Symbols

Symbols - Audio/Visual

Symbols

You call yourself a Jew. You trust in the law of Moses and brag that you are close to God. . . . You think you know everything and have all truth. You teach others, so why don't you teach yourself? (Romans 2:17, 20-21)

Suppose I invited you to go sailing with me. "I didn't know you’re a sailor," you say. "You bet your barnacles I am," I answer. "Where’d you learn to sail?" I flash a cocky smile and pull a faded photo out of my pocket. You look at the sailor standing on the bow of a schooner. "That's my great-grandpa. He sailed Cape Horn. Sailing’s in my blood. I’ve got saltwater in my veins." "Your great-grandpa taught you how to sail?" "Of course not. He died before I was born." "Then who taught you to sail?" I produce a leather-bound book and boast, "I read the manual." "You read a book on sailing?" "More than that. I took a course at the community college. I can tell you the difference between fore and aft, and I can show you the stern and the bow. You ought to see me hoist a mast." "You mean, 'hoist a sail'?"

"Whatever. We even went on a field trip, and I met a real captain. I shook his hand! Come on, you want to sail?" "Honestly, Randy, I don't think you’re a sailor." "You want the proof? You want the real proof? Take a look, matey, I've got a tattoo." I roll up my sleeve revealing a mermaid sitting on an anchor. "Watch how she jumps when I flex." You aren't impressed. "That's all the proof you have?" "What else do I need? I've got the pedigree. I've got the book. And I've got the tattoo. Anchors aweigh!" Chances are you'd stay on shore. Even a landlubber knows it takes more than a family tree, a night course, and ink-stained skin to be seaworthy. You wouldn't trust a guy like me to sail your boat, and Paul wouldn't trust a fellow like me to navigate the church. But apparently some were trying.

Oh, they weren't the seafaring type; they were the religious type. Their ancestors weren't shipmates; they were pew mates. They didn't have a book on boats, but they had a book called the Torah. And most of all, they'd been tattooed; they'd been circumcised. And they were proud – proud of their lineage, their law and their initiation. My hunch is they were also proud of Paul's letter, too. Just imagine the congregation listening to this epistle. Jews on one side, Gentiles on the other. Can't you see the Jews just beaming? Paul speaks out against the godless deviants, and they nod. Paul warns of the divine wrath directed at hedonists, and they smile. As Paul, their fellow Jew, lambastes the evil uncircumcised, they erupt in a chorus, "Amen! Paul. Preach it!" But then Paul surprises them. He pokes his finger at their puffy chests and asks, “And what about you?” What about us?

“You call yourself a Jew. You trust in the law of Moses and brag that you are close to God. You know what he wants you to do and what is important, because you have learned the law. You think you are a guide for the blind and a light for those who are in darkness. You think you can show foolish people what is right and teach those who know nothing. You have the law; so you think you know everything and have all truth.” (Rom. 2:17-20) Those aren't fireworks you’re hearing; those are bombshells. Seven bombshells to be exact. Seven heat-seeking verbs launched into the midst of legalism. Just when the deacons thought they were going to get praised, they got blasted.

Paul tells them, "Some Jews you are. You trust in the law rather than the Lawgiver and brag that you have a monopoly on God. You're convinced you are a part of a prized few who 'know' (beyond a shadow of a doubt) what God wants you to do. And if that's not bad enough, you 'think' you are God's gift to the confused and the foolish. In fact, you 'think' you know everything." Something tells me Paul just blew his shot at being nominated for the "Pastor of the Year" award.

The apostle, however, is more concerned about making a point than scoring points, and his point for religious rock-stackers is clear: "Don't put pride in your pedigree." Being born with a silver mezuzah in your mouth means nothing in heaven. Faith is an intensely personal matter. There is no royal lineage or holy bloodline in God's kingdom. But these Jews were riding on the coattails of their heritage. It didn't matter that they were thieves, adulterers, and extortionists (see Rom. 2:22-23); they still considered themselves God's chosen few.

Perhaps the branches of your family tree are heavy with saints and seers. Perhaps you were born in a church basement and cut your teeth on a pew. If so, be grateful, but don't be lazy. Or maybe you have no pedigree. Your ancestry is more like a lineup at the county jail than a roster of Sunday school teachers. If so, don't worry. Just as religious heritage brings no bonus points, a secular heritage brings no deficits. Family trees can't save you or condemn you; the ultimate decision is yours.

Having dealt with the problem of pedigree, Paul then addresses the problem of the tattoo. He turns his attention to the most sacred badge of the Jew: circumcision. Circumcision symbolized the nearness God desires with his people. God puts a knife to our self-sufficiency. He wants to be a part of our identity, our intimacy, and even our potency. Circumcision proclaimed that there is no part of our life too private, or too personal for God. Yet, rather than see circumcision as a sign of submission, the Jews had come to see it as a sign of superiority. With time they began to trust the symbol more than the Father. Paul shatters that illusion by proclaiming, "True circumcision is not only on the outside of the body. A person is a Jew only if he is a Jew inside; true circumcision is done in the heart by the Spirit, not by the written law. Such a person gets praise from God rather than from people." (Rom. 2:28-29)

Later Paul asks, "Did God accept Abraham before or after he was circumcised?" (Rom. 4:10) Important question. If God only accepted Abraham after the circumcision, then Abraham was accepted according to his merit and not according to his faith. So what’s Paul's answer? Abraham was accepted "before his circumcision." (v. 10) Abraham was accepted by God in Genesis 15 and circumcised in Genesis 17. Fourteen years separate the two events. But if Abraham was already accepted by God, then why was he circumcised? Paul answers that question in the next verse: "Abraham was circumcised to show that he was right with God through faith before he was circumcised." (v. 11) Paul's point is crucial: circumcision was symbolic. Its purpose was to show what God had already done. Here’s what I mean.

On my left hand is a symbol – a gold ring. It's priceless. It cost a beautiful legal assistant a lot of money. She gave it to me on the day we married. The ring is a symbol of our love, a statement of our love, a declaration of our love, but it is not the source of our love. When we have disagreements, I don't take off the ring and set it on a pedestal and pray to it. I don't rub it and seek wisdom. Were I to lose the ring, I'd be crushed, but our marriage would continue. It is a symbol, nothing more.

But suppose I tried to make the ring more than it is. Suppose I became a jerk of a husband; cruel and unfaithful. Imagine that I failed to provide for my wife, or care for our children. What if one day she reached the breaking point and said, "You’re not a husband to me. There is no love in your heart or devotion in your life. I want you to leave." How do you think she'd respond if I countered, "How dare you say that? I'm wearing the ring you gave me. I've never removed it. Not for a minute! Sure I beat you and cheated on you, but I wore the ring. Isn't that enough?" How many of you think that such a defense would move her to apologize and weep, "Oh, Baby, how forgetful of me. You’ve been so sacrificial wearing that ring all these years. Sure you’ve beaten me, abandoned me, and neglected me, but I'll dismiss all that because you’ve worn the ring"? Right. She'd never say that. Why? Because apart from love, the ring means nothing.

The symbol represents love, but it cannot replace love. Paul is accusing the Jews of trusting the symbol of circumcision while neglecting their souls. Could he accuse us of the same? Substitute a contemporary symbol such as a cross, or communion, or church membership. "God, I know I never think about you. I know I hate people and cheat my friends. I abuse my body and lie to my spouse. But you don't mind, do you? I mean, after all, I’ve been a member of this church since I was ten years old." Or, "Every Easter I take communion." Or, "My father and mother were fifth-generation Puritans, you know." Do you think God would say, "You're right. You never think of me or respect me. You hate your neighbor and abuse your kids. But, since you’re a “member,” I’ll overlook your rebellion and evil ways"? Right. A symbol has no power apart from the ones who share it.

In a closet at my mom’s house is a varsity football jacket. I earned it by playing four years of high-school football, track and wrestling. It, too, is a symbol. It's symbolic of sweat and work and long hours on the practice field. The jacket and a sore knee are reminders of something I could do twenty years ago. But do you think if I put the jacket on now I'd instantly be forty pounds lighter and a whole lot faster? Do you think if I wore that jacket into the office of a coach he'd extend his hand and say, "We've been waiting for a player like you. Go out there and suit up!"? Right. That jacket is merely a memoir of something I once did. It says nothing about what I could do today. It alone doesn't transform me, empower me, or enable me. Neither does your heritage, even if you're a descendant of John Wesley.

Please understand. Symbols are important. Some of them, like communion, illustrate the cross of Christ. They symbolize salvation, demonstrate salvation, even articulate salvation. But they do not impart salvation. Putting your trust in a symbol is like claiming to be a sailor because you have a tattoo, or claiming to be a good husband because you have a ring, or claiming to be a football player because you have a letterman’s jacket. Do we honestly think God would save his children based upon a symbol? What kind of God would look at a religious hypocrite and say, "You've never loved me, sought me or obeyed me, but because your name was on the church roll and in the right denomination, I’ll save you"? On the other hand, what kind of God would look at the sincere seeker and say, "You dedicated your life to loving me and loving my children. You surrendered your heart and confessed your sins. I want to save you so badly. But I'm sorry, your church took communion before the sermon. It should have been the other way ‘round. So, because of a technicality, you’re forever lost in hell"? Right. Our God is abundant in love and steadfast in mercy. He saves us, not because we trust in a symbol, but because we trust in a Savior.

Please note Paul hasn't changed subjects; he's just changed audiences. His topic is still the tragedy of a godless life. "The wrath of God is being revealed from heaven against all the godlessness." (Rom. 1:18) From God's perspective there’s no difference between the ungodly partygoer, the ungodly finger-pointer, and the ungodly pew-sitter. The message is the same: without God all are lost. Or, as Paul summarizes: All of us, whether insiders or outsiders, start out in identical conditions, which is to say we all start out as sinners. Scripture leaves no doubt about it: "There's nobody living right, not even one, nobody who knows the score, nobody alert for God." (Rom. 3:10 MSG) Just as lineage, laws and tattoos don't make me a sailor, heritage, rituals and ceremonies don't make me a Christian. God justifies the believer, not because of the worthiness of his belief, but because of Christ's worthiness.

Let's go back to my sailing invitation. I know I said you probably wouldn't go, but let's pretend that you aren't as smart as you look, and you accept and board the boat. You begin to worry when you notice that I lift the sail only a few inches on the mast. You think it even stranger that I position myself behind the partially raised sail and begin to blow. "Why don't you raise the sail?" you ask. "Because I can't blow on the whole thing," I pant. "Let the wind blow it," you urge. "Oh, I can't do that. I'm sailing this boat by myself." Those are the words of a legalist – huffing and puffing to push his vessel to heaven.

With time we drift out to sea, and a powerful storm hits. Rain splatters on the deck, and the little vessel bounces on the waves. "I'm going to set the anchor!" I yell. You're relieved that I at least know where the anchor is, but then you’re stunned at where I put it. First, I take the anchor and set it up near the bow. "That should steady the boat!" I shout. But, of course, it doesn't. Next I carry the anchor to the stern. "Now we’re secure!" But the bouncing continues. I hang the anchor on the mast, but it doesn't help. Finally, in fear and frustration, you take the anchor and throw it out to the deep and scream, "Don't you know you have to anchor to something other than yourself!" A legalist doesn't know that. He anchors only to himself. His security comes from what he does, his lineage, his law, and his tattoo. When the storm blows, the legalist casts his anchor on his own works. He tries to save himself.

After all, isn't he in the right group? Doesn't he have the right law? And hasn't he passed through the right initiation? Here’s the point: salvation is God's business. God is the One who saves his children. There’s only one name under heaven that has the power to save, and that name is not yours – regardless of the mermaid on your tattoo.

Grace,

Randy

Judging

Judging - Audio/Visual

Judging

But if you think that leaves you on the high ground where you can point your finger at others, think again. Every time you criticize someone, you condemn yourself. It takes one to know one. Judgmental criticism of others is a well-known way of escaping detection in your own crimes and misdemeanors. But God isn’t so easily diverted. He sees right through all such smoke screens and holds you to what you’ve done. (Romans 2:1-2 MSG)

You know what disturbs me most about Jeffrey Dahmer? Not his acts, though they were horrific. Dahmer was convicted of seventeen murders. Eleven corpses were found in his apartment. He cut off arms and ate body parts. The thesaurus has 204 synonyms for the word, “vile,” but each falls far short of describing a man who kept skulls in his refrigerator, and hoarded a human heart. He redefined the boundary for brutality. But that's not what troubles me most.

You know what troubles me most about Jeffrey Dahmer? Not his trial, as disturbing as it was – with all those pictures of him sitting serenely in court, face frozen, motionless. No sign of remorse, no hint of regret. Remember those steely eyes and impassive face? But there’s another reason. Know what really troubles me about Jeffrey Dahmer? Not his punishment, though life without parole is hardly a quid pro quo for his actions. How many years could satisfy justice? A lifetime in jail for every life he took? But that's not what troubles me most. What troubles me most is his conversion.

Months before an inmate murdered him, Dahmer became a Christian. Said he repented. Said he was sorry. Said he put his faith in Christ. Was baptized. Started life over. Began reading Christian books and attending chapel. Sins washed. Soul cleansed. Past forgiven. That troubles me. Grace for a cannibal? Maybe you feel the same. And if not about Dahmer, then maybe someone else. Ever wrestled with the deathbed conversion of a rapist, or the eleventh-hour conversion of a child molester? We've sentenced them, maybe not in court, but in our hearts. We've put them behind bars and locked the door. They’re forever imprisoned by our disgust. And then, the impossible happens. They repent. Our response? We cross our arms and furrow our brows and say, "God won't let you off that easy. Not after what you did. God’s kind, but he's no wimp. Grace is for average sinners like me, not deviants like you."

And for proof we turn to Romans 1. "God's anger is being shown against . . . ." And then Paul lists it all: sexual sin, evil, selfishness, hatred, jealousy, murder. (Vv. 26-30) We want to shout, "Go get 'em, Paul! It's about time someone spoke out against sin. It's high time someone pulled back the blanket on adultery and turned the light on dishonesty. Nail those perverts. String up those porn peddlers. We'll stand by you, Paul! We decent, law-abiding folk are with you!" Paul's response? "If you think that leaves you on the high ground where you can point your finger at others, think again. Every time you criticize someone, you condemn yourself. It takes one to know one." (Rom. 2:1) Whoops.

In Romans 1, Paul confronts the hedonists. In chapter 2, he deals with another group, the judgmental moralists: those who "pass judgment on someone else." (2:1) Somewhere between the escort service and the church service there’s the person who "points [his] finger at others." "Therefore you have no excuse, O man, whoever you are, when you judge another; for in passing judgment upon him you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, are doing the very same things." (2:1 RSV)

Who is this person, this “whoever you are”? It’s anyone who filters God's grace through his own opinion. Anyone who dilutes God's mercy with his own prejudice. He’s the prodigal son's elder brother who wouldn't attend the party. (Luke 15:11-32) He’s the ten-hour worker, upset because the one-hour worker got the same paycheck. (Matt. 20:1-16) He’s the fault-finding brother obsessed by his brother's sins and oblivious to his own. If you "think you can judge others," (Rom. 2:1) Paul has a stern reminder for you: it's not your job to hold the gavel. "God judges those who do wrong things, and we know that his judging is right." (v. 2) The key word here is judges.

It's one thing to have an opinion. It's quite another to pass a verdict. It's one thing to have a conviction; it's another to convict the person. It's one thing to be repulsed by the acts of a Jeffrey Dahmer. It's another entirely to claim that I am superior, or that he’s beyond God’s grace. It's our job to hate the sin, but it's God's job to deal with the sinner. God has called us to despise evil, but he's never called us to despise the evildoer. But we’d like to. Is there anything more satisfying than judging others? There’s something smug and self-satisfying about putting on the robe, stepping behind the bench and slamming down the gavel. Besides, judging others is the quick and easy way to feel good about ourselves. A convenience-store ego-boost. Standing next to all the Mussolini’s and Hitler’s and Dahmer’s of the world, we boast, "Look, God! Compared to them, I'm not too bad." But that's the problem.

God doesn't compare us to them. They aren't the standard. God is. And compared to him, Paul argues, "there is no one who does anything good." (Rom. 3:12) Here’s what I mean. Suppose God simplified matters and reduced the Bible to one command: "Thou shalt jump so high in the air that you touch the moon." No need to love your neighbor, or pray, or follow Jesus; just jump up and touch the moon and you'll be saved. We'd never make it. There may be a few who jump three or four feet, even fewer who jump five or six; but compared to the distance we have to go, no one gets very far. Though you may jump six inches higher than I do, that’s not much of a reason to boast.

Now, God hasn't called us to touch the moon, but he might as well have. He said, "You must be perfect, just as your Father in heaven is perfect." (Matt. 5:48) None of us can meet God's standard. As a result, none of us deserves to put on the robe and stand behind the bench and judge others. Why? We aren't good enough. Dahmer may jump six inches, and you may jump six feet, but compared to the 238,894 miles that remain, who can boast? It borders on the comical.

Those of us who jump three feet look at the fellow who jumped one inch and say, "What a lousy jump." Why do we do that? It's a ploy. Because as long as I’m thinking of your weaknesses, then I don't have to think about my own. As long as I’m looking at your puny jump, then I don't have to be honest about my own. I'm like the man who went to see the psychiatrist with a turtle on his head and a strip of bacon dangling from each ear and said, "I'm here to talk to you about my brother."

It's the universal strategy of impunity. Even kids use it. “If I can get Dad angrier at my brother than me, I'm off scot-free.” So I accuse. I compare. Rather than admit my own faults, I find faults in others. The easiest way to justify the mistakes in my house is to find worse ones at my neighbor's. Those scams don't work with God. Read Paul's words carefully.

“God isn't so easily diverted. He sees right through all the smoke screens and holds you to what you’ve done. You didn't think, did you, that just by pointing your finger at others you’d distract God from coming down on you hard? Or did you think that just because he's such a nice God he'd let you off the hook? Better think that one through from the beginning. God is kind, but he's not soft. In kindness he takes us firmly by the hand and leads us into a radical life change.” (Rom. 2:3-4) We just aren't good enough to judge. Can the hungry accuse the beggar? Can the sick mock the ill? Can the sinner condemn the sinner? No. Only One can judge, and that One is neither the one writing nor reading these words.

But not only are we unworthy, we’re unqualified. We don't know enough about the person to judge him. We don't know enough about his past. We condemn a man for stumbling this morning, but we didn't see the blows he took yesterday. We judge a woman for the limp in her walk but can’t see the tack in her shoe. We mock the fear in their eyes but have no idea how many stones they’ve ducked, or darts they’ve dodged. Are they too loud? Maybe they fear being neglected again. Are they too timid? Maybe they fear failing again. Too slow? Maybe they fell the last time they hurried. We just don't know. Only one who has followed yesterday's steps can be their judge.

But not only do we not know enough about their past, we’re ignorant about their tomorrow, too. Can we judge a book while chapters are still unwritten? Should we pass a verdict on a painting while the artist still holds the brush? How can you dismiss a soul until God's work is complete? "God began doing a good work in you, and I am sure he will continue it until it is finished when Jesus Christ comes again." (Phil. 1:6) So we need to be careful. The Peter who denies Jesus at tonight's fire may the very same person who proclaims him with fire at tomorrow's Pentecost. The Samson who’s blind and weak today may use his final strength to level the pillars of godlessness. A stammering shepherd in this generation may be the mighty Moses of the next. And don't call Noah a fool; you may be asking him for a lift. "Do not judge before the right time; wait until the Lord comes." (1 Cor. 4:5)

A condemned criminal was sent to his death by his country. In his final moments, he asked for mercy. Had he asked for mercy from the people, it would have been denied. Had he asked it of the government, it would have been declined. Had he asked it of his victims, they’d have turned a deaf ear. But it wasn't to these he turned for grace. He turned instead to the bloodied form of the One who hung on the cross next to his and pleaded, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." And Jesus answered by saying, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise." (Luke 23:42-43)

As far as we know, Jeffrey Dahmer did the same thing. And as far as we know, Jeffrey Dahmer got the same response. And when you think about it, the request Dahmer made is no different than yours or mine. He may have made it from a prison bunk and you may make it from a church pew, but from heaven's angle we're all asking for the moon. And by heaven’s grace we all receive it.

Grace,

Randy

Adopted

Adopted - Audio/Visual

Adopted

All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ. Even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes. God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure. (Eph. 1:3-5)

Between 1854 and 1929, about two hundred thousand orphans and abandoned children in eastern cities were placed on westbound trains and shipped across the United States in search of homes and families. Many of the children had lost their parents through epidemic. Others were children of down-on-their-luck immigrants. Some were orphaned by the Civil War. But they all needed homes. Loaded on trains in groups of thirty to forty, they stopped in rural areas for viewings. The children were lined on the platform like livestock at a County Fair. Potential parents asked questions, evaluated health, and even examined teeth. If selected, the children went to their homes. If not, they got back on the train. The Orphan Train. Lee Nailling remembers the experience.

He had been living at the Jefferson County Orphan Home for two years when he, as an eight-year-old, was taken with his two younger brothers to a train station in New York City. The day before, his biological father had handed him a pink envelope that bore the father's name and address. He told the boy to write him as soon as he reached his destination. The boy placed the envelope in his coat pocket so no one would take it. The train embarked for Texas, and Lee and his brothers soon fell asleep. When Lee awoke, the pink envelope was gone; he never saw it again. I'd love to tell you that Lee's father found him. That the man, unwilling to pass another second without his sons, sold every possession he owned so that he could reunite his family. I'd love to describe the moment when Lee heard his father say, "Son, it's me! I came for you." Lee’s biography, unfortunately, contains no such an event. But yours does.

Long ago, “… even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes. God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure. (Eph. 1:4-5) There’s something in you that God loves. Not just appreciates, but loves. You cause his eyes to widen, his heart to beat faster. He loves you. And he accepts you. Don't we all want to know that? Jacob did.

The Old Testament relates the story of this cunning, slippery, sly soul who was not beyond pulling the wool over his father's eyes to advance his own agenda. He spent his early years collecting wives, money and livestock the way some men today collect wives, money and cars. But Jacob grew restless. By midlife he had an ache in his heart that caravans and concubines couldn't comfort, so he loaded up his family and struck out for his home country. He was only a short jaunt from the Promised Land when he pitched a tent near the Jabbok River and told the family to go on without him. He needed to be alone. With his fears? Perhaps. Maybe to gather his courage. Or with his thoughts? Possibly. A break from the kids and camels would be nice. We aren't told why he went to the river.

But we are told about a "Man [who] wrestled with him until the breaking of day." (Gen. 32:24) Yes, "Man" with a capital “M.” This was no common man. Out of the dark he pounced. Through the night the two fought, flopping and plopping in Jabbok's mud. At one point Jacob had the best of the Man until the Man decided to settle the matter once and for all. With a deft jab to the hip, he left Jacob writhing like a gored matador. The jolt cleared Jacob's vision, and he realized, “I'm tangling with God.” He grabbed hold of the Man and held on for dear life. "I will not let You go unless You bless me!" he insisted. (v. 26) What does that mean? God in the mud? A tooth-and-nail fight to the finish? Jacob clinging, and then limping? Sounds more like a bar brawl than a Bible story.

But the blessing request? I get that part. Distill it down to today’s language, and Jacob was asking, "God, do I matter to you?" I'd ask the same question. Given a face-to-face encounter with the Man, I'd venture, "Do you know who I am? In the great scheme of things, do I count for anything?" Because so many messages tell us we don't. We get laid off at work, and declined for credit. Everything from acne to Alzheimer's leaves us feeling like the girl with no date to the prom. So we react. We validate our existence with a flurry of activity. We do more, buy more, and achieve more. Like Jacob, we wrestle. All our wrestling, I suppose, is simply asking this question: "Do I matter?"

All of grace, I believe, is God's definitive reply: "Be blessed, my child. I accept you. I have adopted you into my family." Adopted children are chosen children. That's not the case with biological kids. When the doctor handed me to John Sterling, my dad had no exit option. No loophole. No choice. He couldn't give me back to the doctor and ask for a better-looking or smarter son. The hospital made him take me home. But if you were adopted, your parents chose you. Surprise pregnancies happen. But surprise adoptions? Never heard of one. Your parents could have picked a different gender, color, or ancestry. But they selected you. They wanted you in their family. But you object, "Oh, but if they could have seen the rest of my life, they might have changed their minds." That’s the point.

God saw our entire lives from beginning to end, and in spite of what he saw he was still convinced "to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ.” (Eph. 1:5) We can now live "like God's very own children, adopted into his family – calling him 'Father, dear Father.' . . . And since we are his children, we will share his treasures – for everything God gives to his Son, Christ, is ours, too." (Rom. 8:15, 17) It really is that simple. To accept God's grace is to accept God's offer to be adopted into his family. Your identity is not in your possessions, talents, tattoos, or accomplishments. Nor are you defined by your divorce, deficiencies, debt or dumb choices. You are God's child. You get to call him "Papa." You "may approach God with freedom and confidence." (Eph. 3:12) You receive the blessings of his special love (1 John 4:9-11) and provision. (Luke 11:11-13) And you will inherit the riches of Christ, and reign with him forever. (Rom. 8:17)

But the adoption is horizontal as well as vertical. You are included in the forever family. Dividing walls of hostility are broken down, and community is created on the basis of a common Father. Instant family – worldwide. So rather than conjuring up reasons to feel good about yourself, trust God's verdict, instead. If God loves you, you must be worth loving. If he wants to have you in his kingdom, then you must be worth having. God's grace invites you to change your attitude about yourself and take sides with God against your own feelings of rejection.

Remember Lee? Well, things got worse before they got better. He and his two brothers were taken to several towns. On the sixth day someone in a small Texas town adopted one brother. Then a family selected Lee and his other brother. But soon Lee was sent to another home, the home of a farming family. But he’d never been on a farm. The city boy didn't know not to open the doors to the hen house. When Lee did, the angry farmer sent him away. In a succession of sad events, Lee had lost his father, had ridden a train from New York to Texas, had been separated from his two brothers, and been kicked out of two homes. His little heart was about to break.

Finally he was taken to the home of a tall man and a short, plump woman. During the first supper Lee said nothing. He went to bed making plans to run away. The next morning they seated him at a breakfast of biscuits and gravy. When he reached for one, well, I'll let him tell you what happened. “Mrs. Nailling stopped me. ‘Not until we've said grace,’ she explained. I watched as they bowed their heads. Mrs. Nailling began speaking softly to ‘our Father,’ thanking Him for the food and the beautiful day. I knew enough about God to know that the woman's ‘our Father’ was the same one who was in the ‘our Father who art in heaven’ prayer that visiting preachers had recited over us at the orphanage. But I couldn't understand why she was talking to Him as though He were sitting here with us waiting for His share of the biscuits. I began to squirm in my chair.”

“Then Mrs. Nailling thanked God ‘for the privilege of raising a son.’ I stared as she began to smile. She was calling me a privilege. And Mr. Nailling must have agreed with her, because he was beginning to smile, too. For the first time since I'd boarded the train I began to relax. A strange, warm feeling began to fill my aloneness and I looked at the empty chair next to me. Maybe, in some mysterious way, ‘our Father’ was seated there, and was listening to the next softly spoken words. ‘Help us make the right choices as we guide him, and help him make the right choices, too.’ ‘Dig in, son.’ The man's voice startled me. I hadn't even noticed the ‘amen.’ My mind had stopped at the ‘choices’ part.”

“As I heaped my plate I thought about that. Hate and anger and running away had seemed to be my only choices, but maybe there were others. This Mr. Nailling didn't seem so bad and this thing about having an ‘our Father’ to talk to shook me up a little. I ate in silence. After breakfast, as they walked me to the barbershop for a haircut, we stopped at each of the six houses on the way. Each time, the Nailling’s introduced me as ‘our new son.’ As we left the last house I knew that at first light the next day I would not be running away. There was a hominess here that I'd never known before. At least I could choose to give it a try. And there was something else. Although I didn't know where Papa was, or how I could write to him, I had the strong feeling that I had found not one but two new fathers, and I could talk to both of them. And that's the way it turned out.”

To live as God's child is to know, at this very instant, that you are loved by your Maker – not because you try to please him and succeed, or fail to please him and apologize, but because he wants to be your Father. Nothing more. All your efforts to win his affection are unnecessary. All your fears of losing his affection are needless. You can no more make him want you than you can convince him to abandon you. You’ve been adopted, and you have a place at his table.

Grace,

Randy