Shame

Shame - Audio/Visual
Shame

Arresting Jesus, they marched him off and took him into the house of the Chief Priest. Peter followed, but at a safe distance. In the middle of the courtyard some people had started a fire and were sitting around it, trying to keep warm. One of the serving maids sitting at the fire noticed him, then took a second look and said, “This man was with him!” He denied it, “Woman, I don’t even know him.” A short time later, someone else noticed him and said, “You’re one of them.” But Peter denied it: “Man, I am not.” About an hour later, someone else spoke up, really adamant: “He’s got to have been with him! He’s got ‘Galilean’ written all over him.”

Peter said, “Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” At that very moment, the last word hardly off his lips, a rooster crowed. Just then, the Master turned and looked at Peter. Peter remembered what the Master had said to him: “Before the rooster crows, you will deny me three times.” He went out and cried and cried and cried. (Luke 22:54-62)

See the man in the shadows? That's Peter. Peter the apostle. Peter the impetuous. Peter the passionate. Peter with the foot-shaped mouth. He once walked on water – stepped right out of the boat and onto the lake. He'll soon preach to thousands – fearless before friends and foes alike. But tonight the one who stepped on the water has hurried into hiding. The one who will speak with power is weeping in pain. Not sniffling or whimpering, but weeping. Bawling. Bearded face buried in thick hands. His howl echoing in the Jerusalem night. What hurts more? The fact that he did it? Or the fact that he swore he never would? "Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and even to die with you!" he pledged only hours earlier. "But Jesus said, 'Peter, before the rooster crows this day, you will say three times that you don't know me.'" (Luke 22:33-34).

Denying Christ on the night of his betrayal was bad enough, but did he really have to boast that he wouldn't? And one denial was bad enough, but three? Three denials were horrific, but did he really have to curse? "Peter began to place a curse on himself and swear, 'I don't know the man.'" (Matt. 26:74) And now, awash in a whirlpool of sorrow, Peter’s hiding. Peter’s weeping. And soon Peter will be fishing. Fishing? Why’d he go fishing?

We know why he goes to Galilee – he’d been told that the risen Christ would meet the disciples there. The arranged meeting place was not the sea, however, but a mountain. (Matt. 28:16) If the followers were to meet Jesus on a mountain, why are they in a boat? No one told them to fish, but that's what they did. "Simon Peter said, 'I am going out to fish.' The others said, 'We will go with you.'" (John 21:3)

Further, didn't Peter quit fishing? Two years earlier, when Jesus called him to fish for men, didn't Peter drop his net and follow? We haven't seen him fish since. We never see him fish again. So why is he fishing now? Especially now. Jesus has risen from the dead. Peter has seen the empty tomb. Who could fish at a time like this?

Were Peter and his fishing buddies hungry? Maybe that's the sum of it. Maybe the expedition was born out of growling stomachs. Or, then again, maybe it was born out of a broken heart. You see, Peter couldn’t deny his denial. The empty tomb didn’t erase the crowing rooster. Christ had returned, but Peter wondered, he must have wondered, "After what I did, would he return for someone like me?" Haven’t we all wondered the same.

Is Peter the only person to do the very thing he swore he'd never do? "Infidelity is behind me!" Or, "From now on, I'm going to bridle my tongue." Maybe, "No more shady deals. I've learned my lesson." Oh, the volume of our boasting. And, oh, the heartbreak of our shame. Rather than resist the flirting, we return it. Rather than ignore the gossip, we share it. Rather than stick to the truth, we shade it. And the rooster crows, conviction pierces our souls, and Peter has a partner in the shadows. We weep as Peter wept, and we do what Peter did. We go fishing. We go back to our old lives. We return to our pre-Jesus practices. We do what comes naturally, rather than what comes spiritually. And we question whether Jesus has a place for folks like us. Fortunately, Jesus answers that question.

He answers it for you and me and all who tend to "Peter out" on Christ. His answer came on the shore of the sea in a gift to Peter. Do you remember what Jesus did? Split the waters? No. Turn the boat to gold and the nets to silver? Not exactly. Jesus did something much more meaningful. He invited Peter to breakfast. Jesus prepared a meal. Of course, breakfast was just one special moment among several that morning. There was the great catch of fish and the recognition of Jesus. The plunge of Peter and the paddling of the disciples. And there was the moment they reached the shore and found Jesus next to a fire of coals. The fish were sizzling, the bread was waiting, and the defeater of hell and the ruler of heaven invited his friends to sit down and have a bite to eat.

No one could have been more grateful than Peter. The one Satan had sifted like wheat was eating bread at the hand of God. Peter was welcomed to the meal of Christ. Right there for the devil and his tempters to see, Jesus "prepared a table in the presence of his enemies." OK, so maybe Peter didn't say it that way. But David did. "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." (Ps. 23:5) What the shepherd did for the sheep sounds a lot like what Jesus did for Peter.

At this point in the David’s psalm, his mind seems to be lingering in the high country with the sheep. Having guided the flock through the valley to the alp lands for greener grass, he remembers the shepherd's added responsibility. He must prepare the pasture. This is new land, so the shepherd must be careful. Ideally, the grazing area will be flat, like a mesa or tableland. The shepherd searches for poisonous plants and ample water. He looks for signs of wolves, coyotes and bears. Of special concern to the shepherd at the time was the adder, a small brown snake that lives underground. Adders are known to pop out of their holes and nip the sheep on the nose. The bite often infects the sheep, and can even kill. As a defense against the snake, the shepherd would pour a circle of oil at the top of each adder hole. He also applied the oil to the noses of the animals. The oil on the snake's hole lubricated the exit, preventing the snake from climbing out. The smell of the oil on the sheep's nose would drive the serpent away. The shepherd, in a very real sense, had prepared the table.

What if your Shepherd did for you what the shepherd did for his flock? Suppose he dealt with your enemy, the devil, and prepared for you a safe place to receive nourishment? What if Jesus did for you what he did for Peter? Suppose he, in the hour of your failure, invited you to a meal? What would you say if I told you he has done exactly that?

On the night before his death, Jesus prepared a table for his followers. On the first day of the Festival of Unleavened Bread, the day the lambs for the Passover meal were killed, Jesus' disciples asked him, "Where do you want us to go and get the Passover meal ready for you?" Then Jesus sent two of them with these instructions: "Go into the city, and a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him to the house he enters, and say to the owner of the house: 'The Teacher says, Where is the room where my disciples and I will eat the Passover meal?' Then he will show you a large, upstairs room, fixed up and furnished, where you will get everything ready for us." (Mark 14:12-15) Look who did the "preparing" here. Jesus reserved a large room and arranged for the guide to lead the disciples. Jesus made certain the room was furnished and the food set out. What did the disciples do? They faithfully complied and were fed. The Shepherd prepared the table. Not only that, he dealt with the snakes.

You'll remember that only one of the disciples didn't complete the meal that night. "The devil had already persuaded Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon, to turn against Jesus." (John 13:2) Judas started to eat, but Jesus didn't let him finish. On the command of Jesus, Judas left the room. "'The thing that you will do – do it quickly.' . . . Judas took the bread Jesus gave him and immediately went out. It was night." (John 13:27, 30) There’s something dynamic in this dismissal. Jesus prepared a table in the presence of the enemy. Judas was allowed to see the supper, but he wasn't allowed to stay there. You are not welcome here. This table is for my children. You may tempt them. You may trip them. But you will never sit with them. This is how much he loves us. And if any doubt remains, lest there be any "Peters" who wonder if there’s a place at the table for them, Jesus issues a tender reminder as he passes the cup. "Every one of you drink this. This is my blood which is the new agreement that God makes with his people. This blood is poured out for many to forgive their sins." (Matt. 26:27-28)

"Every one of you drink this." Those who feel unworthy, drink this. Those who feel ashamed, drink this. Those who feel embarrassed, drink this. The answer to shame is in the Supper. The Lord's Supper. The same Jesus who'd prepared a meal for Peter has prepared one for you and me. The same Shepherd who had trumped the devil trumps him again. The same Savior who had built a fire on the shore can stir a few embers in our hearts. "Every one of you drink this." And so we do. It feels good to be back at the table.

Grace,

Randy

Loneliness

Loneliness - Audio/Visual
Loneliness

I'm tired of all this – so tired. My bed has been floating forty days and nights on the flood of my tears. My mattress is soaked, soggy with tears. The sockets of my eyes are black holes; nearly blind, I squint and grope. (Ps. 6:6-7)

Steve worked at a pharmacy, and his primary job was to deliver supplies to nursing homes in the area. An additional task, however, involved a short trip next door. Every four days he shouldered a large jug of water and carried it fifty or so feet to a building behind the pharmacy. The customer was an older woman, perhaps in her seventies, who lived alone in a dark, sparse and tarnished apartment. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. The wallpaper was stained and peeling; the shades were drawn, and the room was shadowy. Steve would deliver the jug, receive the payment, thank the woman and leave.

Over the weeks he became more puzzled by her purchases. He learned that the woman had no other source of water. She relied on his delivery for four days’ worth of washing, bathing and drinking. Municipal water was cheaper; the city would have charged her $12.00 to $15.00 a month; her expense at the pharmacy added up to $50.00 a month. Why didn't she choose the less expensive source? The answer was in the delivery system. Sure, the city water cost less, but the city sent only water; they didn't send a person. She preferred to pay more and see a human being rather than pay less and see no one.

Could anyone be that lonely? It appears that David was. “Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted.” (Ps. 25:16) “I'm tired of all this – so tired. My bed has been floating forty days and nights on the flood of my tears. My mattress is soaked, soggy with tears. The sockets of my eyes are black holes; nearly blind, I squint and grope.” (Ps. 6:6-7) “When they were sick, I dressed in black; instead of eating, I prayed. My prayers were like lead in my gut, like I'd lost my best friend, my brother. I paced, distraught as a motherless child, hunched and heavyhearted. But when I was down they threw a party! All the nameless riffraff of the town came chanting insults about me. Like barbarians desecrating a shrine, they destroyed my reputation. YAHWEH, how long are you going to stand there doing nothing?” (Ps. 35:13-17) David knew the feeling of loneliness. He knew it in his family, too.

He was one of eight sons of Jesse. But when Samuel the prophet asked to see Jesse's boys, David was overlooked. The prophet counted and asked if there wasn't another child somewhere. Jesse snapped his fingers like he'd forgotten his keys, "I still have the youngest son. He’s out taking care of the sheep." (1 Sam. 16:11) Jesse's term for "youngest son" was not complimentary. He literally said, "I still have the runt." Some of you may have been the runt in your family. The runt is the one the others have to put up with, and keep an eye on. And on this day the runt was left out. How would you feel if a family meeting was called and your name wasn't? Things didn't improve, even when he changed households.

His inclusion in the royal family was King Saul's idea. His exclusion was Saul's idea, too. Had David not ducked, he would have been pinned to the wall by the spear of the jealous king. But David did duck, and David did run. For ten years. Into the wilderness he ran. Sleeping in caves and surviving on wild animals. He was hated and hunted like a jackal. David was no stranger to loneliness. And maybe you aren't either.

You've probably figured out that you don't have to be alone to feel lonely. Two thousand years ago, 250 million people populated the earth. Now, there are more than 5 billion. If loneliness could be cured by the presence of people, then there should surely be less loneliness today. But loneliness lingers. In fact, a person can be surrounded by a church and still be lonely. Loneliness is not the absence of faces; it’s the absence of intimacy. Loneliness doesn't come from being alone; it comes from feeling alone. Feeling as if you’re facing death alone, facing disease alone, or facing the future alone. Whether it strikes you in your bed at night or on your drive to the hospital, in the silence of an empty house or the noise of a crowded bar, loneliness is when you think, I feel so alone. Does anyone really care?

Loneliness shows up everywhere. It litters the floors of boardrooms and clubs. We drag it into parties, and usually drag it back out. You'll spot loneliness near the desk of the over-worker, beside the table of the over-eater, and on the nightstand of the one-night stander. We'll try anything to unload our loneliness; it’s one bag we want to drop quickly. But should we? Should we be so quick to drop it? Rather than turning from our loneliness, what if we turned toward it? Could it be that loneliness is not a curse but a gift? Maybe even a gift from God?

It’s occurred to me that, maybe, loneliness is God's way of getting our attention. Here's what I mean. Suppose you borrow a friend's car. His radio doesn't work, but his iPod does. So, you scroll through his collection, looking for your style of music – let’s say country-western. Nothing. Nothing but his style of music – let’s say 80’s pop. It's a long trip, and you can only talk to yourself for so long. So, eventually, you go to his playlist. You'd prefer some steel guitar, but you're stuck with Abba. Initially it's barely tolerable, but at least it fills the air. At first, you think it’s going to be your Waterloo and you’re getting ready to send out an S.O.S. But then Abba asks you to Take a Chance on Me, and the next thing you know you’re singing Mama Mia, and trying to find Fernando. "Hey, this isn't so bad," you think. So, let me ask you: would you have made this discovery on your own? No. Abba? Not a chance.

So what led to your discovery? What caused you to hear music you'd never heard before? Simple. You had no other choice; no other option. You had nowhere else to go. Finally, when the silence was too loud, you took a chance on some songs you'd never heard before. And that’s how God wants you to hear his music. He has a rhythm that will race your heart, and lyrics that will stir your tears. You want to journey to the stars? He can take you there. You want to lie down in peace? His music can soothe your soul. But first he's got to get rid of that country-western stuff. And so he begins deleting the playlists – a friend turns away; the job goes bad; your spouse doesn't understand; the church is dull. One by one he removes the options until all you have left is … God. He would do that? Absolutely. "The Lord disciplines those he loves." (Heb. 12:6)

If he must silence every voice, he will. He wants you to hear his music. He wants you to discover what David discovered, and be able to say what David said: "You are with me." Yes, you, Lord, are in heaven. Yes, you rule the universe. Yes, you sit upon the stars and make your home in the deep. But yes, yes, yes, you are with me. The Lord is with me. The Creator is with me. Yahweh is with me. Moses proclaimed it: "What great nation has a god as near to them as the LORD our God is near to us." (Deut. 4:7) Paul announced it: "He is not far from each one of us." (Acts 17:27) And David discovered it: "You are with me." (Ps. 23:4)

Somewhere in the pasture, wilderness, or palace, David discovered that God meant business when he said: "I will not leave you." (Gen. 28:15) "I will . . . not forsake My people." (1 Kings 6:13) "The LORD will not abandon His people." (Ps. 94:14) "God . . . will never leave you nor forsake you." (Deut. 31:6) The discovery of David is the message of Scripture – the Lord is with us. And, since the Lord is near, everything is different. Everything. You may be facing death, but you aren't facing death alone; the Lord is with you. You may be facing unemployment, but you aren't facing unemployment alone; the Lord is with you. You may be facing marital struggles, but you aren't facing them alone; the Lord is with you. You may be facing debt, but you aren't facing debt alone; the Lord is with you. You are not alone.

Your family may turn against you, but God won't. Your friends may betray you, but God won't. You may feel alone in the wilderness, but you aren’t. He’s with you. And because he is, everything is different. You are different. You go from lonely to lovely. When you know God loves you, you won't be desperate for the love of others. You'll no longer be a hungry shopper at the market.

Have you ever gone to the grocery store on an empty stomach? You're a sitting duck. You buy everything you don't need. Doesn't matter if it’s good for you – you just want to fill your stomach. And when you're lonely, you do the same thing – pulling stuff off the shelf, not because you need it but because you’re hungry for love. Why do we do it? Because we fear facing life alone. For fear of not fitting in, we take the drugs. For fear of standing out, we wear the clothes. For fear of appearing small, we go into debt and buy the too-big-house. For fear of going unnoticed, we dress to seduce or impress. For fear of sleeping alone, we sleep with anyone. For fear of not being loved, we search for love in all the wrong places.

But all that changes when we discover God's perfect love. And "perfect love casts out fear." (1 John 4:18) Loneliness. Could it be one of God's finest gifts? Maybe. If a season of solitude is his way to teach you to hear his song, don't you think it's worth it? Me, too.

Grace,

Randy

Fear

Fear - Audio/Visual

Fear

Jesus left the city and went to the Mount of Olives, as he often did, and his followers went with him. When he reached the place, he said to them, "Pray for strength against temptation." Then Jesus went about a stone's throw away from them. He kneeled down and prayed, "Father, if you are willing, take away this cup of suffering. But do what you want, not what I want." Then an angel from heaven appeared to him to strengthen him. Being full of pain, Jesus prayed even harder. His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. (Luke 22:39-44)

It’s a picture of Jesus that puzzles a lot of us. Maybe it’s because we've never seen his face like this before. Jesus smiling, yes; Jesus weeping, absolutely; Jesus stern, even that. But Jesus anguished? Cheeks streaked with tears? Face flooded in sweat? Rivulets of blood dripping from his chin? A face full of pain? That’s not our usual picture of God’s son.

Because you remember the night, right? “Jesus went out to the Mount of Olives, as he often did, and his disciples went with him. When they got there, he told them, ‘Pray that you won’t be tested.’ Jesus walked on a little way before he knelt down and prayed, ‘Father, if you will, please don’t make me suffer by having me drink from this cup. But do what you want, and not what I want.’ Then an angel from heaven came to help him. Jesus was in great pain and prayed so sincerely that his sweat fell to the ground like drops of blood.” (Luke 22:39-44)

The Bible I carried as a child contained a picture of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. In that picture, Jesus’ face was soft and his hands calmly folded as he knelt beside a rock and prayed. Jesus seemed peaceful. But just one reading of the Gospels destroys such a serene image. Mark says, "Jesus fell to the ground." (Mark 14:35) Matthew tells us that Jesus was "very sad and troubled . . . to the point of death." (Matt. 26:37-38) And according to Luke, Jesus was "full of pain." (Luke 22:44)

Equipped with those passages, how would you paint the scene now? Jesus flat on the ground? Face in the dirt? Extended hands gripping grass? Body rising and falling with sobs? Face as twisted as the olive trees that surrounded him? What do we do with that image of Jesus? Simple. We turn to it when we look the same way. We read it when we feel the same way. We read it when we feel afraid. Because isn't it possible that fear was one of the emotions that Jesus felt? You could even argue that fear was Jesus’ primary emotion. He saw something in the future so fierce, so foreboding that he begged for a change of plans. "Father, if you will, please don’t make me suffer." (Luke 22:42)

What causes you to pray that kind of prayer? Boarding an airplane? Facing a crowd? Public speaking? Taking a job? Taking a spouse? Driving on a highway? The source of your fear may seem small to others. But to you, it freezes your feet, makes your heart pound, and brings blood to your face. That's what happened to Jesus. He was so afraid that he bled. Doctors describe this condition as hematidrosis. It’s a documented medical condition where, because of severe anxiety, it causes the release of chemicals that break down the capillaries in the sweat glands. And when this occurs, sweat comes out tinged with blood. Jesus was more than anxious; he was afraid.

Fear is worry's big brother. If worry is a burlap sack, then fear is a concrete trunk. It doesn’t budge. It’s remarkable that Jesus felt that kind of fear. But how gracious that he told us about it, because we tend to do the opposite. We gloss over our fears; cover them up. We keep our sweaty palms in our pockets, and our nausea and dry-mouth a secret. Not so with Jesus. We don’t see a mask of strength, but we do hear a request for it – for strength. "Father, please don’t make me suffer." The first one to hear Jesus’ fear was his Father.

He could have gone to his mother. He could have confided in his disciples. He could have assembled a prayer meeting. All of those responses would have been appropriate, but none were his priority. He went first to his Father. We, on the other hand, tend to go everywhere else first. First to the bar, or to the counselor, or to the self-help book, or to the friend next door. Not Jesus. The first one to hear his fear was his Father in heaven. A millennium earlier David was urging the fear-filled to do the same: "I will fear no evil." (Psalm 23:4) How could David make such a claim? Because he knew where to look. "You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." (Id.) Rather than turning to the other sheep, David turned to the Shepherd. Rather than staring at the problems, he stared at the rod and the staff. Because he knew where to look, David was able to say, "I will fear no evil."

I knew a guy who had a fear of crowds. When surrounded by large groups, his breath got short, panic surfaced and he began to sweat like a sumo wrestler in a sauna. Fortunately, but curiously, he received some help from his golfing buddy. The two were at a movie theatre, waiting their turn to enter, when fear struck again. The crowd closed in like a forest. He wanted out, and fast. His buddy told him to take a few deep breaths. Then the friend helped manage the crisis by reminding him of the golf course. "When you’re hitting your ball out of the rough, and you’re surrounded by trees, what do you do?" "I look for an opening." "You don't stare at the trees?" "Of course not. I find an opening and focus on hitting the ball through the opening." "Alright, then do the same in a crowd. When you feel that sense of panic, don't focus on the people; focus on the opening." Good counsel – in golf, and in life.

Rather than focus on the fear, focus on the solution. That's what Jesus did. That's what David did. And that's what the writer of Hebrews urges us to do. "Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith." (Heb. 12:1-2) The writer of Hebrews was not a golfer, but it sounds like he was a jogger because he talks about a runner and a forerunner. The forerunner is Jesus, the "author and finisher of our faith." He is the author – that is to say he wrote the book on salvation. And he is the finisher – he not only charted the map, he blazed the trail. He’s the forerunner, and we’re the runners. And, as runners, we’re urged to keep our eyes on Jesus.

I'm not much of a runner now, but I used to be. These days, more mornings than not, I just can’t seem to drag myself out of bed and onto the street. But when I did run, I didn’t run very fast. And compared to marathoners, I didn’t run very far, either. I ran because I didn’t like cardiologists. Still don’t. So now I walk the dog instead – same prescription, slower pace. Truth be told, that’s not as often either. But aside from the shear boredom of running, I think I quit because my body groaned. It didn’t want to cooperate. My knees hurt. My hips got stiff. My ankles complained. One time, a passerby laughed at my legs and that made my ego hurt. In other words, things hurt – all over.

And as things began to hurt, I knew that I had three options. I could: (1) go home; (2) meditate on my hurts until I imagined I was having chest pains; or (3) keep on running. At the time, my trail ran east which gave me a front-row seat for God's morning miracle. And if I watched God's world go from dark to golden, guess what? The same happened to my attitude. The pain passed and the joints loosened and, before I knew it, the run was half over and life wasn’t half bad. Everything seemed to improve as I fixed my eyes on the sun. Thinking about it now, I’m not exactly sure why I quit; maybe it was the move to a new community, older age, or maybe I just got lazy. But I digress.

Wasn't that the counsel of the Hebrew epistle – “looking unto Jesus"? What was the focus of David? "You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." How did Jesus endure the terror of the crucifixion? He went first to the Father with his fears. He modeled the words of Psalm 56:3: "When I am afraid, I put my trust in you." So do the same with yours. Don't avoid life's Gardens of Gethsemane. Enter them. Just don't enter them alone. And while you’re there, be honest. Pounding the ground is permitted. Tears are allowed. And if you sweat blood, you won't be the first. Do what Jesus did – open your heart. And then be specific. Jesus was.

"Take this cup," he prayed. Give God the number of the flight. Tell him the length of the speech. Share the details of the job transfer. He has plenty of time. He also has plenty of compassion. He doesn't think your fears are foolish, or silly. He won't tell you to "buck up," or "get tough." He's been where you are. He knows how you feel. And he knows what you need. That's why we should punctuate our prayers like Jesus did – “If you’re willing . . . ." Was God willing? Well, yes and no. He didn't take away the cross, but he took away the fear. God didn't still the storm, but he calmed the sailor. Who's to say he won't do the same for you? "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." (Phil. 4:6)

Don't measure the size of the mountain; talk to the One who can move it. Instead of carrying the world on your shoulders, talk to the One who holds the universe on his. Hope is just a look away. So, what are you looking at?

Grace,

Randy

Humility

Humility

Then Jesus told this story to some who had great confidence in their own righteousness and scorned everyone else: “Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and the other was a despised tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed this prayer: ‘I thank you, God, that I am not like other people — cheaters, sinners, adulterers. I’m certainly not like that tax collector! I fast twice a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.’ “But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, ‘O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.’ I tell you, this sinner, not the Pharisee, returned home justified before God. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Luke 18:9-14)

Humility is such an elusive virtue. Once you think you have it, you don't, or you wouldn't think you did in the first place. The truth is God doesn't just dislike arrogance. He doesn't just disapprove of arrogance. He's not just unfavorably disposed toward arrogance. God hates arrogance. "The Lord despises pride.” (Prov. 16:5) Or put more bluntly, "I hate pride and arrogance." (Prov. 8:13) God says, "Do nothing out of . . . vain conceit," (Phil. 2:3) and "Do not let arrogance come out of your mouth." (1 Sam. 2:3) In the same way that he gives grace to the humble, "God opposes the proud." (1 Pet. 5:5) As humility goes before honor, "pride goes . . . before a fall." (Prov. 16:18) Have you ever wondered why some churches are powerful in one generation but empty the next? Maybe the answer’s found in Proverbs 15:25: "The Lord will tear down the house of the proud." God hates arrogance.

He hates arrogance because we haven't done anything to be arrogant about. For instance, do art critics give awards to the canvas upon which the artist paints? Is there a Pulitzer Prize for the ink used by the author of the award-winning story, or report? Can you imagine a scalpel in the hands of a surgeon growing smug after a successful heart transplant? No. They’re only tools, so they get no credit for these accomplishments. As the 23^rd Psalm reassures, we have rest, salvation, blessings and a home in heaven, but we did nothing to earn any of it. God did, and threaded through the psalm, like a silk thread through pearls, David declares that "He makes me . . ." "He leads me . . ." "He restores my soul . . ." "You are with me . . ." "Your rod and Your staff . . . comfort me . . ." "You prepare a table . . ." "You anoint my head . . ." We may be the canvas, the paper or the scalpel, but we aren’t the ones who deserve the applause. And just to make sure we get the point, smack-dab in the middle of the poem David declares who does: the Shepherd leads his sheep, not for our names' sake, but "for His name's sake."

Why does God have anything to do with us? For his name's sake. There’s no other name on the marquee. No other name up in lights. No other name on the front page. It’s all done for God's glory. But why? Does God have an ego problem? No, but we do. God takes the credit; not because he needs it, but because he knows we can't handle it. We’re generally not content with just a bite of adulation; we tend to swallow it whole. It messes with our systems. The praise swells our heads and shrinks our brains. Pretty soon we start thinking we had something to do with our own survival. And not long after we forget we are made out of dirt, and have been rescued from sin.

Pretty soon we start praying like the fellow at the religious convention: "God, I thank you that the world has people like me. The man on the corner needs welfare – I don’t. The prostitute on the street has AIDS – I don’t. The drunk at the bar needs alcohol – I don’t. The homeless need morality – I don’t. I thank you that the world has people like me." Fortunately, there was a man at the same meeting who had deflected all the applause. Too contrite to even look to the skies, he bowed his head and prayed, "God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Like my brother on welfare, I'm dependent on your grace. Like my sister with AIDS, I'm infected with mistakes. Like my friend who drinks, I need something to ease my pain. And as you love and give direction to the homeless, grant some to me as well. Have mercy on me, a sinner." After telling a story like that, Jesus told his audience, "I tell you, when this man went home, he was right with God, but the Pharisee was not. All who make themselves great will be made humble, but all who make themselves humble will be made great." (Luke 18:14)

But with the same intensity that God hates arrogance, he also loves humility. The Jesus who said, "I am gentle and humble in heart," (Matt. 11:29) is the same Jesus who loves those who are gentle and humble in heart. "Though the Lord is supreme, he takes care of those who are humble." (Ps. 138:6) God says, "I live with people who are . . . humble." (Isa. 57:15) He also says, "To this one I will look, to him who is humble and contrite." (Isa. 66:2) And to the humble, God gives great treasures. For instance, he gives honor – “Humility goes before honor." (Prov. 15:33) He gives wisdom – “With the humble is wisdom." (Prov. 11:2) He gives direction – “He teaches the humble His way." (Ps. 25:9) And most significantly, he gives grace – “God . . . gives grace to the humble." (1 Pet. 5:5). And then he gives us this blessed assurance – “He crowns the humble with salvation." (Ps. 149:4)

The mightiest of the saints were known for their humility. Though Moses had served as prince of Egypt and emancipator of the slaves, the Bible says, "Moses was . . . more humble than anyone else." (Num. 12:3) The apostle Paul was saved through a personal visit from Jesus. He was carried into the heavens, and had the ability to raise the dead. But when he introduced himself, he mentioned none of these accomplishments. He simply said, "I, Paul, am God's slave." (Titus 1:1) John the Baptist was Jesus’ cousin and the first evangelist in history, but he’s remembered in Scripture as the one who determined that, "He (referring to Jesus) must increase, but I must decrease." (John 3:30) God loves humility.

Could that be the reason why he offers so many tips on cultivating it? One of the first steps is assessing ourselves honestly. Humility isn’t the same as low self esteem. Being humble doesn’t mean you think you have nothing to offer; it means you know exactly what you have to offer and nothing more. “Don’t cherish exaggerated ideas of yourself or your importance, but try to have a sane estimate of your capabilities by the light of faith that God has given to you." (Rom. 12:3) And don’t take success too seriously. Scripture gives this warning: "When your . . . silver and gold increase, . . . your heart will become proud." (Deut. 8:13-14) So counteract this pride with reminders of the brevity of life, and the frailty of wealth. Ponder your success and count your money in a cemetery, and remember that neither will be buried with you. "People come into this world with nothing, and when they die they leave with nothing." (Eccles. 5:15) I saw a reminder of this some time ago at Oak Hill cemetery. Parked next to the entrance that day was a beautiful recreational boat with a For Sale sign – it made me wonder if the fisherman realized he couldn't take it with him.

Next, learn to celebrate the significance of others. "In humility consider others better than yourselves." (Phil. 2:3) Columnist Rick Reilly gave this advice to rookie professional athletes: "Stop thumping your chest. The line blocked, the quarterback threw you a perfect spiral while getting his head knocked off, and the good receiver blew the double coverage. Get over yourself." The truth is, every touchdown in life is a team effort. So applaud your teammates. It’s like the story of an elementary-age boy who came home from tryouts for his school play. "Mommy, Mommy," he announced, "I got a part. I've been chosen to sit in the audience and clap and cheer." When you have a chance to clap and cheer, do you take it? If you do, your head is starting to fit your hat size.

Next, don’t demand your own parking place. This was the instruction of Jesus to his followers: "Go sit in a seat that is not important. When the host comes to you, he may say, 'Friend, move up here to a more important place.' Then all the other guests will respect you." (Luke 14:10) Demanding respect is like chasing a butterfly. Chase it, and you'll never catch it; sit still, and it may light on your shoulder. The French philosopher, Blaise Pascal, asked "Do you wish people to speak well of you? Then never speak well of yourself." Maybe that's why the Bible says, "Don't praise yourself. Let someone else do it." (Prov. 27:2) And never announce your success before it occurs. Or as one of the kings of Israel said, "One who puts on his armor should not boast like one who takes it off." (1 Kings 20:11) Charles Spurgeon trained a lot of young ministers in his day. On one occasion a student stepped up to preach with great confidence, but had failed miserably in his delivery. He came down, humbled and meek. Spurgeon told him, "If you had gone up as you came down, you would have come down as you went up." If humility precedes an event, then confidence may very well follow.

Finally, speak humbly. “Let no arrogance come from your mouth." (1 Sam. 2:3) Don't be cocky. People aren't impressed with your opinions. Take a tip from Benjamin Franklin who said, “[I developed] the habit of expressing myself in terms of modest diffidence, never using when I advance anything that may possibly be disputed, the words certainly, undoubtedly, or any others that give the air of positiveness to an opinion; but rather I say, I conceive or I apprehend a thing to be so and so. . . . This habit I believe has been a great advantage to me.” And it would be a great advantage to us as well.

Live life at the foot of the cross. Paul said, "The cross of our Lord Jesus Christ is my only reason for bragging." (Gal. 6:14) Do you feel a need for affirmation? Does your self-esteem need attention? You don't need to drop names or show off. You need only to pause at the foot of the cross and be reminded of this: the maker of the stars would rather die for you than live without you. So if you need to brag, brag about that.

Grace,

Randy

Humility - Audio/Visual