Wednesday, August 27, 2025

Cling to Jesus

 

Cling to Jesus

 Cling to Jesus - Audio/Visual

Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. (Phil. 4:8)

Have you ever thought to yourself, "I'm such a spiritual flop," or "The only fruit I bear is fear." Have you ever said, "Perfect peace? I feel like a perfect mess." "Fruitless and fret-filled" describe too many of us. We don't want it to because we long to follow Paul's admonition to, "Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable, (and to) think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise." (Phil. 4:8) So, with a grimace we say, Today I’m only going to think of true, honorable, and right thoughts . . . even if it kills me. Unfortunately, Paul's call to peace can become a list of requirements where every thought must be true, must be honorable, must be right, must be pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and worthy of praise. Who can do that?

Maybe Paul’s list works for you. But if it doesn’t, there’s a simpler approach. Make it your aim to cling to Jesus. Isn’t he true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and worthy of praise? “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in me, he is thrown away as a branch and dries up; and they gather them and cast them into the fire, and they are burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be my disciples. Just as the Father has loved me, I have also loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love; just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love.” (John 15:4-10)

Jesus' allegory is simple. God is like a vineyard owner, and he loves to coax the best out of his vines. He pampers, prunes, blesses and cuts them. His aim is singular: "What can I do to prompt production?" God is the capable orchardist who carefully superintends his vineyard. And Jesus plays the role of the vine. Non-gardeners might confuse the vine with the branches. So, to see the vine, just lower your gaze from the stringy, winding branches to the thick base below. The vine is the root and trunk of the plant. It transfers nutrients from the soil to the branches. Jesus makes the stunning claim, "I am the real root of life." If anything good comes into our lives, he is the conduit. And who are we? We are the branches which bear the fruit of "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness." (Gal. 5:22) We meditate on what is "true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable . . . excellent and worthy of praise." (Phil. 4:8) Our gentleness is evident to all. We bask in the "peace of God, which transcends all understanding." (Phil. 4:7) And as we cling to Jesus, God is honored: "My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be my disciples." (John 15:8)

The Father tends, Jesus nourishes, we receive, and fruit appears. Passersby, stunned at the overflowing baskets of love, grace and peace can't help but ask, "Who runs this vineyard?" And God is honored with such questions. For this reason, then, fruit-bearing matters to God and it should matter to you, too, because don’t you grow weary of unrest? Aren’t you ready to be done with sleepless nights? You long to be "anxious for nothing." You long for the fruit of the Spirit. But how do you bear this fruit? By trying harder? No. Branches bear fruit by clinging and hanging tighter.

Our assignment is not fruitfulness, but faithfulness. The secret to fruit bearing and anxiety-free living is less about doing, and more about abiding. And just in case we miss this point, Jesus employed the word abide(s) ten times in those seven verses of John 15:4-10. (See, above.) "Come, live in me!" Jesus invites. "Make my home your home." Odds are that you know what it means to be at home somewhere. To be at home is to feel safe. Your home is a place of refuge and security. To be at home is to be comfortable; to be at home is to be familiar. When you enter the door, you don’t have to consult a blueprint to find the kitchen. Our only aim then is to be at home in Jesus. He’s not a roadside park, or a Motel 6. He’s our permanent mailing address. Christ is our home. He is our place of refuge and security. We are comfortable in his presence, and free to be our authentic selves. We know our way around in him. We know his heart and his ways. We rest in him and find our nourishment in him. His roof of grace protects us from storms of guilt. His walls of providence secure us from destructive winds. His fireplace warms us during the lonely winters of life. We linger at home with Jesus and never leave.

The branch never lets go of the vine. Does a branch show up on Sundays for its once-a-week meal? Only at the risk of death. The healthy branch never releases the vine because that’s where it gets its nourishment twenty-four hours a day. If branches had seminars, the topic would be "Secrets of Vine Grabbing." But branches don't have seminars because to attend them would mean that they would have to release the vine. The dominant duty of the branch, then, is to cling to the vine, and the dominant duty of the disciple is to do the same. But we tend to miss that. We banter about pledges to "change the world," or "make a difference for Christ," or "lead people to the Lord." Yet these are by-products of the Christ-focused life. Our goal is not to bear fruit; our goal is to stay attached. For instance, when a father leads his four-year-old son down a crowded street, he takes him by the hand and says, "Hold on to me." He doesn't say, "Memorize the map, son," or "Good luck dodging the traffic," or "Let's see if you can find your way home, smarty pants." The good father gives the child one responsibility: "Hold on to my hand." God does the same. So, don't load yourself down with lists. Don't enhance your anxiety with the fear of not fulfilling those same lists. Your goal is not to know every detail of the future. Your goal is to hold the hand of the one who does and to never let go. That was the choice of Kent Brantly.

Brantly was a medical missionary in Liberia, waging a war on the cruelest of viruses, Ebola. The epidemic was killing people by the thousands in 2014. As much as any person in the world, Brantly knew the consequences of the disease since he had treated dozens of cases. He knew the symptoms – soaring fever, severe diarrhea and nausea. He’d seen the results of the virus, and for the first time he was feeling the symptoms himself. His colleagues had drawn blood and begun the tests, but it would be at least three days before they knew the results. So, Dr. Brantly quarantined himself in his house and waited. His wife and family were across the ocean. His co-workers couldn’t enter his residence. He was, quite literally, alone with his thoughts. He opened his Bible and meditated on a passage from the book of Hebrews. Then he wrote in his journal, "The promise of entering his rest still stands, so let us never give up. Let us, therefore, make every effort . . . to enter that rest." Dr. Brantly considered the phrase "make every effort" because he knew he would have to do exactly that. He then turned his attention to another verse from that same chapter in Hebrews: "Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need." He copied the scripture into his prayer journal and wrote the words "with confidence" in italics. He closed his journal and began the wait. (Hebrews 4:11; 16.)

The next three days brought unspeakable discomfort, and the test results confirmed what they had feared: he had contracted Ebola. Kent's wife, Amber, along with their two children, were at her parent’s home in the United States when he called her with the diagnosis. When her phone rang, she hurried to the bedroom for some privacy and Kent got straight to the point: "The test results came back. It's positive." Amber began to cry. They talked for a few moments before Kent said that he was tired and would call again soon. Now it was Amber's turn to process the news. She and her parents sat on the edge of her bed and wept. Then, after some time, Amber excused herself and went outside.

She walked across a field toward a large mesquite tree and took a seat on a low-hanging branch. She found it difficult to find words to formulate her prayer, so she used the lyrics of hymns she had learned as a young girl. There is no shadow of turning with Thee; Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not. As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be. The words lifted her spirits, so she began to sing aloud another song she treasured: I need Thee every hour, in joy or pain; Come quickly and abide, or life is in vain. I need Thee, O I need Thee; Every hour I need Thee; O bless me now, my Savior, I come to Thee. She later wrote, "I thought my husband was going to die. I was afraid. Through those hymns, though, I was able to connect with God in a meaningful way when I couldn't find my own words to pray."

Kent was transported from Africa to Atlanta. His caregivers chose to risk an untested treatment. Little by little his condition improved. Within a few days his strength began to return. The entire world, it seemed, rejoiced when he was able to exit the hospital, cured of Ebola. We can applaud the Brantlys' victory over this disease and another, a virus that is every bit as deadly and contagious: the unseen contagion of anxiety. Kent and Amber were prime candidates for panic, yet they reacted with the same resolve that enabled them to battle Ebola. They stayed connected to the vine. They resolved to abide in Jesus. Kent opened his Bible. Amber meditated on hymns. They filled their minds with the truth of God. Jesus taught us to do the same. He tells us, and somewhat bluntly, "Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on." (Matt. 6:25) He then gives two commands: "look" and "consider."

He tells us to "look at the birds of the air." (Matt. 6:26) When we do, we notice how happy they seem to be. They aren't frowning, cranky or even grumpy. They don't appear sleep deprived or lonely. They sing and soar yet "they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns." (v. 26) They don't drive tractors, or harvest wheat, yet Jesus asks us, “Do they appear well cared for?” He then turns our attention to the flowers of the field. "Consider the lilies," he says. (v. 28) Less than the birds, flowers don't do anything but even though their life span is short, God dresses them up for red-carpet appearances. Even Solomon, the richest king in history, "was not arrayed like one of these." (v. 29)

So, how do we disarm anxiety? By stockpiling our minds with God thoughts. Because if birds and flowers fall under the category of God's care, won't he care for us even more? Saturate your heart with the goodness of God. "Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth." (Col. 3:2) Free from fear. Free from dread. And, yes, free from anxiety when you cling to Jesus.

Grace,

Randy

Thursday, August 21, 2025

Perfect Peace in a Perfect Storm

 

Perfect Peace in a Perfect Storm

Perfect Peace in a Perfect Storm - Audio/Visual 

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. (Phil. 4:7)

When mariners describe a tempest that no sailor can escape, they call it a perfect storm. Not perfect in the sense of ideal, but perfect in the sense of a combination of factors. All the elements, such as hurricane-force winds, a cold front, plus a downpour of rain work together to create the insurmountable disaster. The winds alone would be a challenge, but the winds plus the cold plus the rain? The perfect recipe for a disaster. But you don’t have to be a fisherman to experience a perfect storm. All you need is a layoff plus a recession. A disease plus a job transfer. A relationship breakup plus a college rejection. We can handle one challenge, but two or three at a time? One wave after another; gale-force winds followed by thunderstorms. It's enough to make you wonder, Will I survive? Paul's answer to that question is profound and concise. "The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:7)

When he penned the "be anxious for nothing" paragraph, he’d recently endured a storm of his own on the Mediterranean Sea. On his final recorded voyage, Paul was placed on a ship in Caesarea destined for Italy. The ship enjoyed smooth sailing until they reached Sidon. At the next stop, Myra, they changed ships. They were loaded onto a large, Egyptian grain ship. About one hundred feet long, and weighing perhaps more than a thousand tons, the ships were sturdy but engineered in such a way that they did not sail well into the wind. So, it’s no surprise with winter fast approaching that they reached nearby Cnidus with great difficulty. From there they sailed south under the shelter of Crete until they reached the port of Fair Havens, about halfway across the island. But the sailors didn't want to stay in Fair Havens. They knew they couldn't reach Rome before winter but preferred the port of Phoenix. Paul tried to convince them otherwise, and they had reason to listen to him because Paul was no stranger to storms at sea, including shipwrecks. (2 Cor. 11:25) He knew the danger of a winter voyage and issued a strong caution. But in the eyes of the captain, Paul was just a Jewish preacher. So, they weighed anchor and set sail for a better harbor. (Acts 27:1-12)

"But not long after, a tempestuous head wind arose, called Euroclydon." (v. 14). What a great word – a compound of the Greek term euros, the east wind, and the Latin word aquilo, the north wind. Some translations call this wind for what it was, a nor’easter. The temperature dropped. The sails whipped. The waves frothed. The sailors searched for land and couldn't see it. They looked at the storm and couldn't avoid it. The components of the perfect storm were gathering: a winter sea, a ferocious wind, a cumbersome boat and an impatient crew. Individually, these elements were manageable. But collectively? They were formidable. So, the crew did what they could. They hoisted the lifeboat aboard and frapped the vessel by wrapping ropes and cables around it to keep it from breaking up. They lowered the sea anchor, jettisoned cargo and threw equipment overboard. But nothing worked. Verse 20 reads like a death sentence: "Now when neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small tempest beat on us, all hope that we would be saved was finally given up." The perfect storm had taken its toll. It lasted for fourteen days. (v. 27)

Fourteen hours would shake anyone, maybe even fourteen minutes. But two weeks of sunless days and starless nights? Fourteen days of bouncing, climbing toward the heavens and plunging toward the sea. The ocean boomed, splashed and rumbled. The sailors even lost their appetite, and then they lost all reason for hope. They simply gave up. And when they gave up, Paul spoke up. “Men, you should have listened to me and not have sailed from Crete and incurred this disaster and loss. But now I urge you to take heart, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only of the ship.’" (v. 21-22)

What a contrast. The mariners, who knew how to sail in storms, gave up all hope. Paul, a Jewish preacher, who presumably knew very little about sailing, became the courier of courage. What did he know that they didn't? Better question, what did he say that you may need to hear? Because maybe you’re bouncing around in your own nor’easter. Like the sailors, you've done all you can to survive: you've tightened the ship and lowered the anchor. You've consulted the bank, changed your diet, called the lawyers, called your supervisor and tightened your budget. You've gone for counseling, rehab or therapy, yet the sea churns away with its angry foam. Is fear coming at you from all sides? Then let God speak to you. Let God give you what he gave the sailors: perfect peace.

Paul first begins with a rebuke: "Men, you should have listened to me." We don't like to be rebuked, corrected or chastened. Neither do our kids, but that doesn’t stop us from doing what parents need to do when it’s appropriate. So, when we ignore God's warnings, a scolding is in order for his kids, too. Are you in a storm of anxiety because you didn't listen to God? He told you that the borrower is a slave to the lender, but you took on the dangerous debt. He told you to cherish your spouse and nourish your kids, but you cherished your career and nourished your vices. He cautioned you about the wrong crowd, the strong drink and the long hours but you didn’t listen, and now you’re in a storm of your own making. If this describes you, receive God's rebuke. He corrects those he loves, and he loves you. So, stand corrected. Confess your sin and resolve to do better. Be wiser next time. Learn from your poor choices, but don't despair. Because while this story contains one rebuke, it also contains three promises that can give all of us peace in the middle of a storm.

The first promise is that heaven has helpers to help you. Paul said, "There stood by me this night an angel." (Acts 27:23) On the deck of a sinking ship in a raging storm, Paul received a visitor from heaven. An angel came and stood beside him. Angels still do. "All the angels are spirits who serve God and are sent to help those who will receive salvation." (Heb. 1:14) The prophet Daniel experienced the assistance of angels. He was troubled. He resolved to pray. And after three weeks, Daniel received an answer. Curiously, the moment Daniel began praying the answer had been issued, but demonic forces blocked the pathway of the angel supplied with God’s response. The impasse lasted a full three weeks until the archangel Michael arrived on the scene with his superior authority. The standoff was ended, and the prayer was answered.

Have your prayers been met with a silent sky? Have you prayed and heard nothing? Are you floundering in the land between an offered prayer and an answered prayer? If so, don't give up. What the angel said to Daniel, God says to you: "Since the first day that you set your mind to gain understanding and to humble yourself before your God, your words were heard." (Dan. 10:12) You’ve been heard in heaven. Angelic armies have been dispatched, and reinforcements have been rallied. God promises, "I will contend with him who contends with you." (Isa. 49:25) So do what Daniel did – remain before the Lord.

The second promise is that heaven has a place for you. Paul knew this. "For there stood by me this night an angel of the God to whom I belong." (Acts 27:23) When parents send their kids to summer camp, they have to sign lots of documents, mostly because of lawyers. One of the documents, however, asks, “Who is the responsible party?” If Johnny breaks his arm, or Suzie breaks out in measles, who will be responsible? Hopefully, Mom and Dad are willing to sign their names. But God already has. When you gave your life to him, he took responsibility for you. He guarantees your safe arrival at his port. You are his sheep; he is your shepherd. Jesus said, "I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me." (John 10:14) You are his child; he is your father. "You are no longer a slave but God's own child. And since you are his child, God has made you his heir." (Gal. 4:7) You can have peace in the midst of the storm because you’re not alone; you are God’s.

And the third promise is that you’re in the Lord’s service. "For there stood by me this night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve." (Acts 27:23) God had given Paul an assignment: carry the gospel to Rome. Paul had not yet arrived at Rome, so God wasn’t finished with him yet. And since God wasn’t finished, Paul knew that he would survive. Most of us don't have a clear message like Paul's, but we do have the assurance that we will not live one day less than we’re supposed to live. If God has work for you to do, he will keep you alive to do it. "All the days planned for me were written in your book before I was one day old." (Ps. 139:16) I'm not saying that you won’t have any more problems in your future. Quite the contrary. Paul had his share, and so will you. Look at verse 22: "And now I urge you to take heart, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only of the ship." (Acts 27) That’s a problem.

It’s not easy to lose your ship. Your ship is the vessel that carries, sustains, protects and supports you. Your boat is your marriage, your body, your business. Because of your boat, you've stayed afloat. And now without your boat you think you’ll sink. And you’re right. You will . . . for a while. Waves will sweep over you. Fear will suck you under like the riptides of Hurricane Erin. But take heart, says Paul. Take heart, says Christ: "In this world you will have trouble, but be brave! I have defeated the world." (John 16:33) You can lose it all, only to discover that you haven't because God has been there all along. God has never promised a life without storms, but he has promised to be in the storms when we face them.

Noah Drew can tell you that. He was only two years old when he discovered the protective presence of Jesus. The Drew family was making the short drive from their house to their neighborhood pool, and Noah’s mom was driving so slowly that the automatic door locks didn’t engage. Noah opened his door and fell out. Mom felt a bump, as if she had driven over a speed bump, and braked to a quick stop. Noah’s dad jumped out of the car and found Noah on the pavement. "He's alive!" Ben shouted and placed him on the seat. Noah’s legs were covered in blood, and he was shaking violently. Mom hurried over to the passenger's seat and held Noah on her lap as dad drove to the ER. Incredibly, the tests showed no broken bones. A five-thousand-pound vehicle had run over his legs, yet little Noah had nothing but cuts and bruises to show for it.

Later that night Noah’s mom, Leigh Anna, dropped to her knees and thanked Jesus for sparing her son. She then stretched out on the bed next to him. He was asleep; or so she thought. As she was lying beside him in the dark, he said, "Mama, Jesus catched me." She said, "He did?" Noah replied, "I told Jesus thank you, and he said you're very welcome." The next day he gave some details. "Mama, Jesus has brown hands. He catched me like this." He held his arms outstretched, cupping his little hands. The next day he told her that Jesus has brown hair. When she asked him for more information, he said, "That's all," in the nonchalant manner of a child. But when he said his prayers that night, he said, "Thank you, Jesus, for catching me."

Nor’easters bear down on the best of us. Contrary winds. Crashing waves. They all come. But Jesus still catches his children. He still extends his arms. He still sends his angels. Because you belong to him, you can have peace in the midst of the storm. The same Jesus who sent the angel to Paul sends this message to you: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you." (Isa. 43:2) You may be facing the perfect storm, but Jesus offers the perfect peace. Not just any peace, but a peace that passes all understanding. And who can understand the mind of God? That’s perfect peace – even in the midst of a perfect storm. (Rom. 11:34)

Grace,

Randy