Jabez

Jabez

Jabez cried out to the God of Israel, "Oh, that you would bless me and enlarge my territory! Let your hand be with me, and keep me from harm so that I will be free from pain." And God granted his request. (1 Chronicles 4:10)

Buried in the least-read section of one of the least-read books of the Bible is the story about a guy named Jabez. And to get to his story, you have to read through almost four chapters of a book that sounds like a disease, trying to pronounce ridiculously hard names of a nation’s family tree that spans over a thousand years. Ugh.

However, 44 names into the chapter, a story suddenly breaks through, and then the roll call resumes as if nothing had happened at all. It’s as if the writer is saying, “Hey, you’ve just got to know something about this guy named Jabez. He stands head and shoulders above the rest!” It’s the story of things starting out badly for a person no one’s heard of who prays a one-sentence prayer that’s answered in an extraordinary way. It’s a story about God’s little big man.

When’s the last time God worked through you in such a way that you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was in it? Better yet, when’s the last time you witnessed a miracle, even if it wasn’t your own? The truth is most of us don’t know how to ask for that kind of experience, much less even think we should because it sounds impossible, even embarrassingly suspicious in our self-serving culture.

But there’s Jabez, crying out to the God of Israel and asking for a blessing. But isn’t that just a little demanding? I mean, shouldn’t we revere God instead of treating him like a genie in a bottle that owes us three wishes? That didn’t seem to bother Jabez – apparently he hadn’t heard that it’s politically incorrect to ask God for too many blessings.

Jabez lived in southern Israel after the conquest of Canaan, during the time of the judges. He was born into the tribe of Judah, and eventually became the head of his clan. In Hebrew, the word Jabez means “pain.” A literal rendering of the word reads, “He causes (or will cause) pain.” Not exactly the start of a promising life. And while all newborns give their mothers a certain amount of pain during childbirth, apparently there was something about Jabez’s birth that went beyond the norm – so much so that his mother chose to memorialize the occasion by naming her son, “Pain.” Why would a mother do that? Good question.

Maybe the pregnancy, or the delivery was traumatic; maybe the baby was born breech; maybe the mother’s pain was emotional; maybe the father had abandoned her during the pregnancy; maybe he died; maybe the family was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy and the prospect of another mouth to feed was just too overwhelming. Regardless, Jabez grew up with a name that any boy would love to hate. A real boy named Sue.

But people’s names do mean something, don’t they? I mean, look at Kim Kardashian and Kanye West’s baby, North. It’s a directional thing, right? “North West.” That way, I suppose, the baby will never get lost. And in the Bible, names had meaning, too. Jacob meant “heal catcher,” or “grabber,” a good one-word biography for the con man patriarch. And in the book of Ruth, Naomi and her husband named their two sons Mahlon and Chilion. Translation? “Sickly” and “Sulking.” And, that’s exactly how they behaved until they died in early adulthood. So, maybe being called a “Pain” wasn’t that bad after all.

But note that when Jabez asks for God’s blessing, it’s not like one of those sneezing prayers. “Bless the missionaries;” “Bless the kids;” “Bless the food we’re about to eat;” “Bless a sneeze.” Jabez was asking God to impart supernatural favor. He wasn’t asking for more of what he could get for himself. He was crying out for the wonderful, unlimited goodness that only God had the power to give.

And notice, too, the rather radical aspect of Jabez’s request: he left it entirely up to God to decide what the blessing would be, and where, when and how he would receive it. A radical trust in God’s good intentions toward him. It wasn’t like asking for a Mercedes Benz (because all his friends drove Porsche’s and he had to make amends), a six-figure income, or some other material sign that he had found a way to cash in on his connection with God. Jabez wanted nothing more, but nothing less, than what God wanted for him.

But then Jabez continues by asking God to “enlarge his territory.” Maybe that was a request for a larger home, a better job, or greater influence. I’m not exactly sure. But talk about being bold. I mean, the nerve! Right? But then again, maybe he was asking God to “enlarge” his wisdom, or his understanding, or his humility, or his patience, or love, or joy, or good health. Maybe it was to enlarge his mind, his spirit or his character. Whatever it was, what would happen if you asked God to give you more influence to help others, your family, your church, your city, the nation, or even the world?

Maybe Jabez’ request was not just a desire for more real estate, but a desire for more responsibility, more opportunity to make a mark for the God of Israel. In the original Hebrew, the word “territory” is translated as either “coast” or “borders,” kind of like a “homestead,” or a “frontier.” And that makes sense because prior to that time Joshua had partitioned the Promised Land into chunks of real estate for each tribe. So it’s like, “Surely I was born for more than this, God!”

Have you ever noticed that as opportunities expand, the resources do, too? Perhaps Jabez sensed the pleasure that God felt in the sincerity and urgency of his request to accomplish great things in Israel. The truth is that, typically, we look at “territory” as follows: My abilities + my experience + my training + my personality + my appearance + my past + the expectations of others = my assigned territory. The truth is that “territory” is better defined as my willingness and weakness + God’s will and supernatural power = my expanding influence.

And it’s not like miracles have to break natural law to be a supernatural event. When Jesus stilled the storm, he didn’t set aside universal law – the storm would have eventually subsided on its own. Or when Elijah prayed for it to stop raining, God directed the natural cycle of drought and rain. Frankly, the reason most of us don’t witness God’s miracles in our life is that we’re either living under a rock, or we’re afraid to take a risk. Let’s face it: you don’t need God when you’re standing in one place.

It’s when you thrust yourself into the Jetstream of God’s plans for this world (which are beyond our abilities to accomplish), and plead with Him to use you, that His miraculous power is released. At that moment, Heaven sends angels, resources, strength and the people you need to accomplish His purpose.

So now, Jabez is really on a roll. Having made the flabbergasting request that God increase his influence and opportunities, he says, “Let your hand be with me.” In other words, Jabez was asking that God’s presence, love and power be manifest in every minute of Jabez’ life. More than a thousand years later, the Apostle Paul would write similar words to a struggling church in Philippi. “And my God shall supply all your needs according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:19)

In other words, it’s as if God wants us to attempt something so large that failure is guaranteed unless God steps in. But that flies in the face of our common sense. It contradicts our life experiences. It disregards our feelings, our training and our need for security. It sets us up to look like the fool and a loser. Yet, it’s God’s plan for His most-honored servants. Dependence upon God makes heroes of ordinary people because it’s not a about a person’s greatness. It’s a matter of the person’s surrender. You become dependent on the strong hand of God to turn your needs into His unlimited opportunities. Here’s what I mean.

In Matthew 28:19-20, Jesus said, “Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations … and lo, I am with you always.” In that single sentence Jesus was giving the eleven an impossible task, coupled with an incredible blessing. Go into all the world and preach? Really? That’s a disaster in the making. After all, Jesus was commissioning unreliable cowards like Peter, who had already proven that a little girl could get him to curse the Christ.

But in 2 Chronicles 16:9, the writer says, “For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is loyal to him.” Please note that God isn’t scanning the horizon for spiritual giants or seminary standouts. He’s seeking out hearts who are loyal to Him. The problem is that “loyalty” is the only part of His expansion plan that He doesn’t provide. That’s up to you.

Finally, Jabez makes the incredible request for freedom from harm and the resultant pain it causes. Doesn’t this guy know when to stop? I mean, territories and lots of blessings, okay. But freedom from pain and suffering? Protection? Yep, because that’s what Jesus would later say. Did you know that nearly one-quarter of the Lord’s Prayer is a request for deliverance? “And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.” (Matthew 6:13) There’s nothing in there about spiritual insight or special powers. Not a word about confrontation. But since God answers the prayers of those who are a threat to Satan’s kingdom, we should be prepared to confront the spiritual attack that is bound to follow. So, a little protection would be a good thing, don’t you think?

So, what happened? “And God granted his request.” No further comment is necessary. You see, when Jabez had a problem, he didn’t go to school to get smarter, or to his friends to get advice. He prayed. When things didn't work out for him, he didn’t complain, or start a riot. He just prayed. When Jabez had a hopeless and desperate situation, he prayed God-sized prayers.

Do you want a breakthrough in your spiritual life? Then pray. Pray with faith and humility and confidence and perseverance until God blesses you. I’m not suggesting, as some do, a prosperity gospel where all you have to do is “name it and claim it.” But what I am suggesting is that you pray continually and give God thanks in all your circumstances because that’s God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. (1 Thess. 5:17-18) And then to see Jesus in your neighbor since whatever you do for your neighbor, you do for Him. (Matt. 25:31-46) Then God will work a miracle. He’ll either calm the storm, or calm your heart. Here’s what I mean.

Look at Luke’s account of a peculiar encounter in the 23^rd chapter of the book after his name. It begins with an account of Herod, Pilate’s jurisdictional counterpart whom Pilate had skillfully used to toss a political hand grenade to avoid getting blown up. But Herod had heard a lot about Jesus, so much so that he wanted to see the miracle worker perform a trick anyway. So, he asked Jesus a ton of questions. Silence. So after getting the silent treatment, maybe Herod handed Jesus a glass of water and asked him to change it into wine. Still nothing. Or, maybe he gave Jesus a piece of bread and asked him to make it a loaf. Nada. But in Luke 23:12, we have a curious sidebar from the doctor: “(Herod and Pilate, who had been enemies before, became friends that day.)” The parentheses are Luke’s, not mine.

It’s as if Luke doesn’t want us to miss the irony of the miracle that had just occurred – apparently, it was harder to see water changed to wine, than an enemy turned into a friend. In other words, Herod had his miracle. He just didn’t see it.

Jabez, labeled with sorrow and pain, uttered a simple prayer to nullify the label. Maybe Jabez thought his name was his destiny. So, he prayed for God’s protection from the pain he anticipated. But you don’t have to be a pain to pray like a Jabez. And you don’t have to pray a novel when a sentence will do.

Just be God’s little big man, or woman, and then don’t miss out on the miracle.

Grace,

Randy

Heaven

Heaven

When they came to a place called the Skull, the soldiers crucified Jesus and the criminals — one on his right and the other on his left. Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:33-34)

The soldiers were throwing dice to see who’d get his clothes. The crowds just stood there watching the train wreck – you don’t want to stare, but you just can’t look away. And the religious leaders made fun of Jesus, saying, “He saved others. Let him save himself if he is God’s Chosen One, the Christ.” (Vs. 35)

The soldiers, between rolls of the dice, took turns taunting Jesus, coming to him and offering him cheap wine that’d gone bad only, to prolong the torture. They said, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself!” (Vs. 37) And at the top of the cross these words were written: THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS.

Then, one of the criminals being crucified began to shout insults at Jesus: “Aren’t you the Christ? Then save yourself and us.” But the other criminal stopped him and said, “You should fear God! You are getting the same punishment he is. We are punished justly, getting what we deserve for what we did. But this man has done nothing wrong.” (Vs. 41) Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus’ reply? “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Vs. 43)

Do you believe in heaven? Okay, and if you do, do you think you’ll go there? But how do you know? I know how I know. I’ve got a list. You know, a list. “I’m dependable at work; I go to church; I don’t cheat on my taxes; I don’t beat the dog;” etc. The List. And there’s a pretty good chance you’ve got one, too.

It’s our qualifications. It’s as though heaven can be earned, at least in my book, through hard work and responsible pet ownership. And the line of logic is fairly simple — we keep the list on earth and … ding, ding, ding, ding, ding … we get the place in heaven. So, what’s on your list?

The truth is that we think we’re “basically good;” decent, hardworking folk, and we have a list to prove it. Now, maybe yours doesn’t include work or taxes, but you probably have a list. “I pay my bills.” “I love my spouse and kids.” “I’m better than Hitler.” “I’m basically good.” Most of us have a list because there’s a purpose for having one: to prove we’re good. But there’s a problem with that premise: none of us are good enough.

Paul made this point abundantly clear when he strategically placed two sticks of dynamite in the third chapter of his letter to the Romans. The first is in verse 10. “There is no one who always does what is right,” he wrote, “not even one.” No one. Not you. Not me. Not anyone. And the second explosion occurs in verse 23: “All have sinned and are not good enough for God’s glory.” Boom! So much for lists. So much for being “basically good.”

Okay, then how do we get to heaven? If no one is good, if no list is sufficient, if no achievements are adequate, how can a person possibly be saved? Frankly, no question is more crucial. And to hear Jesus’ answer to that question, follow me to that last encounter he had before he gave up his Spirit. An encounter between Jesus and two criminals. All three are being crucified.

Now, you could think that these two thieves are victims. You know, undeserving of punishment; good men who got a bad rap; patriots dying a martyr’s death. But that’s not the case. Matthew dispatches that notion with just one verse: “The robbers who were being crucified beside Jesus also insulted him.” (Matt. 27:44)

Tragedy has a way of revealing a person’s character. And the tragedy of this crucifixion reveals that these two thieves had none. They slander Jesus with their last breaths. Can’t you just hear them? Voices, husky with pain, are sneering at the Savior. “Some king of the Jews you are.” “Life’s pretty tough on Messiahs these days, eh?” “How about a little miracle, Galilean?” “Ever see nails that size in Nazareth, carpenter boy?”

Now, you’d expect that from the Pharisees. You might even expect it from the crowd. Even the mocking of the soldiers isn’t surprising. But from the thieves? Crucified men insulting a crucified man? It’s like two men with nooses on their necks ridiculing the plight of a third. Or, like two POWs before a firing squad taunting another’s misfortune. Could anyone be more blind? Better yet, could anyone be more evil?

Yeah, it’s no wonder these two guys are on the cross. Rome deems them worthy of an ugly, torturous death. Their only value to society is to serve as a public spectacle. Strip them naked so all will know that evil cannot hide. Nail their hands to a piece of wood so all will see that the wicked have no strength. Post them high so the adults can tell their children, “That’s what happens to evil men.”

Every muscle in their bodies screams for relief. The nails pulse fire through their arms. Legs contort and twist seeking comfort. But there’s no comfort on a cross. Yet even the pain of the spikes won’t silence their spiteful tongues. These two will die as they lived – attacking the innocent. But in this case, the innocent doesn’t retaliate.

The man they mocked wasn’t much to look at. His body was whip-torn flesh, yanked away from the bone. His face was a mask of blood and spit; eyes puffy and swollen. “King of the Jews,” was painted over his head. A crown of thorns pierced his scalp. His lip was split. Maybe his nose was bleeding, or a tooth was loose.

The man these guys were mocking was half-dead. The man they were mocking was beaten. But the man they were mocking was at peace. “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they’re doing.” (Luke 23:34)

And after Jesus’ prayer, one of the criminals starts shouting insults at him: “Aren’t you the Christ? Then save yourself and us.” (vs. 39) The heart of this thief remained hard. The presence of Christ crucified meant nothing to him. Jesus was worthy of ridicule, so the thief ridiculed. And he fully expected his chorus to be harmonized from the other cross. But it wasn’t. Instead, it’s challenged. “You should fear God! You’re getting the same punishment he is. We are punished justly, getting what we deserve for what we did. But this man has done nothing wrong.” (v. 40-41)

Unbelievable. The same mouth that cursed Christ earlier now defends Him. What happened? What could he have possibly seen since he’s been on the cross? Did he witness a miracle? Did he hear a lecture? Was he read a treatise on the trinity? No, of course not. In fact, according to Luke, all he heard was a prayer – a prayer of grace: God's Riches At Christ's Expense.

But that was enough.

Something happens to a man who stands in the presence of God. And something happened to the thief. Read his words again: “We are punished justly, getting what we deserve…. But this man has done nothing wrong.” The core of the gospel in just one sentence. The essence of eternity through the mouth of a crook: I am wrong; Jesus is right; I have failed; Jesus has not; I deserve to die; Jesus deserves to live.

The thief knew precious little about Christ, but what he knew was precious indeed. He knew that an innocent man was dying an unjust death with no complaint on his lips. And if Jesus can do that, he just might be who he says he is. So the thief asks for help: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

The heavy head of Christ lifts and turns. The eyes of these two meet. And what Jesus sees is a naked man. I don’t mean in terms of clothes. I mean in terms of charades. He has no cover. No way to hide. And his title? Scum of the earth. His achievement? Death by crucifixion. His reputation? Criminal. His character? Depraved until the last moment. Until the final hour. Until the last encounter.

Until now.

Tell me, what has this man done to warrant help? He’s wasted his life. Who is he to beg for forgiveness? He publicly ridiculed Jesus. What right does he have to pray this prayer? Do you really want to know?

The same right you have to pray yours, and the same right I have to pray mine.

You see, that’s you and me on the cross. Naked, desolate, hopeless and estranged. That’s us. That’s us asking, “In spite of what I’ve done, in spite of what you see, is there any way you could remember me when we all get home?” But this time, we don’t boast, and we don’t produce our list because any sacrifice appears silly when placed before God on a cross.

It’s more than we deserve, but we’re desperate. So we plead, as have so many others: The cripple at the pool; Mary at the wedding; Martha at the funeral; the demoniac at Geresene; Nicodemus at night; Peter on the sea; Jairus on the trail; Joseph at the stable. And every other human being who has dared to stand before the Son of God and admit his or her need.

We, like the thief, have one more prayer. And we, like the thief, pray. And we, like the thief, hear the voice of grace. Today you will be with me in my kingdom. And we, like the thief, are able to endure the pain knowing he’ll one day take us home.

Even a thief like me.

Grace,

Randy