himself deep down in the places and people of our everyday lives.