Unbelief

Unbelief - Audio/Visual

Unbelief

Give, and you will receive. Your gift will return to you in full — pressed down, shaken together to make room for more, running over, and poured into your lap. The amount you give will determine the amount you get back. (Luke 6:38)

You sit in an ER waiting room, surrounded by an anxious family. You rushed there the moment you learned of the accident. The teenage son of your neighbor was injured in a car wreck. He’s in surgery; your friends are in shock. You'd do anything for them. But what can you do? Or, you try to conceal your shock at the news. Your friend's teenage daughter is pregnant, confused and considering an abortion. Your friend blames herself. "If only . . . .” What can you do? Perhaps you sigh at the images on the TV screen. Yet another tornado strikes another city. Schools are demolished, houses destroyed, lives lost. Such devastation. But what can you do? When the challenge is greater than you are. When the hurt is palpable. When you feel helpless and impotent. Where can you turn? Turn to one of Jesus' most intriguing teachings about prayer.

“Suppose you went to a friend's house at midnight, wanting to borrow three loaves of bread. You say to him, ‘A friend of mine has just arrived for a visit, and I have nothing for him to eat.’ And suppose he calls out from his bedroom, ‘Don't bother me. The door is locked for the night, and my family and I are all in bed. I can't help you.’ But I tell you this – though he won't do it for friendship's sake, if you keep knocking long enough, he will get up and give you whatever you need because of your shameless persistence. And so I tell you, keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” (Luke 11:5-10)

That's you ringing the doorbell at midnight. The neighborhood is quiet. The streets are still. The sky is dark, and so is your friend's two-story house. But still you ring his doorbell, not once or twice but three times. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. It's a big house, so it’s a big noise. His Chihuahua wakes up. He has that snappy, who-do-you-think-you-are kind of bark. You envision what’s happening upstairs. Your friend's wife is giving him a kick beneath the blankets. "Hank, get up! Someone’s at the door." Poor guy. One minute sound asleep. The next, kicked out of bed. Doorbell ringing, dog barking. He's not going to like this.

The porch light comes on. The door opens. Boy, does he look like a mess. Boxer shorts. T-shirt. Bed head. Face lined with pillow creases and covered in whiskers. "What in the world are you doing here?" he asks. "A friend of mine has just arrived for a visit, and I have nothing for him to eat," you answer. The homeowner grumbles and complains, but you insist. "Come on, Hank, please?" Finally Hank acquiesces, invites you in, and takes you to his pantry. You fill a basket with food and take it home. And your surprise guest doesn't have to go to bed hungry. All because you spoke up on behalf of someone else.

That’s intercessory prayer at its purest, a confluence of paucity and audacity. "I can't heal them, but, God, you can." "I can't forgive them, but, God, you can." "I can't help them, but, God, you can." That kind of prayer gets God's attention. After all, if Hank, a cranky, disgruntled friend, will help you out, how much more will God do? He never sleeps. He's never irritated. When you knock on his door, he responds quickly and fairly. Jesus never refused an intercessory request. Ever.

Peter brought concerns for his sick mother-in-law. The centurion brought a request for his sick servant. Jairus had a sick daughter. A woman from Canaan had a demon-possessed daughter. From sunrise to sunset Jesus heard one appeal after another: "My uncle can’t walk." "My son cannot see." "My wife is in pain." He heard so many requests that at times the disciples attempted to turn people away. (Matt. 15:22-23) Yet Jesus wouldn’t let them. "Great crowds came to him, bringing the lame, the blind, the crippled, the mute and many others, and laid them at his feet; and he healed them." (Matt. 15:30) He never grew impatient at their requests. But he did grow impatient at the lack of one.

A father once brought his demon-possessed son to the disciples of Jesus. They attempted to help the boy but failed. When Jesus learned of their failure, he erupted in frustration. "O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I bear with you? Bring him here to me." (Matt. 17:17) Wow. Jesus is so uberpatient that any sign of impatience is a little disconcerting. So, what was the oversight of the disciples? Simple. They never took the boy to Jesus. Not in person and apparently not in prayer. They attempted to heal the boy without calling on Christ. He had to command them: "Bring him here to me."

Jesus had a strong word for that: unbelief. "Then the disciples came to Jesus privately and said, 'Why could we not cast it out?' So Jesus said to them, 'Because of your unbelief.'" (vv. 19-20) Unbelief: attempting to help others without calling on Jesus. Belief: pounding on God's door at midnight. Doing whatever it takes to present people to Jesus. A bit like Moses on Mt. Sinai.

When God saw the golden calf stunt, he was ready to wipe out the nation of Israel. They were eyewitnesses to ten plagues and one Red Sea opening. Their bellies were full of God-given manna and heaven-sent quail, but did they remember their Deliverer? No, they danced the night away in front of a homemade statue. God was not happy. “Then the LORD said to Moses, ‘Go down from this mountain, because your people, the people you brought out of the land of Egypt, have ruined themselves. They have quickly turned away from the things I commanded them to do . . . . I have seen these people, and I know that they are very stubborn. So now do not stop me. I am so angry with them that I am going to destroy them. Then I will make you and your descendants a great nation." (Ex. 32:7-10) Dry grass on Mount Vesuvius stood a better chance of survival.

Their only hope was their octogenarian leader, who'd met God, possibly on this same mountain, some years earlier. If Moses had any clout, this was the time to use it. And he did. “[Moses] begged the LORD his God and said, ‘LORD, don't let your anger destroy your people, whom you brought out of Egypt with your great power and strength. Don't let the people of Egypt say, “The LORD brought the Israelites out of Egypt for an evil purpose. He planned to kill them in the mountains and destroy them from the earth.” So stop being angry, and don't destroy your people.’" (vv. 11-12)

Look at the passion of Moses. On his face one minute, in God's face the next. He's on his knees, pointing his finger, lifting his hands. Shedding tears. Shredding his cloak. Wrestling like Jacob for the lives of his people. And how did God react? "So the LORD changed his mind and did not destroy the people as he had said he might." (Ex. 32:14) That’s the promise of prayer – we can change God's mind.

God’s ultimate will is inflexible, but the implementation of his will is not. He doesn’t change in his character and purpose, but he does alter his strategy because of the appeals of his children. We do not change his intention, but we can influence his actions. After all, we are ambassadors for Christ. (2 Cor. 5:20) Ambassadors represent the king. They speak with the authority of the throne. If an ambassador sends a request to the king, will the king listen? If you, God's ambassador in this world, come to your King with a request, will he listen? Yes. You actually have a "seat with [Christ] in the heavens." (Eph. 2:6) You don't have a seat at the Supreme Court or in the House of Representatives, but you do have one that is far more strategic; you have a seat in the government of God.

Like a congressman you represent a district. You speak on behalf of your family, neighborhood, or softball team. Your sphere of influence is your region. And as you grow in faith, your district expands. God burdens you with a concern for orphans, distant lands, or needy people. You respond to these promptings by prayer. You are Moses in your cul-de-sac; Moses in your workforce; Moses in your classroom. You plead with God on other people's behalf. Intercessory prayer isn't rocket science. It acknowledges our inability and God's ability. We come with empty hands but high hopes. Why? Because God "is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think." (Eph. 3:20) He "will supply all [our] needs according to His riches." (Phil. 4:19) When God gives, he gives a gift that is "pressed down, shaken together to make room for more, running over, and poured into your lap." (Luke 6:38)

The apostle John wrote about prayer. In his vision of heaven John saw the prayers of the saints ascending like incense into the presence of God. “Then an angel took the censer, filled it with fire from the altar, and threw it to the earth. And there were noises, thunderings, lightnings, and an earthquake." (Rev. 8:5) That’s the power of prayer. You ask God for help, and bam – fire falls to the earth. You lift your concerns to heaven, and turbulence happens. So, knock on the midnight door. Stand up on behalf of those you love. And stand up on behalf of those you don’t. "Pray for those who hurt you." (Matt. 5:44)

The quickest way to douse the fire of anger is with a bucket of prayer. Rather than rant, rave or seek revenge, pray. Jesus did. While hanging on the cross, he interceded for his enemies: "Father, forgive them; they don't know what they're doing." (Luke 23:34) Jesus, even Jesus, left his enemies in God's hands. So, shouldn't we do the same? You are never more like Jesus than when you pray for others. Pray for those you love; pray for those you don't. Pray for this hurting world. Present their case to the Giver of bread and bring a grocery basket. You’ll have plenty of blessings to take back to them.

Grace,

Randy

Tattooed

Tattooed - Audio/Visual

Tattooed

“Can a mother forget the infant at her breast, walk away from the baby she bore? But even if mothers forget, I’d never forget you — never. Look, I’ve written your names on the backs of my hands. The walls you’re rebuilding are never out of my sight. Your builders are faster than your wreckers. The demolition crews are gone for good. Look up, look well!” (Isaiah 49:15-18)

Tattoo parlors could probably use a sign over the entrance; something like, "Think before you ink." Or, maybe a recorded voice playing in the background, "Do you really want to wear her name on your knuckles for the rest of your life?" Maybe even a full-time employee whose singular job is to remind the customers, "The tattoo artist doesn’t come with a delete key."

Professional athletes set the standard for "oops" tattoos. On the cheek of one NBA star is the letter “P.” He’s a Pittsburgh Pirates fan. There’s just one problem – the “P” was stenciled backward. Maybe he did it himself using a mirror. Another player tattooed an exact replica of his girlfriend's lips on his neck. Fire-engine red. A perma-kiss. I hope he and his sweetheart stay together because another woman is going to think twice about snuggling up to the image of his former girlfriend's lips. One football player tattooed the word “Gods” on one triceps and “Gift” on the other. Not only was he lacking humility, but he also forgot the apostrophe in the word, “Gods.” He could have used a proofreader.

These same parlors can remove the mistakes, mind you. For the right price they can get the bad ink out of your skin. Painful and expensive, and sometimes requiring multiple trips, but effective if you want to remove the unwanted marks from your past. And who doesn't? You may not have tattoos, but you probably have regrets. You don't have a permanent souvenir from a Cancun spring-break, but you have the memories of one. You didn't embed her name in your shoulder, or his name on your thigh. Still, you feel remorse over the words said, or – perhaps – the deeds done. Guilt leaves a tattooed heart.

If your unresolved guilt manifested itself in tattoos, how much ink would we see? What images would you see in the mirror? The face of someone you hurt? The amount of money you squandered? All the could'ves and the should'ves in life. "I could've been a better mom." "I should've paid more attention." Dig around in the basement of our souls, and what do we find? Wasted years. Perversions. Destructive diversions. Anger at parents, or exes. Selfishness. Arrogance. Racial slurs. We've cheated on exams, and cheated on friends. The consequences can be ugly. Unresolved guilt gives birth to a gaggle of unhealthy emotions.

Most of them fit under one of two headings: defensiveness or defeat. Defensive souls keep the skeleton in the closet. Tell no one. Admit nothing. Seek innocence, not forgiveness. Life is reduced to one aim: suppress the secret. Failures go unaddressed and untreated. Defensive souls build walls around the past. Defeated souls, on the other hand, are defined by their past. They didn't make mistakes; they are the mistakes. They didn't foul up; they are foul-ups. They don't hide the past; they wear it on their sleeves. They flog themselves with doubt and shame. Is guilt having its way with you? If so, consider this promise: "No matter how deep the stain of your sins, I can take it out and make you as clean as freshly fallen snow." (Isa. 1:18)

God specializes in guilt removal. He can do what no one else can: extract every last mark from your soul. When people come to God through faith in Jesus, they receive the greatest of all blessings: grace for all of their sins. Jesus issues a pardon for every act of rebellion. This grace is a gift. We don't earn it. We can't lose it. But we can forget it. And if we're not careful, we can become guilt-laden.

Even as Christians we need to regulate our guilt dosage. Granted, guilt is God's idea. He uses it the way highway engineers use Botts’ Dots. When we stray from of our lane, they call us back. Guilt does the same. It leaves us "more alive, more concerned, more sensitive, more reverent, more human, more passionate, and more responsible." (2 Cor. 7:11) Guilt alerts us to the discrepancies between what we are and what God desires. It stirs repentance and renewal. In appropriate doses, guilt is a blessing. In unmonitored dosages, however, guilt is an unbearable burden. We can’t carry it. But God can.

A graphic tradition from the old covenant shows us exactly how God does it. Three thousand years ago the Hebrew people were given an annual opportunity to watch their guilt being taken away. Each year as part of the Day of Atonement, thousands of Jews gathered in front of the tabernacle. The priest selected two goats. The first goat was sacrificed. The second goat was presented by the priest. He placed his hands on the head of the goat and confessed the sins of the people. "We’re cheaters, Lord. Liars. We envy our friend's success. We covet our neighbor's spouse. We ignore the poor, worship our idols, and engage in evil acts." Down the list he went until everything was confessed. “He shall lay [the sins] on the head of the goat and send it away into the wilderness by the hand of a man who stands in readiness. The goat shall bear on itself all their iniquities to a solitary land; and he shall release the goat in the wilderness.” (Lev. 16:21-22) Hence, the term “scapegoat.”

The people would watch as the guide led the animal away. The pair grew smaller and smaller and eventually disappeared over the horizon. And the people waited until the man reappeared, empty-handed. The object lesson was clear: God does not want guilt among his people. And you can bet your Torah that some ten-year-old boy tugged on his mother's robe and said, "Why, Mommy? Why did they send the goat away? He was innocent. He didn't do anything wrong." The mother, always one to seize the moment, would lower herself until she was eye level with her son and explain, "That’s the point, my child. God uses the sinless to carry away the sins of the guilty." Or, as Isaiah would write several hundred years later, "The LORD has put on him the punishment for all the evil we have done." (53:6)

Isaiah did not know the name of God's sin bearer. But we do. Jesus Christ. He came to "put away sin by the sacrifice of Himself." (Heb. 9:26) He "was offered once to bear the sins of many." (v. 28) If you are in Christ, your sin is gone. It was last seen on the back of your Scapegoat as he headed out to Death Valley. When Jesus cried on the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matt. 27:46), he entered the wilderness on your behalf. He carried your sin away. But unlike the sin-bearing goat, Jesus returned sin-free. His resurrection gives us power over sin. But to be guilt-free? Easier said than done.

You've dragged around your past for so long that you can't imagine yourself without it. God can. He sees a new script. Just because you were a villain in Act 1, you don’t have to be one in Act 2. He makes all things new. "The Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins." (Mark 2:10) Period. End of discussion. He has the final word on your life. And his word is “grace.” Jesus did his part. Now do yours.       

Give God your guilt. “Father, you are good. I need help. Forgive me.” Tell Jesus what you did. Place your guilt on the back of your Sin Bearer. Give it to Jesus, and do it as often as needed. One time, two times, ten times a day. Don’t hold anything back. No sin is too ancient or too recent, too evil or too insignificant. Be abundant but concrete in your confession. Go into as much detail as you can.

For instance, you may be tempted to say, “Lord, forgive me. I’m a louse.” But that doesn't work. For one thing you’re not a louse; you’re God's chosen child, and he loves you. For another, healing happens when the wound is exposed to the air of grace. Exactly what is it that you need forgiveness for? For being a bad person? That’s too general. For losing your patience in the business meeting and calling your co-worker a creep, or maybe something worse? There, you can confess that. Confession isn’t a punishment for sin; it’s an isolation of sin so it can be exposed and extracted. So be firm. Be specific.

Satan traffics in guilt and won’t give up an addict without a fight. Exercise your authority as a child of God. Tell guilt where to get off. Speak to it in the name of Jesus. "I left you at the foot of the cross, so stay there!" And, for heaven's sake, stop tormenting yourself. Jesus is strong enough to carry your sin. Didn’t he say that he would? “He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west. The LORD is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him. For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust.” (Ps. 103:12-14)

We live in a guilt-laden world. But there’s a population of people who have discovered the grace of God. They don't drink their guilt away, work it away, or even chase it away. They give it away. God wants you to be among them. The time has come for a clean start, a fresh slate. God doesn’t see the marks of your past. Instead, he sees this: "See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands." (Isa. 49:16) God has written your name where he can see it. And at the end of the day, that’s the only tattoo that really matters.

Grace,

Randy

Healing

Healing - Audio/Visual

Healing

He was despised and avoided by others; a man who suffered, who knew sickness well. Like someone from whom people hid their faces, he was despised, and we didn’t think about him. It was certainly our sickness that he carried, and our sufferings that he bore, but we thought him afflicted, struck down by God and tormented. He was pierced because of our rebellions and crushed because of our crimes. He bore the punishment that made us whole; by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53:3-5)

A daughter of a dying man wrote these heartbreaking words in her journal: "Dad can't tie his own shoes anymore . . . . Dad can't sign his name anymore. Dad breaks his collar bone and stops going to work." ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) was claiming her father's musculature. She documented the awful and painful progress of the disease. "Dad falls in the parking lot and has to wait on the ground until someone picks him up . . . . Dad can't have his corn flakes for breakfast anymore. Dad can't put his arms around us anymore . . . . Dad has trouble swallowing pureed peas . . . . Dad can't hold his head up anymore." After seven years of her father's gradual deterioration, she finally wrote this: "Lying beside Dad as he sits in his chair working for breath. Praying for peace. Wiping his nose. Rubbing his shoulders . . . . Watching Dad gaze heavenward and take his last quiet breath . . . . The Lord is our shepherd." The family selected two Scripture verses for the handout at the funeral. On one side: "The Lord is my shepherd, and so I lack nothing." Across from it: "My God! My God! . . . Why have you forsaken me?"

The first passage is from Psalm 23, and the other, Psalm 22. I can see both Psalms on the same page of my Bible, and in times of sickness we can hear both prayers from the same heart. Our bodies ache and emotions sway. Try as we might to eat right, sleep more and sweat often, the hounds of wear-and-tear nip at our heels. Sometimes they can even take a bite. Cancer, heart failure, depression, dementia. Nothing bends our knees to ask for God's help more than a health crisis. We need the Lord to shepherd us through sickness. "But will he?" we quietly question. "Will he?" we verbally demand. "My God! My God! . . . Why?" We see good, prayerful people wheelchair bound or disease-ridden. We see salt-of-the-earth folks struck down in their prime. We see evildoers live into the triple digits. "Have you forsaken me, God?" How do we explain the why and when of God's healing? We can begin in Jericho.

“Now as they went out of Jericho, a great multitude followed Him. And behold, two blind men sitting by the road, when they heard that Jesus was passing by, cried out, saying, ‘Have mercy on us, O Lord, Son of David!’ Then the multitude warned them that they should be quiet; but they cried out all the more, saying, ‘Have mercy on us, O Lord, Son of David!’ So Jesus stood still and called them, and said, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ They said to Him, ‘Lord, that our eyes may be opened.’ So Jesus had compassion and touched their eyes. And immediately their eyes received sight, and they followed Him.” (Matt. 20:29-34)

By this time, the popularity of Jesus was at high tide. Three years of feeding, healing and teaching had elevated him to rock-star status. The people loved him. He stood up to the authorities. He commanded cadavers, and he called the shots. He was blue collared, big hearted and a hometown hero. He was Martin Luther King, Jr., Dwight Eisenhower, and Abraham Lincoln all wrapped up in one package.

The crowd was escorting him to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. They chatted, laughed and sang happy songs. And then from off to one side, they heard this cry: "Have mercy on us, O Lord, Son of David!" The crowd turned and looked at the two blind men. Eyes vacant, robes tattered, faces leathered by the sun. Pitiful. The people told them to pipe down. This was a victory march, a day of triumph. Jesus was on an important mission. The people would have left the blind men on the side of the road.

Sound familiar? Afflictions can sideline the sufferer. Everyone else has a place in the parade. You’d be happy to join them if only the tumor would stop growing, or the atrophy would stop spreading. Others seem happy. You have mood swings as wide as the Grand Canyon. And you've wondered, What am I to do with this ailment? Like Mary, the blind men brought their concern to Jesus: "They cried out all the more, saying, 'Have mercy on us, O Lord, Son of David!'" They didn't ask for Peter or John. They didn’t request the disciples or Jesus’ followers. They went straight to the top. They cried out to Jesus. Persistently, personally, passionately. I need help, Lord. Heal me.

And here’s why you need to do the same. "Now may God himself, the God of peace, make you pure, belonging only to him. May your whole self – spirit, soul and body – be kept safe and without fault when our Lord Jesus Christ comes." (1 Thess. 5:23) God envisions a complete restoration of the garden of Eden. Everything he saw in his garden was good. This assessment included Adam and Eve. They weren't sick, crippled, depressed or afflicted. They were spiritually and physically sound. No emphysema, palsy or paranoia. Yet when they rebelled, everything fell out of harmony. The event is called “the Fall” for a reason. Adam and Eve had a falling out with God, and a falling out with each other. Nature fell out of whack, and the human body fell out of balance.

The Fall was exactly that: a fall from wholeness. Sin opened the door, and sickness walked right on in. "Sin came into the world because of what one man did, and with sin came death. This is why everyone must die – because everyone sinned." (Rom. 5:12) Sin and sickness are interlopers, consequences of the same rebellion. But they’re also cured by the same Redeemer. When Isaiah foretold of Jesus, he described him as the One who would take both our sin and our sickness. “He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities.” (53:5) “He has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases.” (v. 4) Jesus treated our sickness the same way he treated our sin – He took it away. He bore it in himself on the cross.

When Matthew saw the large number of healings in Galilee, he remembered the prophecy of Isaiah: "[Jesus] fulfilled Isaiah's well-known sermon: He took our illnesses, He carried our diseases." (Matt. 8:17) Did Jesus die for your sins? Yes. Did Jesus die for your sicknesses? Yes. It would be inconsistent to say that Jesus saved your soul but not your body. When Jesus took our sins to the cross, he took our cancers, disfigurements and depression as well. But if that’s true, then why do we still get sick? For the same reason we still sin. This is a fallen world, and the kingdom is a coming kingdom. Sickness and sin still stalk our planet. But here’s the difference: neither sin nor sickness will have dominion over God's people. Sin cannot condemn us. Disease cannot destroy us. Guilt is defanged, and death has lost its sting. In fact, the very sin and sickness that Satan intends for evil, God redeems for good. Sin becomes a showcase of his grace. Sickness becomes a demonstration of God's ability to heal.

We aren't victims of rogue molecules or rebellious cells. We do not live beneath the specter of uncontrollable plagues or emotions. Every fiber, molecule and brain wave answers to his command. God is in charge. So if you’re sick, cry out to Jesus. Talk to him about your stomach, your skin, your moles. After all, he owns you because you and your body were "bought with a price." (1 Cor. 6:20)

And you need to do the same thing with your emotions, too. Did someone molest you? Did a spouse abuse you? Did you abort a baby, or abandon a child? If so, you likely need inner healing. And he will heal you – instantly, gradually or ultimately. For instance, one word was enough for him to banish demons, heal epilepsy, and raise the dead. He only had to speak the word, and healing happened. He may do that for you. However, in the case of a blind man from Bethsaida, Jesus healed him in stages. He took him away from the crowd. He rubbed spit on the man's eyes and asked the man what he saw. The man answered that he saw, but it was kind of blurry. So, Jesus rubbed them a second time. Jesus healed the man, but he did so gradually. (Mark 8:22-26) And don't forget the story of Lazarus. After Jesus heard of the sickness of his close friend, Jesus waited for two days before he went to help. He let Lazarus die. By the time Jesus reached the cemetery, Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days. But Jesus called him out. Did Jesus heal Lazarus? Yes, dramatically, but not immediately. (John 11:1-44)

Our highest hope, however, is in our ultimate healing. In heaven God will restore our bodies to their intended splendor. "We know that when He is revealed, we shall be like Him." (1 John 3:2) God will turn your tomb into a womb out of which you will be born with a perfect body into a perfect world. But in the meantime keep praying. “Father, you are good. I need help. Heal me.” If Jesus heals you instantly, praise him. If you’re still waiting for healing, trust him. Your suffering may be your very own sermon.

Have you prayed but you’re still waiting for Jesus to heal you? Take courage and hope from Jesus' response to the blind men. "Have mercy on us, O Lord," they cried. "Jesus stood still." He stopped dead in his tracks. Everyone else kept going, but Jesus froze. Something caught his attention. Something interrupted his journey. You can almost see him raising his hand to stop the people, lifting a finger to his lips for them to be quiet. "Shhhh." What was it? What did Jesus hear? A prayer. An unembellished appeal for help, floating across the path on the winds of faith and landing against his ear. Jesus heard the words and stopped. He still does. And he still asks, "What do you want me to do for you?" The duo in Jericho told him. "Lord, that our eyes may be opened," they said.

And you? Lord, heal this heart condition. Remove this arthritis. Restore my hearing. Jesus' heart went out to the blind men. He "had compassion and touched their eyes." The Greek term means "he felt for them deep inside his stomach (gut)." Jesus moved in where others had stepped away. He healed them. And he will heal you, too. I pray he heals you instantly, but he may choose to heal you gradually. But this much is sure: Jesus will heal all of us – ultimately. Wheelchairs, ointments, treatments and bandages are confiscated at heaven’s gateway because He’s the great physician. (Ex. 15:26)

Grace,

Randy

Help

Help - Audio/Visual

Help

The next day there was a wedding celebration in the village of Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the celebration. The wine supply ran out during the festivities, so Jesus’ mother told him, “They have no more wine.” “Dear woman, that’s not our problem,” Jesus replied. “My time has not yet come.” But his mother told the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” (John 2:1-5)

Want to see a father's face go pale white? Then just position yourself nearby as he discovers these three words on the box of a just-purchased toy: "Some assembly required." What he wanted was a gift for his child; what he got was a project. So, he goes about retrieving the minimal tools required: a screwdriver, a hammer and a utility truck. What follows are several late-night hours of squeezing “A” into “B,” bolting “D” into “F,” sliding “R” over “Z,” and hoping no one notices if steps four, five and six were skipped altogether. I'm convinced the devil’s in the details of toy assembly, and that somewhere in perdition is a warehouse of stolen toy parts. "Some assembly required." Not the most welcome sentence, but an honest one.

Marriage licenses should include the words, "Some assembly required" – in large print. Job contracts should state in bold letters, "Some assembly required." Babies should exit the womb with a tag: "Some assembly required." Life is a gift, albeit unassembled. It comes in pieces, and sometimes it falls to pieces. Part “A” doesn't always fit with part “B.” Inevitably, something seems to be missing. The pieces of life don't fit. And when they don't, take your problem to Jesus. Mary, the mother of Jesus, did.

“The next day there was a wedding celebration in the village of Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the celebration.” (John 2:1-2) A common wedding. The bride wasn't the daughter of a king. The groom wasn't a prince. Were it not for one detail, the event would've been lost in time. The guest list. It read something like this: Benjamin of Capernaum, Simon the craftsman, Saul, rabbi of Cana. And farther down the list: Jesus of Nazareth. The family invited Jesus to a wedding. And since he always goes where he’s invited, Jesus and his disciples traveled to Cana for their first excursion. And while they were there, "the wine supply ran out." (v. 3)

Someone apparently underestimated the size of the crowd, or the appetite of the guests, or the depth of the wine vats, or the number of friends Jesus would bring. Regardless of the reason, however, the bride and groom ran out of wine. And in your world? Maybe it’s the department ran out of cash, the team ran out of solutions, or you ran out of gas. Life leaks. Enter, stage right, Mary, the mother of Jesus.

In my opinion, she appears too seldom in Scripture. After all, who knew Jesus better than his mother? She carried him for nine months. Breast-fed him for more. She heard his first words and witnessed his first steps. She was the ultimate authority on Jesus. So on the rare occasion when she speaks, we tend to pay attention. "Jesus’ mother told him, ‘They have no more wine.’” (v. 3) Mary wasn't bossy. She didn't say, "Jesus, those cute newlyweds are out of wine, so here’s what I need you to do, son. Go down to the vineyard at the corner of Grape and Juice streets, stimulate the growth of those Bordeaux vines, and then turn the grapes into wine." She didn't try to fix the problem herself.

She wasn't critical, either. "If only they had planned better, Jesus. People just don't think ahead, do they? What’s this society coming to anyway? The world is going over the cliff! Help, Jesus, baby, help!" She didn't blame the host. And she didn't blame Jesus, either. "What kind of Messiah are you? If you were really in control, this would have never happened!" Nor did she blame herself. "It's all my fault, Jesus. Punish me. I failed as a friend. Now the wedding is ruined. The marriage will collapse. I’m solely to blame." None of that. Mary didn't whine about the wine. She just stated the problem – “they have no more wine.” “’Dear woman, that’s not our problem,’ Jesus replied. ‘My time has not yet come.’ But his mother told the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’” (John 2: 4-5)

Originally, Jesus had no intention of saving the wedding banquet. This wasn't the manner or place he had planned to reveal his power. But then Mary entered the story – Mary, someone he loved – with a genuine need. And in my imagination I see Mary turn and walk away after she makes her request. Her face is serene. Her eyes reflect calm. She’s untroubled. She’s done everything she was supposed to do. She identified the problem, brought it to Jesus, and left it with him. She trusted him completely and told the servants, "Do whatever he tells you."

I can just see Jesus smiling and letting out a little chuckle. His mother had just plopped the problem in his lap, told the servants to do what he said and then walked away like nothing had happened. At that, “Jesus said to [the servants], ‘Fill the water pots with water.’ And they filled them to the brim. And He said to them, ‘Draw some out now, and take it to the master of the feast.’" (vv. 7-8) The master of the feast tasted the wine, licked his lips and said, "Wow, now that’s great stuff!" Then he lifted his glass in a toast to the bridegroom and complimented him for saving the best wine for last.

And while the master of the feast noted the quality of the wine, John wanted us to observe the quantity. Six stone jars capable of holding thirty gallons apiece. The servants filled them to the brim. (v. 7) At Jesus' command H2O became abundant merlot. A quick calculation reveals the amount: 908 bottles of wine. With that kind of inventory, the couple could have started a wine boutique in Napa. Problem presented. Prayer answered. Crisis avoided. All because Mary entrusted the problem to Jesus.

There’s another version of this story, however. In it, Mary never involved Jesus. She took the master of the feast to task for his poor planning. He then took exception to her accusations and Mary stormed out of the party. The groom overheard the argument and lost his temper, so the bride told her groom to forget the marriage – if he couldn't manage his anger, he couldn't manage their home. And by the end of the day, the guests left sad, the marriage ended before it began, and Jesus just shook his head and said, "I could've helped if only I'd been asked." That version of the story isn't in the Bible, of course, but the principle applies: How many disasters could be averted if we'd go first, in faith, to Jesus?

Take your problems to Jesus. Don't take your problems to the bar – Jim Beam can’t solve them. Don't take your problems out on others - temper tantrums never advance the cause. The moment you sense a problem, however large or small, take it to Christ. “Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything; tell God your needs and don't forget to thank him for his answers. If you do this, you will experience God's peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will keep your thoughts and your hearts quiet and at rest as you trust in Christ Jesus.” (Phil. 4:6-7)

An unprayed-for problem is an embedded thorn. It festers and infects – first the finger, then the hand, then the entire arm. Best to go straight to the person who has the tweezers. And how does that look on you? Imagine this. It’s breakfast time, and the family is in chaos. The daughters are complaining about their brother who took too much time in the bathroom. As a result, their hair isn't brushed and their makeup hasn’t been applied. Mom is doing her best to manage the conflict, but she woke up with a headache and a long list of things to do. Dad stops at the kitchen entryway and surveys the pandemonium. He weighs his options: (1) command everyone to shape up and behave; (2) berate his son for dominating the bathroom, his daughters for their poor planning, and his wife for not taking control; or (3) sneak out before anyone notices. Or, perhaps, he could turn to prayer. Father, you are good. I need help. Reduce the frenzy in my house, please. Will that prayer change everything? It may. But at least the problem will be in the hands of the One who can solve it. "Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7)

Helen Roseveare was a missionary doctor who spent twenty years in the Congo at a clinic and orphanage. When Helen had been there almost four years, a mother died in labor leaving behind a premature baby and a two-year-old girl. The facility had no incubator or electricity. Dr. Roseveare's first task was to keep the newborn warm. She sent a midwife to fetch a hot water bottle. The nurse returned with bad news: the bottle had burst when she filled it. Even worse, that was the last bottle. So, Dr. Roseveare instructed the midwife to sleep near the newborn. They would seek a solution the next day. A solution was not easily found. The clinic was in the heart of the jungle, and help was many miles away.

The following noon the doctor mentioned her concern to the children. She told them of the frail baby and the sad sister. A ten-year-old girl named Ruth decided to take the problem to Jesus. "Please, God, send us a hot water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby'll be dead; so please send it this afternoon. And, while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl, so she'll know You really love her?" The doctor was stunned. That prayer could only be answered by the arrival of a parcel from home. After nearly four years at the clinic, she'd never received a single package. Even if one came, who would send a hot water bottle to the equator? Someone did.

Later that afternoon a twenty-two-pound package was delivered to Helen's door. As she called the children, she felt tears in her eyes. Could it be? They pulled off the string and unwrapped the paper. In the box they found bandages, jerseys, raisins, sultanas, and a brand-new hot water bottle. And at the bottom of the box, a dolly for the little girl. The box had been shipped five months earlier. The Lord had heard Ruth’s prayer before it was even offered.

Pieces don't fit. Wine runs out. Water bottles burst. These are facts of life. But Jesus responds with this invitation: "Bring your problems to me." State them simply. Present them faithfully, and trust him reverently. Odds are you’ll be raising a glass and proposing a toast before you know it.

Grace,

Randy