God chose Joshua as the new leader of the people after Moses' death. Both men entered the tabernacle together, one last time for Moses, and the first time for Joshua, to visit with God. The news from the Lord was not good. the people would rebel and God would hide His face from their evil. He would remove His hand of protection and they would suffer and wonder why.
Isn't that how we are? When we as Christians sin - and make a habit of it - God has to distance Himself from that. Then we wonder why we suffer.
Psalm 131 is short, to the point, and illustrates how our lives should be. What a beautiful, profound, word picture! A weaned child is not a helpless baby, but is still dependent on his mother and knows it. That's the spiritual place where we need to be. Not helpless, but not self-sufficient, either. And always aware of Who we are dependent upon.
In Ephesians 2, Paul writes that the blood of Jesus Christ made it possible for Gentiles to be redeemed. He broke down the wall between Jews and Gentiles and made everyone equal at the foot of the cross. Verse 4 tells us that God, out of His rich mercy, because of His love, made us alive together with Christ.
The bad news was that the people of Israel would not remain faithful to the Lord and that Gentiles would have no way to come to Him.
The good news is that Jesus Christ died for all. We all get a new start. And once we do, let's remember our dependence on the Lord. We don't want to go down the road of rebellion.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Deuteronomy 30, Psalm 130, Ephesians 1
If we remember that what the Lord did for Israel in the physical realm, He does for us in the spiritual, then Deut. 30 becomes a promise for us. The Lord will bring me back from "captivity" - illness, strongholds, grief - to the land of "before." He will turn curses to blessings. He will circumcise my heart (v.6) to love the Lord my God with all my heart and all my soul. And actually, none of what God wants from us is too mysterious or hard to get hold of. Verse 14 says, "But the word is very near you, in your mouth, and in your heart, that you may do it." There are no excuses and it's all a matter of the heart.
The Lord said if Israel would turn back to Him after straying away that He would gather them back to the "land of their fathers." The Psalms passage continues this theme. "With the Lord there is abundant redemption."
Epesians 1 describes this redemption. It was provided by the blood of Jesus Christ and by His grace we can know the mystery of His will: that redemption is for gentiles, too. After we hear the word of truth, the gospel, and believe, we are sealed with the Holy Spirit. The Spirit is like our engagement ring or our adoption papers. He promises us final redemption when our bodies are gathered with our spirits on that final day.
There is hope for even the "Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day!" No matter what happens in our lives, we can remember our future. We know how the story ends.
The Lord said if Israel would turn back to Him after straying away that He would gather them back to the "land of their fathers." The Psalms passage continues this theme. "With the Lord there is abundant redemption."
Epesians 1 describes this redemption. It was provided by the blood of Jesus Christ and by His grace we can know the mystery of His will: that redemption is for gentiles, too. After we hear the word of truth, the gospel, and believe, we are sealed with the Holy Spirit. The Spirit is like our engagement ring or our adoption papers. He promises us final redemption when our bodies are gathered with our spirits on that final day.
There is hope for even the "Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day!" No matter what happens in our lives, we can remember our future. We know how the story ends.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Deuteronomy 29, Psalm 129, Galatians 6
Memory is a powerful tool. God (through Moses) wanted the people to remember all He did for them in the past so they would trust Him for the future. He also wanted them to remember the bad things that result from failure to follow and worship only the One True God. Third, He wanted to renew the covenant with them before they crossed into the Promised Land because they would have to fight for control of it. They needed internal fortitude to go forward.
Psalm 129 could be the rallying cry as the people entered the battle. It sounds like a speech at a pep rally to me, at the point where the leader gets the crowd fired up and leads a chant. He yells, "Who are the Bluejays?" and the people yell back, "The mighty, mighty Bluejays!" Only here it's, "Who is the Lord?" and the people say,"The mighty, mighty Lord, who gave us the victory!"
Paul had been through many battles for Christ and had the scars to prove it. He claimed a lot of territory for the Lord. His message, like that of the Psalmist, was to do good to others when you're the victor. Glory in the Lord because that's where the victory comes from. Verse 16 says, "And as many as walk according to this rule, peace and mercy be upon them, and upon the Israel of God."
Doesn't it help to remember God's faithfulness in the past when you face new trials? It helped me when I found out I had cancer and kept helping as I fought through the treatments. When I didn't think I could go on, I turned to the Bible and read the promises there.
Have you fought valiantly in the battles you faced? Have you remained true to the Lord, no matter what? The reward is a fresh sense of His presence, a thrill that He came through again: the thrill of victory. Keep fighting, my friend. The result is worth it.
Psalm 129 could be the rallying cry as the people entered the battle. It sounds like a speech at a pep rally to me, at the point where the leader gets the crowd fired up and leads a chant. He yells, "Who are the Bluejays?" and the people yell back, "The mighty, mighty Bluejays!" Only here it's, "Who is the Lord?" and the people say,"The mighty, mighty Lord, who gave us the victory!"
Paul had been through many battles for Christ and had the scars to prove it. He claimed a lot of territory for the Lord. His message, like that of the Psalmist, was to do good to others when you're the victor. Glory in the Lord because that's where the victory comes from. Verse 16 says, "And as many as walk according to this rule, peace and mercy be upon them, and upon the Israel of God."
Doesn't it help to remember God's faithfulness in the past when you face new trials? It helped me when I found out I had cancer and kept helping as I fought through the treatments. When I didn't think I could go on, I turned to the Bible and read the promises there.
Have you fought valiantly in the battles you faced? Have you remained true to the Lord, no matter what? The reward is a fresh sense of His presence, a thrill that He came through again: the thrill of victory. Keep fighting, my friend. The result is worth it.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Deuteronomy 28, Psalm 128, Galatians 5
Deuteronomy is a book expounding on the Word of the Lord to Moses. It is a book of law. Chapter 28 is purely frightening. If this chapter didn't scare the people into avoiding idolatry, I don't know what would. Sadly, nothing did. Eventually they were taken captive to Babylon after a long and terrible seige and the land lay in ruins for years. Then again, in 70 A.D., Jerusalem was burned and the land turned over to the Romans, then eventually the Muslims and Arabs. It remained a desolate, dusty place where wars were fought for almost 2,000 years because the Jews rejected Jesus Christ.
Today we need to heed the same warning. Follow the Lord and He will guide me and protect me and provide for my needs. Reject the Lord and I'm left to my own devices outside the care and protection of His hand. Chronic sin in the life of a child of God is a dangerous thing.
What a contrast from this gloomy scene as we read Psalm 128. This Psalm presents the picture of what happens when the Lord is worshipped and followed. The choice, and consequences of going either way, are crystal clear.
Galatians completes the picture. Choosing to live by the Spirit instead of in the flesh produces beautiful, good fruit.
What will you choose today? How will you live out your choice?
Today we need to heed the same warning. Follow the Lord and He will guide me and protect me and provide for my needs. Reject the Lord and I'm left to my own devices outside the care and protection of His hand. Chronic sin in the life of a child of God is a dangerous thing.
What a contrast from this gloomy scene as we read Psalm 128. This Psalm presents the picture of what happens when the Lord is worshipped and followed. The choice, and consequences of going either way, are crystal clear.
Galatians completes the picture. Choosing to live by the Spirit instead of in the flesh produces beautiful, good fruit.
What will you choose today? How will you live out your choice?
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
God Has Wings
I don't know if regular angels--other than cherubim and seraphim--have wings, but I know God does. I have a lot to say about the time I've spent sitting on the rock on the beach surrounded by fog, but right now I need to talk about God's wings. I spent a lot of time in the night last night with them.
Physical pain is a big part of the cancer journey and just because I might be through with chemotherapy and three weeks past surgery doesn't mean the pain is gone. The nerve damage to my right hand and my feet won't go away for probably a year. And I'm having some minor issues with the surgery site. Last night it kept me awake.
Emotional pain is also a constant companion. Grief over what is lost and over the continuing suffering sometimes overwhelms me. Sadness that I can't pick up my grandson and hug him to me is almost physical. Knowing I will be able to soon is no consolation for now.
So in the middle of my suffering, I cried out to Jesus. Sweet Jesus. I've discovered that the length of our prayers is directly correlated to the depth of our suffering. All I could manage was to say the Name. After a while I could cry, "God help me!" In the middle of my sobbing, He came. He hovered over me with His wings and He lifted me up so I could enter His sanctuary.
In the book of Exodus, when Moses decribes the directions for making the tabernacle's Holy place behind the veil, he tells us the pattern of wings was woven into the inner ceiling fabric. God's wings covered the place where He would dwell.
The Psalmist says in 63:6-7,"When I remember Thee in the night watches, For Thou hast been my help, And in the shadow of Thy wings I sing for joy." I remembered God in the night and called out to Him. He was my help. I was able to spend time thanking Him for hovering over me. And that was when He usered me into His sanctuary. He spoke comfort to me and I worshipped Him.
Jesus said in Matthew 23:37 that He wanted to gather the children of Jerusalem together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. That's because He has wings. He longs to gather us up under them and carry us into His sanctuary. But they were not willing. We have to be willing. If we're not, He'll leave us where we are.
The Psalmist also says in 73:17 that he was troubled about things the way he understood them until he entered the sanctuary of God. Then He got God's perspective and he saw the truth. I was able to get God's perspective last night. I need to go through this suffering right now. I don't know why, I just know I do. And I'll glorify God along the way.
My original thought was that I would glorify God with a loud voice when it was all over and I was cured, like the leper Jesus healed who came back to say thank you. But healing may be a long way off--or at least the feeling of being healed. The cancer has been removed, so technically I guess healing has occurred. I learned I need to, and can, glorify God in the middle of my suffering. It is in the praise that real healing comes--on the wings of God.
Physical pain is a big part of the cancer journey and just because I might be through with chemotherapy and three weeks past surgery doesn't mean the pain is gone. The nerve damage to my right hand and my feet won't go away for probably a year. And I'm having some minor issues with the surgery site. Last night it kept me awake.
Emotional pain is also a constant companion. Grief over what is lost and over the continuing suffering sometimes overwhelms me. Sadness that I can't pick up my grandson and hug him to me is almost physical. Knowing I will be able to soon is no consolation for now.
So in the middle of my suffering, I cried out to Jesus. Sweet Jesus. I've discovered that the length of our prayers is directly correlated to the depth of our suffering. All I could manage was to say the Name. After a while I could cry, "God help me!" In the middle of my sobbing, He came. He hovered over me with His wings and He lifted me up so I could enter His sanctuary.
In the book of Exodus, when Moses decribes the directions for making the tabernacle's Holy place behind the veil, he tells us the pattern of wings was woven into the inner ceiling fabric. God's wings covered the place where He would dwell.
The Psalmist says in 63:6-7,"When I remember Thee in the night watches, For Thou hast been my help, And in the shadow of Thy wings I sing for joy." I remembered God in the night and called out to Him. He was my help. I was able to spend time thanking Him for hovering over me. And that was when He usered me into His sanctuary. He spoke comfort to me and I worshipped Him.
Jesus said in Matthew 23:37 that He wanted to gather the children of Jerusalem together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. That's because He has wings. He longs to gather us up under them and carry us into His sanctuary. But they were not willing. We have to be willing. If we're not, He'll leave us where we are.
The Psalmist also says in 73:17 that he was troubled about things the way he understood them until he entered the sanctuary of God. Then He got God's perspective and he saw the truth. I was able to get God's perspective last night. I need to go through this suffering right now. I don't know why, I just know I do. And I'll glorify God along the way.
My original thought was that I would glorify God with a loud voice when it was all over and I was cured, like the leper Jesus healed who came back to say thank you. But healing may be a long way off--or at least the feeling of being healed. The cancer has been removed, so technically I guess healing has occurred. I learned I need to, and can, glorify God in the middle of my suffering. It is in the praise that real healing comes--on the wings of God.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Shattered Ruby Glass
My heart shattered into millions of pieces this week. Spring rains had been the heaviest on record, raising the water table level. A subterranean well flooded in the night, spewing geysers of water against the fragile dam. It was built of ruby red crystal and couldn't stand against the onslaught. Rather than developing a crack that widened, it exploded into ruby shards.
I was caught in the swirling waters, slung into the river's chasm, and thought I would drown. The whitewater rapids yanked me under until the very last second, when I surfaced for a gulp of air before being shoved under again and dragged down the river. Over and over again, I'd find a breath, then submerge again. Each time I'd come up above the waves, I'd search downstream for the end of the rapids, but only after I gave up on it did I enter a calmer stretch. As I did, Jesus waded in alongside me and strapped on the lifejacket of grace. He arranged the back part to cradle my head above the water, then put on his own lifejacket and took my hand. He floated with me into a quiet eddy. I could see slivers of ruby glass settling to the bottom as they washed along.
In that safe place, I cried into Bo's shoulder and said, "I feel like somebody died. Somebody I loved a lot."
We must have floated all night, but I'm not sure because I fell asleep. I woke on the shore in dry clothes. I could tell the sun was fully up because of the golden glow all around, but whatever the view, it was obscured by a fog curtain. I could make out the basic structure of the landscape--large, mature trees and boulders--but that's all. I didn't know what to do, so I sat on a rock with a smooth place on top. I propped my chin in my hand and thought about what had happened.
Somebody had died. It was the old Kathy and the old "normal." She was familiar and comfortable, but she was gone now. I realized in the morning light that grieving over her loss was a lot like crying when your 100-year old Christian mother dies. You know she's gone to heaven and that she's whole and well, maybe for the first time in years, and that you're happy for her. But you miss the familiar. You miss her companionship, even her physical presence. So you cry.
The old Kathy was a companion I loved. She was familiar and I had grown used to having her around. I don't know the new Kathy yet. The fog hasn't lifted and I can't really find her. I'm sure I'll like her, but she'll take some getting used to.
The last thing I remember about that monrning on the shore is glancing over toward the water's edge. Littered all along the beach were pieces of shattered ruby glass.
I was caught in the swirling waters, slung into the river's chasm, and thought I would drown. The whitewater rapids yanked me under until the very last second, when I surfaced for a gulp of air before being shoved under again and dragged down the river. Over and over again, I'd find a breath, then submerge again. Each time I'd come up above the waves, I'd search downstream for the end of the rapids, but only after I gave up on it did I enter a calmer stretch. As I did, Jesus waded in alongside me and strapped on the lifejacket of grace. He arranged the back part to cradle my head above the water, then put on his own lifejacket and took my hand. He floated with me into a quiet eddy. I could see slivers of ruby glass settling to the bottom as they washed along.
In that safe place, I cried into Bo's shoulder and said, "I feel like somebody died. Somebody I loved a lot."
We must have floated all night, but I'm not sure because I fell asleep. I woke on the shore in dry clothes. I could tell the sun was fully up because of the golden glow all around, but whatever the view, it was obscured by a fog curtain. I could make out the basic structure of the landscape--large, mature trees and boulders--but that's all. I didn't know what to do, so I sat on a rock with a smooth place on top. I propped my chin in my hand and thought about what had happened.
Somebody had died. It was the old Kathy and the old "normal." She was familiar and comfortable, but she was gone now. I realized in the morning light that grieving over her loss was a lot like crying when your 100-year old Christian mother dies. You know she's gone to heaven and that she's whole and well, maybe for the first time in years, and that you're happy for her. But you miss the familiar. You miss her companionship, even her physical presence. So you cry.
The old Kathy was a companion I loved. She was familiar and I had grown used to having her around. I don't know the new Kathy yet. The fog hasn't lifted and I can't really find her. I'm sure I'll like her, but she'll take some getting used to.
The last thing I remember about that monrning on the shore is glancing over toward the water's edge. Littered all along the beach were pieces of shattered ruby glass.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Burned Up Prayers
One night last week I had a weepy crisis moment feeling damaged, broken, and ugly. The next morning, my Bible reading took me to Ex. 29. This is where the Lord began His earnest work on me.
Actually, we need to begin with Exodus 28 and the role of the priest. He bore the names of the tribes on his shoulders before God. But he also wore them over his heart. He carried them before the Lord. He carried the judgment in the ephod. He bore the judgment of the people as we would "bear a burden" for someone in prayer, but in a deeper sense. It was almost as Jesus bore our judgment on the cross. The priest wore a sign that said, "Holy to the Lord" on his turban. He bore the iniquity of the holy things of Israel. He was their intercessor for holiness and it all came back to him. The buck stopped there. He was responsible for the people.
I have taken my freedom as a priest in Christ much too lightly. It is a grave, life-or-death responsibility. Not just for me, but for those on whose behalf I intercede. It was Aaron's life-time calling and must be mine.
It was also a thing of beauty to behold and a delight to hear. Aaron wore a beautiful robe with tinkling golden bells on its hem. I want my life to be beautiful and sound delightful--like tinkling golden bells to the ears of God.
How can that happen? What needs to happen in my life? I read chapter 28 the morning preceding my crisis night. The next morning brought me to chapter 29.
The anointing of the priests involved sprinkling blood on them and their beautiful robes. Every time they put them on, the blood stains reminded them of the holiness of God. Then the altar was anointed and every offering was burned as a sweet aroma to the Lord. A morning burnt sacrifice and an evening burnt sacrifice. My prayers are that sacrifice. But have they ever been burned up before? Have I ever gone through a fire hot enough to burn up my prayers? No, and that is the part of the "refiner's fire" I missed.
In our "Christianese" language, we talk about "dying to self" and all, but I wonder, are we willing not merely to die, but to be consumed by fire for God's enjoyment? The sacrifice on the altar of the tabernacle was killed, quite dead. But that wasn't the end. It was then burned up. Consumed by the fire of God for His pleasure. This was what produced the sweet aroma to the Lord. I have never been to the place where I was willing to be consumed before.
The altar area of the courtyard was a place of death. A dead, burned carcass is an ugly sight. The only beauty was found in the stunning attire of the priests--blue, purple, scarlet, precious stones and gold, tinkling bells. All spattered with blood stains from the anointing ceremony.
What has to be burned up? All physical traces of the sacrifice. The only things I have to offer, the things I've held as precious, are really dead carcasses. Only as I allow God to burn them up do they gain any value--that sweet aroma. Every physical thing that brings me pleasure must be presented on the altar. All my physical attributes that I prided myself on, my good figure, my healthy, fabulous hair, will be taken from me. I never thought I had a pretty face, but that's all that will be left. Every physical comfort is being destroyed by chemotherapy. My body will die from the inside out. I will become the priest and the sacrifice and my prayers will ascend through fire almost literally. At this point, there is no beauty except what God makes of it. The only beauty I'll have will come from my priestly robe. The gorgeous, blood stained robe that signifies who I really am.
If I don't put on that robe, there will be nothing but ashes left of me. My only choice, my only desire now, is to wear that robe. To be found covered in blood stains and offered up as a sweet aroma before my Lord. Consumed for His glory.
How will I live that out every day? What will it look like? I have no idea. I have no further plans of my own.
Before I started chemotherapy I was terrified of it. If I think about the science of the process too long even now it sort of freaks me out. But I was so gripped in the four days I had between being told I would have it and the first treatment by fear and terror that it was hard to think of anything else. The dream I had of walking toward hell certainly opened my eyes to the suffering Jesus went through--especially as the time drew nearer for Him to go to the cross and then into hell to conquer it.
But the truth behind it escaped me even then. Ever since God created people, He has been consumed by us. Everything He has ever done has been geared to our redemption. Every plan, every action, everything He even thinks about is for our good. I've always known the Bible teaches that God loves us, loved us first, and that's why we love Him--because He first loved us.
But the reality of God being consumed by us really escaped me until now. When I realized I was willing to be consumed by God simply for His pleasure, I still didn't understand what a small thing that really is. After all, Jesus was consumed for me. And thoughts of me consume His time now. How else could He "ever live to intercede for us?"
So it must play out like this--I will ask myself every day, "Are my thoughts consumed by Jesus? Are all my words and actions consumed in praise and glory of Him?" If the answer isn't yes, I'm still just a dead carcass.
Actually, we need to begin with Exodus 28 and the role of the priest. He bore the names of the tribes on his shoulders before God. But he also wore them over his heart. He carried them before the Lord. He carried the judgment in the ephod. He bore the judgment of the people as we would "bear a burden" for someone in prayer, but in a deeper sense. It was almost as Jesus bore our judgment on the cross. The priest wore a sign that said, "Holy to the Lord" on his turban. He bore the iniquity of the holy things of Israel. He was their intercessor for holiness and it all came back to him. The buck stopped there. He was responsible for the people.
I have taken my freedom as a priest in Christ much too lightly. It is a grave, life-or-death responsibility. Not just for me, but for those on whose behalf I intercede. It was Aaron's life-time calling and must be mine.
It was also a thing of beauty to behold and a delight to hear. Aaron wore a beautiful robe with tinkling golden bells on its hem. I want my life to be beautiful and sound delightful--like tinkling golden bells to the ears of God.
How can that happen? What needs to happen in my life? I read chapter 28 the morning preceding my crisis night. The next morning brought me to chapter 29.
The anointing of the priests involved sprinkling blood on them and their beautiful robes. Every time they put them on, the blood stains reminded them of the holiness of God. Then the altar was anointed and every offering was burned as a sweet aroma to the Lord. A morning burnt sacrifice and an evening burnt sacrifice. My prayers are that sacrifice. But have they ever been burned up before? Have I ever gone through a fire hot enough to burn up my prayers? No, and that is the part of the "refiner's fire" I missed.
In our "Christianese" language, we talk about "dying to self" and all, but I wonder, are we willing not merely to die, but to be consumed by fire for God's enjoyment? The sacrifice on the altar of the tabernacle was killed, quite dead. But that wasn't the end. It was then burned up. Consumed by the fire of God for His pleasure. This was what produced the sweet aroma to the Lord. I have never been to the place where I was willing to be consumed before.
The altar area of the courtyard was a place of death. A dead, burned carcass is an ugly sight. The only beauty was found in the stunning attire of the priests--blue, purple, scarlet, precious stones and gold, tinkling bells. All spattered with blood stains from the anointing ceremony.
What has to be burned up? All physical traces of the sacrifice. The only things I have to offer, the things I've held as precious, are really dead carcasses. Only as I allow God to burn them up do they gain any value--that sweet aroma. Every physical thing that brings me pleasure must be presented on the altar. All my physical attributes that I prided myself on, my good figure, my healthy, fabulous hair, will be taken from me. I never thought I had a pretty face, but that's all that will be left. Every physical comfort is being destroyed by chemotherapy. My body will die from the inside out. I will become the priest and the sacrifice and my prayers will ascend through fire almost literally. At this point, there is no beauty except what God makes of it. The only beauty I'll have will come from my priestly robe. The gorgeous, blood stained robe that signifies who I really am.
If I don't put on that robe, there will be nothing but ashes left of me. My only choice, my only desire now, is to wear that robe. To be found covered in blood stains and offered up as a sweet aroma before my Lord. Consumed for His glory.
How will I live that out every day? What will it look like? I have no idea. I have no further plans of my own.
Before I started chemotherapy I was terrified of it. If I think about the science of the process too long even now it sort of freaks me out. But I was so gripped in the four days I had between being told I would have it and the first treatment by fear and terror that it was hard to think of anything else. The dream I had of walking toward hell certainly opened my eyes to the suffering Jesus went through--especially as the time drew nearer for Him to go to the cross and then into hell to conquer it.
But the truth behind it escaped me even then. Ever since God created people, He has been consumed by us. Everything He has ever done has been geared to our redemption. Every plan, every action, everything He even thinks about is for our good. I've always known the Bible teaches that God loves us, loved us first, and that's why we love Him--because He first loved us.
But the reality of God being consumed by us really escaped me until now. When I realized I was willing to be consumed by God simply for His pleasure, I still didn't understand what a small thing that really is. After all, Jesus was consumed for me. And thoughts of me consume His time now. How else could He "ever live to intercede for us?"
So it must play out like this--I will ask myself every day, "Are my thoughts consumed by Jesus? Are all my words and actions consumed in praise and glory of Him?" If the answer isn't yes, I'm still just a dead carcass.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)