How's that Working Out for You?

How's That Working Out for You? - Audio/Visual

How’s That Working Out for You?

Later, Jesus appeared again to the disciples beside the Sea of Galilee. This is how it happened. Several of the disciples were there — Simon Peter, Thomas (nicknamed the Twin), Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two other disciples. Simon Peter said, “I’m going fishing.” “We’ll come, too,” they all said. So they went out in the boat, but they caught nothing all night. At dawn Jesus was standing on the beach, but the disciples couldn’t see who he was. He called out, “Fellows, have you caught any fish?” “No,” they replied. Then he said, “Throw out your net on the right-hand side of the boat, and you’ll get some!” So they did, and they couldn’t haul in the net because there were so many fish in it.

Then the disciple Jesus loved said to Peter, “It’s the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his tunic (for he had stripped for work), jumped into the water, and headed to shore. The others stayed with the boat and pulled the loaded net to the shore, for they were only about a hundred yards from shore. When they got there, they found breakfast waiting for them—fish cooking over a charcoal fire, and some bread. (John 21:1-9)

The last chapter of John opens on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. The disciples were all in a boat, and Jesus was on the beach watching them fish. They weren’t in Jerusalem anymore. They were a little over 76 miles away. What’s significant about the location is that this was where Jesus had first met Peter only three years earlier. But by the last chapter of John, Peter’s no longer traveling with Jesus. Peter wasn’t helping Jesus feed the five thousand. Peter wasn’t helping Jesus heal people. Peter had gone back to the only job he knew. Catching fish. Why? What was Peter’s motivation?

When we fall out with Jesus, it opens a door for the Enemy to blast us to smithereens. Maybe we make a big promise, tell God what we’re going to do, tell our friends what we’re going to do, or somehow set ourselves up as being someone God can depend on. But at the end of the day, we fail and fall flat on our faces and make a huge mistake and do things we never thought we’d do. That was Peter. By going fishing, Peter was saying that he was done. Finished. He had had his chance at following Christ, but he’d blown it and denied him three times. And, like Peter, we’ve done the same.

Whenever we fall down, it lessens our confidence in God. The Enemy comes in to attack and says, “You’ve let God and yourself down. Don’t even bother going back to God. Certainly don’t pray about it. God’s fed up with you. He won’t listen. You’ve blown it for the very last time.” And we believe those lies. The next thing we know, we find ourselves going back to the place we came from.

But rather than saying, “I’m going fishing,” like Peter, we whisper, “I’m going … back to drinking. I mean, I can’t turn to God. What else do I have?” Or, “I’m going … back to that old relationship. I know it’s harmful, but God doesn’t love me. Where else can I go?” Or maybe, “I’m going … back to those poor thoughts. I can’t ever seem to get a handle on the problem anyway, and God’s tired of hearing my excuses by now. So I’ll just dwell on those harmful thoughts like I always do.”

In other words, going back to those old friends, that old environment, that place where everyone knows your name; back to all the harmful stuff you used to do. Running to your favorite coping mechanism because that’s where you’ve always gone for fulfillment and satisfaction. That’s where you’ve always gone to feel better. And even though you never find fulfillment or satisfaction there, and even though you always feel worse than when you arrived, at least it’s familiar territory. In other words, “I’m going back to what I know.”

When Jesus showed up early in the morning by the shores of Galilee, the disciples had been fishing all night and had come up empty. Led by Peter, they’d gone back to what was comfortable. But at the end of a night of returning to their old ways all they had was a long night of nothing. Been there? Our culture constantly tells us what we need to do to feel better. Party harder; seek happiness in the wrong places; walk treacherous paths. Many of us have gone down that road only to find out it’s still not fulfilling in the end. But Jesus called out to them, “Have you caught any fish?”

That phrase, as it’s translated, unfortunately misses the impact of what Jesus was really saying. The phrase is actually a negative. It’s a hypothetical question. The emphasis is placed on what isn’t there. It actually reads in the Greek, “Not any food have you?” The modern equivalent might be, “How’s that working out for you?” Jesus already knew they hadn’t caught any fish — that returning to their old ways was fruitless. So he offered a solution. Jesus called out, “Throw your net out on the right side of the boat, and you’ll get some.”

Now, to an experienced Galilean fisherman, this advice sounded elementary. I mean, fishermen are fishermen the world over, and if a fisherman isn’t catching fish, then he or she’s going to have some sort of excuse. The bait was wrong; the visibility was bad; too much cloud cover; the moon was too bright; the fish horoscope was bad. There’s always an excuse, even for the ones that get away.

So, you can picture these guys on the boat all night. They haven’t caught a single thing. They’ve undoubtedly tried the right side, the left side, the front side, the back side, even the underside. They’d already cast their nets everywhere. In fact, you can almost hear the sarcasm coming from the boat. “Oh, the right side! Why didn’t we think of that?”

Who knows their motivation for following the stranger’s instruction. Maybe they were desperate enough to try what sounded obvious. They listened to the voice, threw their net on the right side, and — boom! Greatest catch ever. They couldn’t haul the net in because of all the fish.

Stay on that point for a moment, because maybe you’ve been fishing for a long time and have a whole night of nothing to show for it. Jesus stands before you, and His message is, “I know where the fish are.” “I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know exactly where you can get it.” In other words, Jesus is saying that if you’re looking for friendship, he knows where you can find a friend. If you’re looking for acceptance, he knows where you can find it. If you’re looking for meaning in life, he knows where to search. If you’re looking for healing, he knows where go for help. If you’re looking for significance, he knows where you’ll find your greatest self. If you’re looking for security, he knows where you can be safe. If you’re looking for satisfaction, he knows where to find fulfillment. And right now, he’s asking you the same question he asked Peter and the six other disciples that morning.

Jesus is looking at your familiar patterns of living and asking, “How’s that working out for you?” He’s not asking for any information from you. It’s a hypothetical. He already knows how it’s working out. Instead, he’s giving you the opportunity to form the words in your heart and mind that affirm the reality of what’s really going on in your life. And once we affirm that reality, then God is able to restore us. But as long as we deny our situation and continue to think that what we’re doing is great and fun and satisfying and that we’re running the show, then we’re still under the power of the deceiver.

However, the moment we speak the truth and answer Jesus, “Actually, Lord, I’ve got nothing.” Or, “Actually, Jesus, I feel miserable.” Maybe, “Actually, Savior, what I’m doing isn’t helping at all.” That’s when Jesus says to us, “Put your net over there.” He says, “I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know exactly where you’ll find it. You’ll find what you’re looking for when you follow me.”

I love what happens next in the story. When the disciples’ net was full of fish, John was the first to recognize that it was Jesus was on the shore. But Peter, always the impulsive one, takes the time to put on his sleeveless tee because he’d stripped for work, jumps into the water and then swims to shore. The other disciples followed in the boat, towing the net of fish — it was so full they couldn’t heft it into the boat. So why did Peter want to get to shore ahead of all the others? Maybe it was because he was still the hard-driving disciple trying to work his way back into the graces of Jesus. Peter was still following his old patterns. It’s like he was announcing to Jesus, “See those guys still in the boat? They’re not swimming to you, but I am! I’m still your guy, Jesus! You can count on me!”

I wonder what Jesus was thinking. Maybe something like, “Man, Peter, do you still not get it? I couldn’t count on you. You told me you’d die for me, but you denied me. Three times. What I’m trying to help you understand is that I couldn’t count on you. But here’s the good news: you can count on me! Now, go feed my sheep.”

So, how’s that working out for you now?

Grace,

Randy

Vests

Vests - Audio/Visual

Vests

The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him. (Psalm 100:8-13)

In 2006, Tennessee enacted legislation that gave convicted drunk drivers a new wardrobe – a blazing orange vest. Offenders were required to wear it in public on three different days for eight hours at a time while picking up litter from the side of the highway. Stenciled on the back in four-inch-tall letters were the words "I AM A DRUNK DRIVER." No doubt they deserved to be punished. Given their threat to public safety, they probably deserved three days of public humiliation. So, I don't really question the strategy of the state. But I wonder why we do the same to ourselves. Haven’t you noticed?

We dress ourselves in our mistakes, and put on our robes of poor choices. We step into our closets, sort through our regrets and rebellion and, for some odd reason, vest up. “I disappointed my parents.” “I wasted my youth.” “I neglected my kids.” Sometimes we cover the vest with a blouse or blazer of good behavior thinking that we’ll feel better about ourselves if we do some work for God.

Welcome to the vest system. It’s hard to hide it. It’s harder still to discard it. Overcome bad deeds with good ones. Offset bad choices with godly ones, stupid moves with righteous ones. But the vest-removal process is flawed, because no one knows what work to do or how long to do it. Shouldn't the Bible, of all books, give us that information? But it doesn't. Instead, the Bible tells us how God's story redeems our story. Jesus' death on the cross is not a secondary theme in Scripture; it’s the core. The crucial accomplishment of Christ occurred on the cross.

And just so we wouldn’t miss the message, God encased the climax of his story in high drama. The garden: Jesus crying out, the disciples running out, the soldiers bursting in. The trials: early morning mockery and deceit. Jews scoffing. Pilate washing. The soldiers: weaving thorns, slashing whips, pounding nails. Jesus: bloodied, beaten. More crimson than clean. Every sinew on fire with pain. And God: He ebonized the sky and shook the earth. He split the rocks and ripped the temple curtain. He un-tombed the entombed and unveiled the Holy of Holies. But first he heard the cry of his Son. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46)

Forsaken. Visceral. Painful. The word connotes abandonment, desertion, helplessness, loneliness, being cast out, completely forgotten. Jesus forsaken? But wait. Doesn’t Scripture declare, "I have not seen the righteous forsaken," and assure us that "the LORD. . . does not forsake His saints" (Psalm 37:25, 28)? Yes, it does. But in that hour Jesus was anything but righteous. This was the moment in which "God put the wrong on him who never did anything wrong." (2 Cor. 5:21) "GOD. . . piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong, on him, on him. He was beaten, he was tortured, but he didn't say a word." (Isaiah 53:6-7)

In other words, God dressed Christ in vests. Our vests. Each and every one. I cheated my friends. I lied to my wife. I abused my children. I cursed God. As if Jesus deserved them, he wore them. Our sins, our vests, were put on Christ. “The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” (Isaiah 53:6) “He bore the sins of many.” (Isaiah 53:12) Paul proclaimed that God made Christ “to be sin” (2 Cor. 5:21), and became “a curse for us.” (Gal. 3:13) Peter agreed: “(Jesus) himself bore our sins in his body on the cross.” (1 Pet. 2:24) This is the monumental offer of God. So what does God say to us who want to work and offset our guilt? Simple: the work’s already been done. My son wore your sin on himself, and I punished it there. “For Christ suffered once for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God.” (1 Pet. 3:18)

On August 16, 1987, Northwest Airlines flight 255 crashed after taking off from the Detroit airport killing 155 people. The lone survivor was little four-year-old Cecelia from Tempe, Arizona. Rescuers found her in such good condition that they wondered if she’d actually been on the flight – perhaps she’d been riding in one of the cars into which the airplane had eventually crashed. But, no, her name was on the manifest. And although the exact nature of events may never be known, Cecelia’s survival may have been due to her mother’s quick response. Initial reports from the scene indicated that, as the plane was falling, Paula Cichan, unbuckled her own seat belt, got down on her knees in front of her daughter, and wrapped her arms and body around the girl. She separated her from the force of the fall, and Cecelia survived. Paula, her husband, Michael, and Cecelia’s brother, David, did not.

God did the same for us. He wrapped himself around us and felt the full force of the fall. He took the unrelaxed punishment of the guilty. He died, not like a sinner, but as a sinner – in our place. Our sins became Christ’s, and his righteousness became ours. His sacrifice is sufficient, alone. Our merits don't enhance it, and our stumbles don't diminish it. The sacrifice of Christ is a total and unceasing and accomplished work. "It is finished," Jesus announced. (John 19:30) His prayer of abandonment was followed by a cry of accomplishment. Not "It’s just begun," or "It’s been initiated," or "It’s a work in progress." No, "It’s finished." So, you can remove your vest. Toss the thing in a trash barrel, and set it on fire if you want. Because you don’t have to wear it again. Ever.

Does better news exist? Actually, yes. There’s more. We not only remove our vest; we put on his. He is "our righteousness." (1 Corinthians 1:30) God does not simply remove our failures; he dresses us up in the goodness of Christ. "For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ." (Galatians 3:27) Think about that for a moment. When you make God's story yours, he covers you in Christ. You wear him like a vest. Old labels no longer apply – only labels that would be appropriately worn by Jesus Christ himself.

So, can you think of a few phrases to put on the back of your new vest? How about “Royal Priest” (1 Peter 2:9); “Complete” (Col. 2:10); “Free from Condemnation” (Rom. 8:1); “Secure” (John 10:28); “Established and Anointed” (2 Cor. 1:21); “God's Co-worker” (2 Cor. 6:1); “God's Temple (1 Cor. 3:16-17); “God's Workmanship.” (Eph. 2:10) So how do you like your outfit now? "Now you're dressed in a new wardrobe. Every item of your new way of life is custom-made by the Creator, with his label on it. All the old fashions are now obsolete." (Col. 3:10 MSG) Don't mess with your old sin-clothes any longer, because "(a)s far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us." (Psalm 103:12) How far is the east from the west? It gets further and further by the moment.

Travel west and you can make laps around the globe and never go east. Journey east and, if you want to, maintain an easterly course indefinitely. Not so with the other two directions, however. If you go north or south, you'll eventually reach the North or South Pole and change directions. But east and west have no turning points. And neither does God. When he sends your sins to the east and you to the west, you can be sure of this: he doesn't see you in your sins. His forgiveness is irreversible. "He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities." (Psalm 103:10)

Headline this truth: when God sees you, he sees his Son, not your sin. God "blots out your transgressions" and "remembers your sins no more." (Isaiah 43:25) No probation. No exception. No reversals. He did his due diligence. He saw your secret deeds and heard your unsaid thoughts. The lies, the lusts, the longings – he knows them all. God assessed your life from first day to last, from worst moment to best, and made his decision: "I want that child in my kingdom." You cannot convince him otherwise. Don’t belive me? Well, look at his city gates for the proof.

In the last pages of the Bible, John describes the entrance to the New Jerusalem: “She had a great and high wall with twelve gates . . . and names written on them, which are the names of the twelve tribes of the children of Israel. . . . Now the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and on them were the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.” (Rev. 21:12, 14) God engraved the names of the sons of Jacob on his gateposts. That’s interesting because they were more ragamuffins than reverends. Their rap sheets include stories of mass murder (Genesis 34), incest (38:13-18), and brotherly betrayal. (37:17-28) They behaved more like the last call crowd than a Valhalla of faith. Yet God carved their names on the New Jerusalem gates.

And the names on the foundations? Peter, the apostle who saved his own skin instead of his Savior's. James and John, who jockeyed for VIP posts in heaven. Thomas, the dubious, who insisted on a personal audience with the resurrected Jesus before he’d believe. These were the disciples who told the children to leave Jesus alone (Luke 18:15), who told Jesus to leave the hungry on their own (Matthew 14:15), and chose to leave Jesus alone to face his crucifixion. (Matthew 26:36-45) Yet all their names appear on the foundations. Matthew's does. Peter's does. Bartholomew's does. And yours?

It's not engraved in the gate, but it’s written in the Book of the Lamb. Not in pencil so that it can be erased, but with blood that will not be removed. No need to keep God happy; he’s satisfied. No need to pay the price; Jesus paid it. All of it. So lose your vest. You look so much better wearing his.

Grace,

Randy

Mayday

Mayday - Audio/Visual

Mayday

Jesus and his disciples left Galilee and went up to the villages near Caesarea Philippi. As they were walking along, he asked them, “Who do people say I am?” “Well,” they replied, “some say John the Baptist, some say Elijah, and others say you are one of the other prophets.” Then he asked them, “But who do you say I am?” Peter replied, “You are the Messiah.” (Mark 8:27-29)

Do you think it’s hard to walk in the dark, or navigate a room with the lights off and your eyes closed? Try flying a small plane at 15,000 feet. Blind. Jim O'Neill did. Not that he intended to, mind you. The sixty-five-year-old pilot was forty minutes into a four-hour solo flight from Glasgow, Scotland, to Colchester, England, when his vision failed. He initially thought he’d been blinded by the sun, but he soon realized it was much worse. "Suddenly I couldn't see the dials in front of me. It was just a blur. I was helpless." His plight gave real meaning to the phrase, "flying blind." Turns out, he'd suffered a stroke. O'Neill groped and found the radio of his Cessna and issued a Mayday. Paul Gerrard, a Royal Air Force Wing Commander who’d just completed a training sortie nearby, was contacted by air traffic controllers and took off in O'Neill's direction. He found the plane and began talking to the stricken pilot.

The commander told O'Neill what to do. His instructions were reassuring and simple: "A gentle right turn, please. Left a bit. Right a bit." He hovered within five hundred feet of O'Neill, shepherding him toward the nearest runway. Upon reaching it, the two began to descend. When asked if he could see the runway below, O'Neill apologized, "No sir, negative." O'Neill would have to land the plane by faith, not by sight. He hit the runway but bounced up again. The same thing happened on the second attempt. But finally, on the fourth try, the blinded pilot managed to make a near-perfect landing.

Can you empathize with Mr. O’Neill? Most of us can because we've been struck, perhaps not with a stroke, but with a divorce, a sick child, or a cancer-ridden body. Not midair, but mid-career, mid-semester, mid-life. We've lost sight of any safe landing strip and, in desperation, we’ve issued our fair share of Mayday prayers. We know the fear of flying blind. Unlike O'Neill, however, we hear more than just one voice. Lots of voices besiege our cockpit. Talk show hosts urge us to worry. New Age gurus tell us to relax. Financial advisors forecast a downturn. Preachers tell us to pray. Professors tell us that’s nonsense. Lose weight. Eat low fat. Join our church. Try our crystals. It's enough to make you want to cover your ears and run away. And what if you follow the wrong voice? What if you make the same mistake as the followers of self-help guru, James Arthur Ray, did?

He promised to help people achieve spiritual and financial wealth, suggesting that by following his advice they could "double, triple, even multiply by ten the size of (their) business." But he gave more than just financial counsel to the more than fifty clients who crowded into his 415-square-foot sweat lodge in Sedona, Arizona. They had paid him between $9,000 and $10,000, apiece, for a five-day spiritual warrior retreat. The participants had fasted for thirty-six hours as part of a personal spiritual quest, then ate a breakfast buffet before entering the sauna-like hut that afternoon. People began passing out and vomiting, but Ray urged them to stay in the lodge. Two hours later, three of them were dead.

The voices. How do we select the right one? In fact, a form of the question was asked by Jesus himself: "Who do you say I am?" (Mark 8:29) He had led his disciples into Caesarea Philippi. The region was to religion what Wal-Mart is to shopping – every variety in one place. A center of Baal worship. An impressive temple of white marble dedicated to Caesar. Shrines to the Syrian gods. Here Jesus, within earshot of every spiritual voice of his day, asked his followers: "Who do people say I am?" They replied, "Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets." "But what about you?" he asked. "Who do you say I am?" Peter answered, "You are the Messiah." (Mark 8:27-29)

When it came to expressing the opinions of others, the disciples were, apparently, pretty chatty. Everyone spoke. But when it came to this very personal question, only Peter replied. Why only one answer? Was Peter so confident and quick that the others had no time to speak? Or did Peter drown out the replies of everyone else? Perhaps no one else spoke because no one else knew what to say. Maybe John ducked his eyes; Philip looked away; Andrew cleared his throat; Nathanael kicked the dirt and elbowed Peter. And maybe Peter sighed. He looked at this lean-faced, homeless teacher from Nazareth and pondered the question, "Who do you say I am?" The question probably wasn’t a new one for Peter.

He must have asked it a thousand times: the night when Jesus walked off the beach into the bay without sinking; the day he turned a boy's basket into an "all-you-can-eat" buffet; the time he wove a whip and drove the swindlers out of the temple. Who is this man? Peter had probably asked the question. So have millions of other people. All serious students of Christ, indeed students of life, have stood in their personal version of Caesarea Philippi and contrasted Jesus with the great philosophers of the world and heard him inquire, "Who do you say I am?" "You're a decent fellow," some have answered. After all, if you can't like Jesus, who can you like? In Jesus, the poor found a friend, and the forgotten found an advocate. Jesus was nothing if not good. True-blue. Solid. Dependable. Everyone's first choice for a best friend, right? Sure, if you want a best friend who claims to be God on earth.

For being such an affable sort, Jesus had a curious habit of declaring his divinity. His favorite self-designation was Son of Man. The title appears eighty-two times in the four gospels, only twice by anyone other than Jesus. First century listeners found the claim outrageous because they were acquainted with its origin in Daniel 7. In his visions, the prophet saw “One like the Son of Man, coming with the clouds of heaven ….” (Daniel 7:13) “That’s me,” Jesus was saying. Every time he used the phrase “Son of Man,” he crowned himself. Would you want a guy in your neighborhood making such claims?

And what about his “I Am” statements? “I am the light of the world.” (John 8:12) “I am the bread of life.” (John 6:35) “I am the way, the truth and the life.” (John 14:6) And most stunning, “Before Abraham was born, I am!” (John 8:58) By claiming the “I Am” title, Jesus was equating himself with God. Jesus also claimed to be able to forgive sins – a privilege only God can exercise. (Matt. 9:4-7) He claimed to be greater than Jonah, Solomon, Jacob and even Abraham. (Matt. 12:38-42; John 4:12-14; 8:53-56) Jesus said that John the Baptist was the greatest man who had ever lived, but implied that he was even greater. (Matt. 11:11) Jesus commanded people to pray in his name. (John 14:13-14) He claimed to be greater than the temple (Matt. 12:6), and greater than the Sabbath. (Matt. 12:8) He claimed his words would outlive heaven and earth (Mark 13:31), and that all authority in heaven and on earth had been given to him. (Matt. 28:18-20) Does a decent guy say things like that? No, but a demented fool would.

So maybe Jesus was a megalomaniac – on par with Alexander the Great, or Adolf Hitler. But, honestly, could a madman do what Jesus did? Look at the devotion he inspired. People didn't just respect Jesus, they liked him; they left their homes and businesses and followed him. Men and women alike tethered their hope to his life. Impulsive people like Peter. Visionaries like Philip. Passionate men like John, and careful men like Thomas. And when the men had left Jesus in the grave, it was the women who came to honor him – women from all walks of life, from homemakers to philanthropists. And people were better because of him. Madmen sire madmen: Saddam Hussein created murderers, Joseph Stalin created power addicts, and Charles Manson created wackos. But Jesus transformed simple, blue collar workers into the authors of history's greatest book, and the founders of its greatest movement.

Christ stunned people with his authority and clarity. His was not the mind of some deranged wild man, or demented fool, or deceiving fraud. Some have said so. Some believe that Jesus masterminded the greatest scheme in the history of humanity, that he out-Ponzied the swindlers and out-hustled the hucksters. If that were true, then billions of humans have been fleeced into following a first-century pied piper over the edge of a cliff. So, should we crown Christ as the foremost fraud in the world? No, not too quickly. Look at the miracles Jesus performed.

The four gospels detail approximately thirty-six miracles and reference many more. He multiplied bread and fish, changed water into wine, calmed more than one storm, and restored sight to more than one blind man. He healed contagious skin diseases, gave steps to the lame, purged demons, stopped a hemorrhage, even replaced a severed ear and raised the dead. Yet, in doing so, Jesus never grand-standed his miraculous powers. Never went for fame or profit. Jesus performed miracles for two simple reasons: to prove his identity, and to help his people.

Had Jesus been a fraudster or trickster, the Jerusalem congregation would have died a stillborn death. People would have denounced the miracles of Christ. But they did just the opposite. Can you imagine the apostles inviting their testimonies? "If you were a part of a crowd that he fed, one of the dead he raised, or one of the sick he healed, would you please share your story." And share they did. The church exploded like a grasslands wildfire in Ramona. Why? Because Jesus performed public, memorable miracles. He healed people. And he loved people. He paid no heed to class or nationality, past sins or present accomplishments. The neediest and loneliest found a friend in Jesus.

Could a lying sham love that way? If his intent was trick people out their money or worship, he did a pitifully poor job of it because he died broke and abandoned. So, what if Peter was correct? “You are the Messiah.” (Mark 8:29) What if Jesus really was, and is, the Son of God? If so, then we can relish this truth: we never travel alone. True, we can’t see the runway. We don’t know what the future holds. But we’re not alone. We have what Jim O’Neil had: the commander’s voice to guide us home. So heed it. Issue the necessary Mayday prayer and follow the guidance that only God can provide.

Grace,

Randy