Perfect Peace

Perfect Peace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grace,

Randy

Perfect Peace - Audio/Visual

If Only

If Only

I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength. (Phil. 4:11-13)

The widest river in the world is not the Mississippi, the Amazon, or even the Nile. The widest river on earth is a body of water called If Only. Throngs of people stand on its banks and cast longing eyes over its waters. They want to cross, but can't seem to find the ferry. They’re convinced that the If Only river separates them from the good life. If only I were thinner, I'd have the good life. If only I were richer, I'd have the good life. If only the kids would come. If only the kids were gone. If only I could leave home, move home, get married, get divorced. If only my skin were clear of pimples, my calendar free of people, my profession free from layoffs, then I would have the good life. The If Only cry me a river.

Does it seem like the good life is always one if only away? One purchase away? One promotion away? One election or one romance away? If so, then you’ve traced your anxiety to one of its sources. You're in a hurry to cross the river, but worried that you never will. As a result, you work long hours, borrow more money, take on new projects, and pile on more responsibilities. Stress. Debt. Short nights. Long days. All part of the cost of the ticket to the land of the good life, right? Not exactly, opined the apostle Paul. The good life begins, not when circumstances change, but when our attitude toward them does. Look again at his antidote for anxiety: "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:6-7)

Paul embedded in these two verses two essential words that deserve special attention: with thanksgiving. Sprinkled among your phrases of "Help me . . . ," or "Please give me . . . ," or maybe "Won't you show me . . .," should be two wonderful words: Thank you. Gratitude is a mindful awareness of the benefits of life. It is the greatest of virtues. Studies have linked the emotion with a variety of positive effects. Grateful people tend to be more empathetic and forgiving of others. People who keep a gratitude journal are more likely to have a positive outlook on life. Grateful individuals demonstrate less envy, materialism and self-centeredness. Gratitude improves self-esteem, and enhances relationships, quality of sleep and longevity. If it came in a pill form, gratitude would be deemed the miracle cure. It's no wonder, then, that God's anxiety therapy includes a large, delightful dollop of gratitude.

Gratitude leads us off the riverbank of If Only, and escorts us to the fertile delta of Already. The anxious heart says, “Lord, if only I had this, that or the other thing, I’d be okay.” The grateful heart says, “Oh, look! You’ve already given me this, that or the other thing. Thank you, God.” My friend, John, has taught me the value of gratitude. He’s eighty-three years old and regularly shoots his age on the golf course. I’d have to live to a hundred to do as well. His dear wife, Marilyn, battles a number of diseases. What should have been a wonderful season of retirement has been marred by hospital stays, medication and struggles. Many days Marilyn can’t keep her balance. John has to be at her side. Yet he never complains. He always has a smile and a joke. And he relentlessly beats me at golf.

I asked John his secret. He said, “Every morning Marilyn and I sit together and sing a hymn. I ask her what she wants to sing. She always says, ‘Count Your Blessings.’ So we sing it. And we count our blessings.” Take a moment and follow John’s example. Look at your blessings. Do you see any friends? Family? Do you see any grace from God? The love of God? Do you see any gifts? Abilities? Talents? Skills? And as you look at your blessings, take note of what happens. Anxiety grabs its bags and slips out the back door. Worry refuses to share a heart filled with gratitude. One heartfelt thank-you will suck the oxygen out of worry’s world. So say it often. Focus more on what you have, and less on what you don’t.

The apostle Paul modeled this outlook. “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” (Phil 4:11-13) The circumstances of Paul’s life in jail were miserable. Under constant surveillance. No reason to hope for release. Yet with shackles dangling from his wrists, the apostle announced, “I have learned the secret to being content.”

Paul’s use of the term secret is curious. He doesn’t say, “I have learned the principle.” Or, “I have learned the concept.” Instead, “I have learned the secret of being content.” A secret, by definition, is a bit of knowledge not commonly known. It’s as if the apostle beckons us to lean forward to hear him whisper, “Can I share a secret with you about happiness?” “I have learned the secret of being content – whether well fed or hungry, whether in abundance or in need.” (v. 12)

Does happiness depend on what you drive? Wear? Deposit? Even spray on? If so, you’ve entered the rat race called materialism. You can’t win that race. There will always be a newer car to buy, or a nicer dress to purchase. And since the rat race is unwinnable, you’re setting yourself up for certain failure which then leads to more anxiety. Define yourself by your stuff, and you’ll feel good when you have a lot, and you’ll feel bad when you don’t. If I get the new job . . . If I can retire . . . . In each case joy comes, then fades. By the time you reach old age, you’ve ridden a thousand roller coasters of hope and disappointment, hope and disappointment. Life has repeatedly lifted you up, and then let you down, and you’re suspicious that, given your past experiences, it’s likely to let you down again.

Contingent contentment turns us into wounded, worried people. Paul advances a healthier strategy. He learned to be content with what he had, which is pretty remarkable since he had so little. He had a jail cell instead of a house. He had four walls instead of a mission field. He had chains instead of jewelry, a guard instead of a wife. How could he be content? Simple. He focused on a different list. He had eternal life. He had the love of God. He had forgiveness of sins. He had the surety of salvation. He had Christ, and, for Paul, Christ was enough. What he had in Christ was significantly greater than what he didn't have in life.

Here’s a little detail about Paul’s letter to the Philippians that actually says quite a lot about the author. Within its 104 verses Paul mentions Jesus forty times. In other words, Paul talked about Christ, on average, every 2½ verses. "To me the only important thing about living is Christ, and dying would be profit for me." (Phil. 1:21) His only aim was to know Jesus. Riches didn’t attract him. Applause didn’t matter to him. The grave didn’t intimidate him. All he wanted was more Jesus. As a result, he was content. In Jesus, Paul found all the satisfaction his heart desired, and you and I can learn the same.

Christ-based contentment turns us into strong people. Since no one can take our Jesus, no one can take our joy. Can death take our joy? No, Jesus is greater than death. Can failure take our joy? No, Jesus is greater than our sin. Can betrayal take our joy? No, Jesus will never leave us. Can sickness take our joy? No, God has promised, whether on this side of the grave or the other, to heal us. Can disappointment take our joy? No, because even though our plans may not work out, we know God's plan will. Death, failure, betrayal, sickness, disappointment – they cannot take our joy, because they can’t take our Jesus.

What you have in Christ is greater than anything you don't have in life. You have God, who is crazy about you, and the forces of heaven to monitor and protect you. You have the living presence of Jesus within you. In Christ you have everything. He can give you a happiness that can never be taken, a grace that will never expire, and a wisdom that will ever increase. He’s a fountain of living hope that will never be exhausted. I have a friend who lives next to a river, into which his boat dock extends from the edge of his property. The level of the river may rise and fall with the seasons or circumstances. His boat may even rock back and forth with the river traffic. But though the level may change and his boat may rock, it’s never drifted away. Why? Because his boat is securely anchored to the dock. What about you?

Anchor your heart to the character of God. Your boat will rock. Moods will come and go. Situations will fluctuate. But you won’t be left adrift on the river of despair because you’ve found a contentment that endures the circumstances. So, no more "if only" – it’s the Petri dish for anxiety. Focus on a different list – not a list of things to do, or a list of things you want, but a list of the things you already have. Replace your "if only" with "already." Exchange each anxious thought with a grateful one, and then the peace of God will replace your anxiety with contentment. That’s the secret to a thankful life.

Grace,

Randy

If Only - Audio/Visual

Prayer Not Despair

Prayer Not Despair

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. (Phil. 4:6)

The judge owned a gated mansion in the Hamptons. He smoked Cuban cigars, wore Armani suits, and drove a Bentley with a personalized license plate that bore the words, My Way. He was on the payroll of every Mafia boss and drug dealer on the eastern seaboard. They kept him in office; he kept them out of jail. They gave him votes; he gave them a free pass. He was a crook. His mother knew it. His priest knew it. His kids knew it. God knew it. The judge couldn't care less. He never gave God a second thought, or an honest person a second chance. According to Jesus the judge was a scoundrel.

He certainly didn't care about the widow. "In that same town there was a widow who kept coming to this judge, saying, 'Give me my rights against my enemy.'" (Luke 18:3) Let’s call her Ethel. She had a simple look to her: hair tied in a bun, plaid dress, old jogging shoes that appeared to have been rescued from a yard sale. If the judge was a Cadillac, Ethel was a clunker. But for an old clunker she had a lot of horsepower. She was determined to escape a certain adversary. A bill collector? An angry landlord? An oppressive neighbor? We don’t know, but someone had turned against her. Someone had resolved to take her to the cleaners. She pleaded her case and begged for justice. No luck. She exhausted every possible solution. Finally, in a burst of chutzpah, she sought the assistance of the judge.

Every morning when he stepped out of his limo, there Ethel stood on the courthouse sidewalk. "Can I have a minute, Your Honor?" When he exited his chambers, Ethel was waiting in the hallway. "Judge, I need your help." At Giovanni's, where the judge ate lunch, she approached his table. "Just a few minutes of your time." How she got past the maitre d', the judge didn’t know. But there she was. Ethel even sat in the front row of the courtroom during trials, holding up a cardboard sign that read "Can you help me?" During his Saturday-morning golf game, she walked out of the bushes near the fourth green. Ethel also annoyed the judge's wife. She hounded the judge's secretary. "Do something about Ethel," they demanded. "She's a pest!" "For a while the judge refused to help her." (v. 4)

One day, when the coast was clear, the judge dashed from his office to his limo and jumped in the backseat, only to be confronted by you-know-who. Ethel was in the car. He was stuck. He took one look at her and sighed, "Lady, you don't get it, do you? I don't like people. I don't believe in God. There’s nothing good in me. Yet you keep asking me to help you." "Just a small favor," Ethel asked, holding her thumb a quarter inch from her forefinger. He growled through clenched teeth, "Anything to be rid of you. What do you want?" She spilled out a story that included the words widow, broke and the phrase eviction notice. The judge stared out the car window as she pleaded for his intervention. "He thought to himself, 'Even though I don't respect God or care about people, I will see that she gets her rights. Otherwise she will continue to bother me until I am worn out.'" (vv. 4-5)

When she finally paused to take a breath, he waved her silent. "Okay, okay. I'll give you a break." "You will?" "Yes, on one condition." "Anything." "You get out of my life!" "Yes, I promise." Ethel beamed. "Can I give you a hug?" He told her “No,” but she did anyway. She jumped out of the car and danced a jig on the sidewalk. The dishonest judge rode away, grumbling. And we, the readers, look up from Luke's gospel and wonder, What’s this story doing in the Bible?

A corrupt official. A persistent gadfly. Reluctant benevolence. No compassion or concern. Is there a message in this account? Is God a reluctant judge? Are we the marginalized widow? Is prayer a matter of pestering God until he breaks down and gives us what we want? No, this is a parable of contrast, not comparison. The judge groused, complained and murmured. Yet "even he rendered a just decision in the end. So don't you think God will surely give justice to his chosen people who cry out to him day and night? . . . I tell you, he will grant justice to them quickly!" (Luke 18:7-8)

God is not the reluctant judge in this story, and we are not the widow. The widow in the story was at the bottom of the pecking order. She had nowhere to turn. But as a child of the King, you’re at the front of the line. You, at any moment, can turn to God. God doesn't delay. He never places you on hold, or tells you to call again later. God loves the sound of your voice. He doesn't hide when you call. He hears your prayers. And for that reason we can "be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God." (Phil. 4:6) With this verse the apostle calls us to take action against anxiety. Until this point he has been assuring us of God's character: his sovereignty, mercy, and presence. Now it’s our turn to act on this belief. We choose prayer over despair. Peace happens when people pray, and God calls us to pray about everything.

The terms prayer, supplication, and requests in Philippians 4:6 are similar but not identical. Prayer is a general devotion; the word includes worship and adoration. Supplication suggests humility. We are the supplicants in the sense that we make no demands; we simply offer humble requests. A request is exactly that – a specific petition. We tell God exactly what we want. We pray the particulars of our problem. What Jesus said to the blind man, he says to us: "What do you want me to do for you?" (Luke 18:41) One would think that the answer would have been obvious. When a sightless man requests Jesus' help, isn't it apparent what he needs? Yet Jesus wanted to hear the man articulate his specific requests. He wants the same from us. "Let your requests be made known to God."

When the wedding ran low on wine, Mary wasn't content to say, "Help us, Jesus." She was specific: "They have no more wine." (John 2:3) The needy man in Jesus' parable said, "Friend, lend me three loaves." (Luke 11:5) Not just, "Can you help me out?" He made a specific request. Even Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane prayed specifically. "Take this cup from me." (Luke 22:42) Why does this matter? First, a specific prayer is a serious prayer. If I say to you, "Do you mind if I come by your house sometime?" you may not take me seriously. But suppose I say, "Can I come over this Friday night? I have a problem at work and I really need your advice. I can be there at seven, and I promise I’ll leave in an hour." Then you know my petition is sincere. When we offer specific requests, God knows the same.

Second, specific prayer is an opportunity for us to see God at work. When we see him respond in specific ways to specific requests, our faith grows. The book of Genesis relates the wonderful prayer of Abraham's servant. He was sent to Mesopotamia, Abraham's homeland, to find a wife for Abraham's son. Now, just how does a servant select a wife for someone else in a foreign country? This servant prayed about it. "Please give me success today, and show unfailing love to my master, Abraham. See, I am standing here beside this spring, and the young women of the town are coming out to draw water. This is my request. I will ask one of them, 'Please give me a drink from your jug.' If she says, 'Yes, have a drink, and I will water your camels, too!' – let her be the one you have selected as Isaac's wife. This is how I will know that you have shown unfailing love to my master." (Gen. 24:12-14)

Could the servant have been more detailed? He asked for success in his endeavor. He envisioned an exact dialogue, and then he stepped forth in faith. Scripture says, "Before he had finished speaking, Rebekah appeared." (Gen. 24:15) She said the words. The servant had an answered prayer. He saw God at work.

Third, specific prayer creates a lighter load. Many of our anxieties are threatening because they are ill-defined and vague. If we can distill the challenge into a phrase, we bring it down to size. It’s one thing to pray, Lord, please bless my meeting tomorrow. It’s another thing altogether to pray, Lord, I have a conference with my supervisor at 2:00 p.m., tomorrow. She intimidates me. Would you please grant me a spirit of peace so I can sleep well tonight? Grant me wisdom so I can enter the meeting prepared. And would you soften her heart toward me and give her a generous spirit? Help us have a gracious conversation in which both of us benefit and your name is honored. There. You have reduced the problem into a prayer-sized challenge. This isn’t an endorsement of a demanding, conditional prayer that presumes to tell God what to do, and when. Nor am I suggesting that the power of prayer resides in chanting the right formula, or quoting some secret code. Don’t think for a moment that the power of prayer resides in the way we present it. God isn’t manipulated or impressed by our formulas or eloquence.

But he is moved by a sincere request. After all, isn’t he our Father? As his children we honor him when we tell him exactly what we need. "Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7) Casting is an intentional act for purposes of relocating an object. When the disciples prepared Jesus to ride into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, they "cast their garments upon the colt." (Luke 19:35) The crowd removed the garments off their backs and spread them in the path of Christ. Let this kind of "throwing" action be your first response to bad news. As you sense anxiety welling up inside you, cast it in the direction of Jesus. Do so specifically and immediately. Take your problem to Christ and tell him, "You said you would help me. Would you?"

The Old Testament prophet Isaiah said, "Put the Lord in remembrance [of His promises], keep not silence." (Isa. 62:6) God told Isaiah, "Put Me in remembrance; let us contend together." (Isa. 43:26) God invites you, no, commands you to remind him of his promises. Populate your prayer with "God, you said …." "You said you would walk me through the waters." (Isa. 43:2) "You said you would lead me through the valley." (Ps. 23:4) "You said that you would never leave or forsake me." (Heb. 13:5) Find a promise that fits your problem and build your prayer around it. These prayers of faith touch the heart of God and activate the angels of heaven. Miracles are set into motion. Your answer may not come overnight, but it will come. And you will overcome. "Prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters." (Eph. 6:18) The path to peace is paved with prayer. Less consternation, more supplication; fewer anxious thoughts, more prayer-filled thoughts. As you pray, the peace of God will guard your heart and mind. And, in the end, what could be any better?

Grace,

Randy

Prayer Not Despair - Audio/Visual

Calm

Calm

Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything. (Phil. 4:5-6)

Disaster was as close as pushing a red button. Four Russian submarines patrolled the Florida coast. US warships had dropped depth charges. The Russian captain was stressed, trigger-happy and ready to destroy a few American cities. Each sub was armed with a nuclear warhead. Each warhead had the potential to repeat a Hiroshima-level calamity. Had it not been for the contagious calm of a clear-thinking officer, World War III might have begun in 1962. His name was Vasili Arkhipov. He was the thirty-six-year-old chief of staff for a clandestine fleet of Russian submarines. The crew members assumed that they were being sent on a training mission off the Siberian coast. They came to learn that they had been commissioned to travel five thousand miles to the southwest to set up a spearhead for a base near Havana, Cuba. The subs went south, and so did their mission.

In order to move quickly, the submarines traveled on the surface of the water, where they ran head-on into Hurricane Daisy. The fifty-foot waves left the men nauseated and the operating systems compromised. Then came the warm waters. Soviet subs were designed for the polar waters, not the tropical Atlantic. Temperatures inside the vessels exceeded 120 degrees Fahrenheit. The crew battled the heat and claustrophobia for much of the three-week journey. By the time they were near the coast of Cuba, the men were exhausted, on edge and anxious. The situation worsened when the subs received cryptic instructions from Moscow to turn northward and patrol the coastline of Florida. Soon after they entered American waters, their radar picked up the signal of a dozen ships and aircraft. The Russians were being followed by the Americans. The US ships set off depth charges. The Russians assumed they were under attack. The captain lost his cool. He summoned his staff to his command post and pounded the table with his fists. "We're going to blast them now! We will die, but we will sink them all – we will not disgrace our navy!" But then Vasili Arkhipov asked for a moment with his captain. The two men stepped to the side where he urged his superior to reconsider.

He suggested they talk to the Americans before reacting. The captain listened. His anger cooled. He gave the order for the vessels to surface. The Americans encircled the Russians and kept them under surveillance. What they intended to do is unclear because in a couple of days the Soviets dove, eluded the Americans, and made it back home safely. This incredible brush with death was kept secret for decades. Arkhipov deserved a medal, yet he lived the rest of his life with no recognition. It was not until 2002 that the public learned of the barely-avoided catastrophe. As the director of the National Security Archive stated, "The lesson from this [event] is that a guy named Vasili Arkhipov saved the world."

Why does this story matter? You won’t spend three weeks in a sweltering Russian sub. But you may spend a semester carrying a heavy class load, or you may fight the headwinds of a recession. You may spend night after night at the bedside of an afflicted child or an aging parent. You may fight to keep a family together, or a business afloat. You’ll be tempted to press the button, releasing not nuclear warheads, but angry outbursts, a rash of accusations, a fiery retaliation of hurtful words. How many people have been wounded as a result of unbridled stress? And how many disasters have been averted because one person refused to buckle under the strain?

It’s this kind of composure that Paul is summoning in the first of a trio of proclamations. "Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything." (Phil. 4:5-6) The Greek word translated here as “gentleness,” epieikes, describes a temperament that is seasoned and mature. It envisions an attitude that is fitting to the occasion, levelheaded and tempered. The gentle reaction is one of steadiness, even-handedness and fairness. Its opposite would be an overreaction or a sense of panic. And this kind of gentleness will be "evident to all." Family members will take note. Your friends will sense a difference. Co-workers will benefit from it. Others may freak out or run out, but the gentle person is sober-minded and clear thinking. A contagious calm.

The contagiously calm person is the one who reminds others, "God is in control." It’s the executive who tells the company, "Let's all do our part; we'll be okay." It’s the leader who sees the challenge, acknowledges it, and then observes, "These are tough times, but we'll get through them." But this “gentleness” of which Paul speaks – where do we quarry that particular gem? How can you and I keep our finger off the trigger? How can we keep our heads when everyone else is losing theirs? The answer lies in plumbing the depths of the second phrase. "Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything." (Phil. 4:5-6)

“The Lord is near.” In other words, you’re not alone. You may feel alone. You may even think you’re alone. But there’s never a moment in which you face life without help. God is near. God repeatedly pledges his proverbial presence to his people. To Abram, God said, "Do not be afraid. . . . I am your shield, your exceedingly great reward." (Gen. 15:1) To Hagar, the angel announced, "Do not be afraid; God has heard." (Gen. 21:17) When Isaac was expelled from his land by the Philistines and forced to move from place to place, God appeared to him and reminded him, "Do not be afraid, for I am with you." (Gen. 26:24) After Moses' death God told Joshua, "Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." (Josh. 1:9) God was with David, in spite of his adultery; with Jacob, in spite of his conniving; and with Elijah, in spite of his lack of faith.

Then, in the ultimate declaration of communion, God called himself Immanuel, which means "God with us." He became flesh. He became sin. He defeated the grave. He is still with us. In the form of his Spirit, he comforts, teaches and convicts. Don’t assume that God is watching from a distance. Avoid the quicksand that bears the marker, "God has left you!" Don’t indulge that lie. If you do, your problem will be amplified by a sense of loneliness. It's one thing to face a challenge, but to face it all alone? Isolation creates a downward cycle of fret. Choose, instead, to be the person who clutches to God’s presence with both hands. "The LORD is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?" (Ps. 118:6) Because the Lord is near, we can be anxious for nothing. And that’s Paul's point.

Remember, Paul was writing a letter. He didn’t write to the Philippian church using chapter and verse numbers. That system was created by scholars in the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries. The structure helps us, but it can also hinder us. The apostle intended the words of verses 5 and 6 to be read in one fell swoop. "The Lord is near, so don’t be anxious about anything." We can calmly take our concerns to God because he’s as near as our next breath. This was the reassuring lesson from the miracle of the bread and fish. In an event crafted to speak to the anxious heart, Jesus told his disciples to do the impossible: feed five thousand people. "Jesus lifted up His eyes, and seeing a great multitude coming toward Him, He said to Philip, 'Where shall we buy bread, that these may eat?' But this He said to test him, for He Himself knew what He would do." (John 6:5-6)

When John described this gathering as a "great multitude," he wasn’t kidding. There were five thousand men, plus women and children. (Matt. 14:21) Imagine a capacity crowd at a sports arena, and you've got the picture. Jesus was willing to feed the entire crowd. The disciples, on the other hand, wanted to get rid of everyone. "Send the multitudes away, that they may go into the villages and buy themselves food." (Matt. 14:15) It has a tone of anxiety, aggravation, or maybe frustration. They don't call Jesus "Master." They don't come to him with a suggestion. They march as a group to Christ and tell him what to do. The disciples see a valley full of people. Growling stomachs will soon become scowling faces, and the disciples could have a riot on their hands. They had every reason to feel unsettled.

But then again, didn’t they have equal reason to feel at peace? By this point in their experience with Jesus they had seen him heal leprosy (Matt. 8:3), heal the centurion's servant without even going to the servant's bedside (Matt. 8:13), heal Peter's mother-in-law (Matt. 8:15), calm a violent sea (Matt. 8:26), heal a woman who’d been sick for twelve years (Matt. 9:22), raise a girl from the dead (Matt. 9:25), heal a demon-possessed man in a cemetery (Mark 5:15), change water into wine (John 2:9), and heal a man who’d been an invalid for thirty-eight years. (John 5:9) Did any of the disciples pause long enough to think, Well, hmmm. Jesus healed the sick people, raised the dead girl, and calmed the angry waves. I wonder, does he have a solution we haven’t seen? After all, he is standing right here in front of us. Let's ask him. Did it occur to anyone to ask Jesus for help? The stunning answer is no. They acted as if Jesus wasn’t even there. Rather than count on Christ, they had the audacity to tell the Creator of the universe that nothing could be done because there wasn't enough money. I wonder how Jesus kept his composure. How did he keep from looking at the disciples and say, "Really?"

Finally, a boy offered his lunch basket to Andrew, who tentatively mentioned the offer to Jesus. Jesus said, “’Have the people sit down.’ There was plenty of grass in that place, and they sat down (about five thousand men were there). Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish. When they had all had enough to eat, he said to his disciples, ‘Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted.’ So they gathered them and filled twelve baskets with the pieces of the five barley loaves left over by those who had eaten.” (John 6:10-13) Not one red cent was spent. They started the day with two hundred coins. They ended the day with two hundred coins. In addition, they filled twelve baskets with leftovers. Maybe a souvenir for each apostle? The people were fed, the bank account was intact, and we have a lesson to learn: anxiety is needless because Jesus is near.

You aren't facing five thousand hungry bellies, but you’re facing a deadline in two days . . . a loved one in need of a cure . . . a child who is being bullied at school. Typically, you'd get anxious. You'd tell God to send the problem packing: "You've given me too much to handle, Jesus!" Next time, instead of starting with what you have, start with Jesus. Start with his wealth, his resources and his strength. Before you open the ledger, open your heart. Before you count coins or count heads, count the number of times Jesus has helped you face the impossible. Before you lash out in fear, look up in faith and experience the contagious calm that comes to those who turn to him.

Grace,

Randy

Calm - Audio/Visual

Easter Gifts

Easter Gifts - Audio/Visual

Easter Gifts

And God has reserved for his children the priceless gift of eternal life; it is kept in heaven for you, pure and undefiled, beyond the reach of change and decay. And God, in his mighty power, will make sure that you get there safely to receive it, because you are trusting him. It will be yours in that coming last day for all to see. (1 Peter 1:4, 5)

The poor guy deserves your compassion. When you see him, don’t laugh, and please don’t mock him. Don’t turn away; don’t shake your head. Just gently lead him to the nearest bench and help him sit down. Have pity on him. He’s fearful and wide-eyed. He’s like a deer caught in the headlights, or Tarzan walking through the urban jungle. He’s stuck, wondering how he got there and how he’ll ever get out. Okay, so who is this guy? Who’s this poor soul that we’re talking about? Well, he’s a man in the women’s department of a big box store looking for a gift. The season may be Easter, or the occasion may be her birthday; it might even be for their anniversary. Whatever the motive, he’s come out of hiding. Leaving behind his familiar habitat of sporting goods stores, food courts and the big-screen television in the appliance department, he ventures into the unknown world of women’s wear.

It’s not hard to spot him. He’s the motionless one in the aisle. And were it not for the rings of perspiration under his arms, you’d think he was a mannequin. But he isn’t. He’s a man in a woman’s world, and he’s never seen so much underwear. At the Wal-Mart, where he goes to get his own, it’s six pairs wrapped in a single package sitting on a shelf. But here he is in a forest of lace. His father warned him about places like this. And though the sign says lingerie, he knows he shouldn’t linger. So, he moves on, but he doesn’t really know where to go because not every man is prepared for moments like this.

My friend’s dad, on the other hand, saw the challenge of shopping for women as a rite of passage – right there along with the birds and the bees, and tying neckties. He taught his son how to survive when they shopped. In fact, my friend told me about the day his dad sat him down and taught him two little words. “You see,” his dad said, “to get around in a foreign country, you need to know the language.” So, my friend’s dad taught him the language of the ladies’ department. “There will come a time in your life,” he said solemnly, “when a salesperson will offer to help you. And when they do, take a deep breath and say, ‘Estee Lauder.’” And, on every gift-giving occasion for years thereafter, my friend’s mom received two gifts from the two men in her life: Estee Lauder and … Estee Lauder.

I didn’t use to have any particular fear of the women’s department. But then I met my wife, Sandy. She’s not particularly fond of Estee Lauder. Though I could have told her that it would make her smell mysterious, or womanly, or motherly and all, she hasn’t changed her mind, and I’ve been in a bind ever since. For instance, last year for Christmas, I opted to buy her a dress. When the salesperson asked me Sandy’s size, I said I didn’t know. I honestly didn’t at the time, and I still don’t. I know I can wrap my arms around her, and that her hand fits perfectly in mine. But her dress size? I never inquired because there’s certain questions that a man just doesn’t ask. But the saleswoman tried to be helpful. “Well, how does she compare to me?” Now, I was taught from an early age to be polite to women, but I couldn’t be polite and answer that question because there was only one answer: “She’s much thinner than you.”

So, I just stared at my feet instead, trying to think of a polite reply. After all, I’m a lawyer – surely I could think of the right words to say. For instance, I considered being direct: “She’s less of you.” Even complimentary: “You’re more of a woman than she is.” Perhaps a hint would suffice? “I hear the store is downsizing.” Finally, I swallowed and said the only thing I knew to say, Estee Lauder, at which point the saleslady pointed me in the direction of the perfume department. But I knew better than to go there.

So, I thought I would try the purses. I thought it would be easy. I mean what could be so hard about selecting a simple carrying device for credit cards and money? I’ve used the same wallet for years. What could be so difficult about buying a purse? If you tell an attendant in the men’s department that you want a wallet, you’re taken to a small counter next to the cash register. And once there, your only decision is black or brown. However, tell an attendant in the ladies’ department that you want a purse, and you’re escorted to an entire room. A room full of shelves. Shelves full of purses. Purses with price tags. Price tags so potent that it should obviate the need for getting a purse altogether. I was pondering this thought when the salesperson asked me some questions. Questions for which I had no answer. “What kind of purse would your wife like?” My blank look told her that I had no idea, so she began listing my options: “Handbag? Shoulder bag? Glove bag? Backpack? Shoulder pack? Change purse?” Dizzied by the options, I had to sit down before I fainted. But that didn’t stop her. She was persistent. Leaning over me, she continued, “Moneybag? Tote bag? Pocketbook? Satchel?”

“Satchel?” I perked up at the sound of the first familiar word I’d heard. Satchel Paige pitched in the major leagues. This must be an answer. So, I straightened my shoulders and said proudly, “Satchel.” But apparently she didn’t like my answer because she started cursing at me in another language. I didn’t understand all she said, but I do know she called me a “Burberry,” and threatened to “Gucci” me with a “Spade” that belonged to someone named Kate. And then she got really crazy invoking some saint named “Laurent,” while picking on my favorite musician, “Louie.” I guess she thought she knew me because she called me “Michael Kors,” but Michael isn’t even my name. It could’ve been Marc Jacobs for that matter. But when she said it was “Armani,” I put my hand over my wallet and said, “No, it’s my money.” And that was it. I got out of there as fast as I could. But as I left the room, I gave her a bit of her own medicine. “Estee Lauder,” I shouted, and ran as fast as I could. It wasn’t very Christian-like, I know.

The things we do to give gifts to those we love. But we don’t mind, do we? We’d do it all over again. The fact is, we do do it all over again, but every so often we find ourselves in foreign territory – grownups in toy stores; dads in teen stores; wives in the parts department; husbands in the purse department. And not only do we enter unusual places, we do unusual things. We hide Easter eggs on the lawn and in the bushes. We assemble bicycles at midnight. I heard about one fellow who rented a movie theater so that he and his wife could see their wedding pictures on the big screen on their anniversary. We are at our best when we give. In fact, we are most like God when we are giving.

Have you ever wondered why God gives so much? If we give gifts to show our love, how much more does he? If we, imperfect though we are, love to give gifts, how much more does a perfect God enjoy giving gifts to us? Jesus asked, “If you hardhearted, sinful men know how to give good gifts to your children, won’t your Father in heaven even more certainly give good gifts to those who ask him for them?” (Matt. 7:11)

God’s gifts shed light on God’s heart; God’s good and generous heart. Jesus’ half-brother, James, tells us: “Every desirable and beneficial gift comes out of heaven. The gifts are rivers of light cascading down from the Father of Light.” (James 1:17) Every gift reveals God’s love. But no gift reveals his love more than the gifts of the cross. They came, not packaged in a plastic Easter egg, but wrapped in a passion. Not placed in the grass, but nailed on a cross. Not glistening in pastel colors, but sprinkled in blood red. The gifts of the cross. A lot’s been written about the gift of the cross itself, but what about the other gifts? What about the nails, and the crown of thorns? The garments taken by the soldiers? The garments given for Jesus’ burial? Have you taken the time to open these gifts, too? He didn’t have to give them, you know. The only act, the only required act for our salvation was the shedding of his innocent blood. Yet, he did so much more. Search the scene of the cross, and what do you find? A wine-soaked sponge. A sign. Two crosses beside Christ. Divine gifts intended to stir that moment, that split second when your face brightens, your eyes widen and God hears you whisper, “You did this? For me?”

Have you ever thought about why there were two crosses next to Christ? I mean, why not six, or ten, or a dozen or more? And if you’ve thought about that, have you ever wondered why Jesus was in the center? Why not on the far right, or far left, instead? Could the crosses on either side of the savior symbolize God’s gift of choice? Perhaps, because the two thieves on either side had a lot in common. They were convicted by the same system; they were condemned to the same death; they were surrounded by the same crowd; and they were equally close to Jesus. In fact, they even began with the same insults: “The two criminals also said cruel things to Jesus.” (Matt. 27:44) But then one of the thieves had a change of heart.

A lot has been said about that penitent thief, but what about the other guy? Wouldn’t a personal invitation have been appropriate? Wouldn’t a word of persuasion have been timely, especially given the circumstances? I mean, doesn’t the shepherd leave the ninety-nine and pursue the one, lost sheep? And doesn’t the housewife sweep the house until the lost coin is found? Yes, the shepherd pursues and the housewife sweeps. But the father of the prodigal? – the last “lost” parable in the trilogy contained in Luke 15:1-32. The father does nothing. Why? Maybe it’s because the sheep was lost innocently, and the coin was lost irresponsibly. But the prodigal son? He left intentionally. The father had given the prodigal son the choice, and Jesus gave the criminals the same.

There are times in our lives when God sends nothing but silence as he honors us with the freedom to choose where we spend eternity. And what an honor, don’t you think? I mean, in so many areas of life we don’t really have a choice, do we? For instance, we didn’t choose our gender, our family, our race or even our place of birth. And, let’s face it, sometimes that lack of choice really angers us. “It’s not fair,” we complain. “It’s not fair that I was born in poverty, or that I sing poorly, or that I run so slowly.” All that changed, however, in the Garden of Eden. Man made a choice, and it wasn’t for God. And man is suffering the consequences of that choice. It’s called sin. Granted, it would’ve been nice if God had let us order life like ordering a meal at a smorgasbord. “I’ll take some good health and a high IQ, please. No, I think I’ll pass on the music skills, but please give me a big helping of that fast metabolism!” That would’ve been nice, but that’s not what happened. When it came to life on earth, you weren’t given a voice; you weren’t even given a vote. But when it comes to life after death, you’ve got a choice.

Have we been given any greater privilege than that of choice? Not only does this privilege offset any injustice, but the gift of free will can offset any mistakes. Think about the thief who repented. We don’t know a lot about him, but we do know this: he made some pretty bad choices in life. He chose the wrong crowd, the wrong morals, and the wrong behavior. But would you consider his life a waste? Is he spending eternity reaping the fruit of all the bad choices he made? No, just the opposite, actually. He’s enjoying the fruit of the one good choice he made. In the end, all of his bad choices were redeemed by one good choice.

We’ve all made bad choices in life. We’ve chosen the wrong friends, the wrong car, the wrong way, or maybe even the wrong career. We look back over the years of our life and say, “If only ….”  “If only I could make up for all those bad choices.” The good news is that you can. One good choice for eternity offsets a million bad ones made here on earth – and the choice is yours to make. Because when one thief prayed, Jesus loved him enough to save him. And when the other thief mocked him, Jesus loved him enough to let him.

Could it be that the hill of the cross and the empty tomb are actually rich with God’s gifts? Examine them. Unwrap these gifts of grace as if for the first time. And as you touch them — as you feel the timber of the cross, trace the braid of the crown, finger the point of the spike and ponder a vacant grave — pause and listen. Maybe you’ll hear him whisper, “Yes. I did it just for you.”

Happy Easter,

Randy