Crazy

Crazy
Crazy - Audio/Visual

Jesus and his followers went to the other side of the lake to the area of the Gerasene people. When Jesus got out of the boat, instantly a man with an evil spirit came to him from the burial caves. This man lived in the caves, and no one could tie him up, not even with a chain. Many times people had used chains to tie the man's hands and feet, but he always broke them off. No one was strong enough to control him. Day and night he would wander around the burial caves and on the hills, screaming and cutting himself with stones. (Mark 5:1-5)

Here’s a trivia question: Who was the first missionary Jesus ever sent? Someone well trained, perhaps? You know, someone who had an intimate relationship with Christ; a devoted follower; a close disciple; a thorough knowledge of Scripture and sacrifice. Right? Wrong. Here’s a hint: to find this guy, you don't have to go to the Great Commission. He’s not even on the short list of apostles, or one of the seventy-two disciples sent out by Jesus. The epistles, then? No. Long before Paul picked up a pen, this preacher was already at work. Okay, so where did Jesus go to find his first missionary? A cemetery. And who was the first ambassador he commissioned? A raging lunatic. The man Jesus sent out was a madman turned missionary.

“When Jesus got out of the boat, instantly a man with an evil spirit came to him from the burial caves. This man lived in the caves, and no one could tie him up, not even with a chain. Many times people had used chains to tie the man's hands and feet, but he always broke them off. No one was strong enough to control him. Day and night he would wander around the burial caves and on the hills, screaming and cutting himself with stones.” (Mark 5:2-5)

He's the man your mother told you to avoid. He's the guy police put away on a §5150 hold. He's the deranged lunatic who stalks neighborhoods and murders families. His fearsome face and behavior fills television screens nationwide during the nightly news. And this guy is the first missionary of the church. Terrific. Palestine didn't know what to do with him. They tried to restrain him, but he broke the chains. He ripped off his clothes. He lived in caves. He cut himself with rocks. He was a rabid dog on the loose, a menace to society. He was absolutely no good to anyone. No one had a place for him. Well, no one except Jesus, that is.

By today’s standards, the best that modern medicine could offer a guy like that would be a ton of psychotropic meds, and years of psychotherapy. And maybe, with time, thousands of dollars and a legion of professionals, his destructive behaviors could be kept in check. But that would take years, and there’d be no guarantee of success. With Jesus, it took seconds and the man was permanently healed.

The encounter at the lakeshore was probably pretty explosive. The disciples' boat had just beached by a graveyard and a nearby herd of pigs. The disciples are exhausted from the previous nights’ events – when they’d almost lost their lives until Jesus calmed the storm on the Sea of Galilee. Now, they’re in Gentile country where graveyards and pigs are ritually and culturally unclean for Jews.

So you can imagine their astonishment when they’re met by a crazy man sprinting toward them from the graveyard. Wild hair; bloody wrists; arms flailing and voice screaming; naked bedlam. The apostles gawk, then they gulp, and then they put one foot back into the boat. They’re horrified. But Jesus isn't. And the next few verses provide a glimpse into unseen warfare where, for just a moment, the invisible conflict becomes visible, and we, along with the disciples, are offered a position overlooking the battlefield.

Jesus speaks first: "You evil spirit, come out of the man." (v. 8) The spirit panics: "What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?" (v. 7) Jesus wants the man back, of course. And the demons muster absolutely no challenge whatsoever. They don’t even offer a threat. They've heard this voice before, and when God demands, the demons have only one response: they plead. So, they "begged Jesus again and again not to send them out of that area." (v. 10) Jesus' mere appearance humbled the demons. Though they had dominated this man, they cower before God. Though they had laced an entire region with fear, they now beg for mercy. Jesus’ words reduce them to sniveling, groveling weaklings. So, feeling safer in a herd of pigs than in the presence of God, the demons ask to be sent into the swine. Jesus consents and two thousand demon-possessed pigs hurl themselves into the sea and drown. All the while the disciples do absolutely nothing. While Jesus fights, the followers stare because they don't know what else to do. Can you relate? Do you watch a world out of control and don't know what to do? If so, do what the disciples did: when the fighting gets fierce, stand back and let the Father fight. Here’s what I mean.

In 1963, my father and I were in the back of an ambulance racing the two of us, including my unconscious mother, to the hospital. We’d just been involved in a head-on collision with a VW Bug driven by a woman who’d crossed over a double-yellow line as she turned to hand her kids some McDonald’s hamburgers over the back seat. We were driving in my parents brand new car: a sea-foam green, Ford Falcon. One minute I was coloring Lassie with a silver crayon; the next I was slammed into the back of the front seat so hard that it broke my arm. Mom and Dad weren’t quite as lucky. Mom was unconscious with a broken jaw, and Dad, among other injuries, had a huge gash in his shin.

Aside from a 5 year-old’s excitement riding in the back of an ambulance racing through red lights, I kept asking my Dad if Mom was alright. But as the seconds passed into minutes, the excitement of going through red lights with sirens blaring was wearing off. It was beginning to dawn on me that Mom was more than just asleep, and that Dad was struggling to remain calm while wrestling with his pain and the safety of his wife and kindergartner. I was beginning to wonder if we were going to make it.

So there’s my Dad – one hand on his wife and the other clutching his leg which had blown up to gargantuan proportions. I was in front looking back. Toward him. Tears are starting to fall. The race against time seems to worsen as the sirens scream. I’m headed to a location I’ve never been, experiencing a degree of pain I’d never felt, talking with my Dad whose voice doesn’t sound the same, and a mother who’s not talking at all. I grab both sides of the railing and hang on. For dear life. Where’s that hospital? It's buried by a blur of traffic. So, I look for my coloring book . . . . Oh, it’s still in the smoldering Falcon. I look for something familiar and all I see is paramedic stuff. Everything I see frightens me. There’s only one reassuring sight – the face of my father.

Pain-wrecked and grimacing, he looks ahead with a steely stare. His shirt is stuck to his skin, and his hands are stuck to his wife. And right then I made a decision. I quit looking at the stop lights, the traffic, the medical supplies, my mother’s unconscious face, and just watched my father. It just made sense. Watching everything around me brought fear; watching my father brought calm. So I focused on Dad. So intent was my gaze that almost six decades later I can still see him and hear him say, “It’ll be alright, Tiger; Mom’s going to be okay.”

God wants us to do the same. He wants us to focus our eyes on him. What good does it do to focus on the storm? Why study the enemy? We won't defeat him. Only God will. The disciples can't destroy Satan; only God can. And that's what Jesus did. As the stunned disciples look on, Jesus goes into action and God delivers a lunatic. Pigs are embodied by demons. And a disciple is made in a cemetery.

Crazy story? Hardly. You haven’t heard the half of it yet. Because if you think the reaction of the demons is bizarre, just look at the response of the people who’d come to see the train wreck in the graveyard: “The herdsmen ran away and went to the town and to the countryside, telling everyone about this. So people went out to see what had happened. They came to Jesus and saw the man who used to have the many evil spirits, sitting, clothed, and in his right mind. And they were frightened. The people who saw this told the others what had happened to the man who had the demons living in him, and they told about the pigs. Then the people began to beg Jesus to leave their area.” (Mark 5:15-17)

They did what? “The people began to beg Jesus to leave the area.” You mean the people asked Jesus to leave? Correct. Rather than thank him, they dismissed him. What would cause the people to do that? Good question. What would cause people to prefer pigs and lunatics over the presence of God? Better yet, what would cause an addict to prefer stupor over sobriety? What would cause a church to prefer slumber over revival? What would cause a nation to prefer slavery over freedom? What would cause people to prefer yesterday's traditions over today's living God? The answer? Fear. Fear of change.

Change is hard work. It's easier to follow the same old path than to move out into uncharted territory. And here it appears that the herdsmen didn’t know what had happened to the lunatic; they only knew that their pigs tried to sprout wings and fly into a lake. All 2,000 of them. Frightened, they go into town and tell others who then, in turn, rush to the scene and see the crazy man they’d heard about now seated, clothed and perfectly sane. They’re confused. So, they share their story with the shepherds and, collectively, the townspeople conclude that what’s just happened is sheer madness. Insanity. As a result, the people beg Jesus to leave because, apparently, he’s the crazy one. And since Jesus never goes where he isn't invited, he steps back into the boat. But then watch what happens.

“As Jesus was getting back into the boat, the man who was freed from the demons begged to go with him. But Jesus would not let him.” (Mark 5:18) Kind of a strange way to treat a new believer, don't you think? Why wouldn't Jesus take him along? Simple. He had greater plans for him. "Go home to your family and tell them how much the Lord has done for you and how he has had mercy on you." (v. 19) And there it is. The commissioning of the first missionary. One minute insane, the next in Christ. No training. No teaching. No nothing. All he knew was that Jesus could scare the hell out of hell and apparently that was enough.

But even more surprising than the man who was sent is the fact that anyone was sent at all. I mean, I wouldn't have sent a missionary to a bunch of people who’d just given me the bum’s rush out of town. Would you? A plague maybe, but not a missionary. But Jesus did, and the instructions to that first missionary were pretty simple: “Go home to your family and tell them how much the Lord has done for you and how he has had mercy on you.”

Jesus still sends the message to the unworthy. And he still uses the unworthy as messengers. So, be a missionary. Tell your story to people you know. It’s not that crazy.

Grace,

Randy

Judgment Day

Judgment Day
Judgment Day - Audio/Visual

Dear friends, since God loved us that much, we surely ought to love each other. No one has ever seen God. But if we love each other, God lives in us, and his love is brought to full expression in us. ¶ And God has given us his Spirit as proof that we live in him and he in us. Furthermore, we have seen with our own eyes and now testify that the Father sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. All who declare that Jesus is the Son of God have God living in them, and they live in God. We know how much God loves us, and we have put our trust in his love. ¶ God is love, and all who live in love live in God, and God lives in them. And as we live in God, our love grows more perfect. So we will not be afraid on the day of judgment, but we can face him with confidence because we live like Jesus here in this world. ¶ Such love has no fear, because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of punishment, and this shows that we have not fully experienced his perfect love. We love each other because he loved us first. (1 Jn. 4:11-19)

Your mouth is dry. Your palms are sweaty. Your pulse races like the Indy 500. Your eyes dart over your shoulder, and your heart’s in your throat. You probably know the feeling. You’ve probably experienced the moment because, if you’re like me, you know exactly what it feels like to see the flashing lights of the highway patrol cruiser in your rearview mirror.

Your prayer life immediately spikes: "Oh, Lord," or "God, help me," or "Jesus, have mercy on me a sinner." Highway patrolmen have probably stirred more prayers than a thousand sermons. And at that time, our requests are unanimous, predictable and selfish. "Please, God, let there be a little fender-bender down the road where nobody’s hurt." Or, "See the kid driving that red corvette, God? Send the officer after him." But he doesn't. Your back window fills with red, white and blue strobes and you’re not feeling very patriotic at the moment. And as you pull to the side of the road, upward prayers become backward thoughts: “What did I do?” or, “How fast was I going?” or, “How could I have been so stupid?”

Then, Arnold Schwarzenegger fills your side mirror, and you don’t dare open your door because the second you do, the officer’s hand will Marshal Dillon its way to his holster and he'll say, "Keep your hands where I can see them, please." Your best option at this point is to return to prayer because only God can help you now. We dread those moments, don’t we? Remember when the teacher took you outside the classroom, or when your dad heard you climbing in the bedroom window past midnight?

We have a phrase for such moments: Judgment Day. The evidence is in, the truth is out, and the patrolman’s at your door. No one likes the thought of judgment, and the Ephesian Christians didn't, either. They feared the judgment – not the highway patrolman, but God. Because knowing that God sees all sin, and knowing he hates all sin, and knowing he must hate what he sees – which is not a very comforting thought – they were afraid. So John comforted them. He dipped the quill of his pen into the inkwell of God's love and wrote, “As we live in God, our love grows more perfect. So we will not be afraid on the day of judgment, but we can face him with confidence because we are like Christ here in this world. Such love has no fear because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of judgment, and this shows that his love has not been perfected in us.” (1 John 4:17-18, emphasis mine)

"Perfect love expels all fear." Couldn't you use some fear expulsion? We can all probably relate to a story about Louis Armstrong. The famous trumpeter, and singer of What a Wonderful World, grew up in rural Louisiana in the early 1900’s. When he was a young boy, his Aunt Haddie often sent him to the creek for water. On one occasion, as he leaned over to fill his bucket, an alligator scared little Louie so badly that he dropped the pail and ran back to the house. His aunt told him to go back and get the water, anyway. "That alligator," she assured her nephew, "is just as scared of you as you are of it." "If that's the case," Louie answered, "then that creek water ain't fit to drink."

Alligators lurk in our creeks, too. And when we see them, we react. We fear rejection, so we follow the crowd. We fear not fitting in, so we take the drugs. For fear of standing out, we wear what everyone else wears. And for fear of blending in, we wear what no one else wears. 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 God flushes those fears. Those saturated in God's love don't sell out to win the love of others. They don't even sell out to win the love of God. But do you think you need to? You know, win God’s love?

For instance, do you think, “If I cuss less, pray more, drink less, study more . . . if I try harder, God will love me more?”If so then sniff and smell Satan's stench behind those words. We all need improvement, but we don't need to woo God's love. We change because we already have God's love. God's “perfect” love. Perfect love is just that – perfect. A perfect knowledge of the past and a perfect vision of the future. In other words, you cannot shock God with your actions. There will never come a day when you cause him to say, "Wow, I didn’t see that coming." Never will he turn to his angels and complain, "Had I known Randy was going to do that, I wouldn't have saved his soul." God knows your entire story, from your first word to your final breath, and with clear assessment declares, "You are mine."

What you do may stun you, but not God. With perfect knowledge of your imperfect life, God signed on. Some time ago, I read about a woman who had tasted a form of that kind of love. Brain surgery had left her without the use of a facial nerve. As a result, she faced the world with a crooked smile. Then, after the operation, she met the love of her life. Here's how she described him: "He sees nothing strange or ugly about me and has never, even in anger, made a joke about my appearance. He has never seen me any other way. When I look in the mirror, I see deformity, but my husband sees beauty."

See what perfect love does? It drives out the fear of judgment. In fact, it purges the fear of the day of judgment. As John wrote, "So we will not be afraid on the day of judgment, but we can face him with confidence because we are like Christ here in this world." (v. 17) And on that topic, John makes no apology and pulls no punches. The day of judgment is not a phrase in a fiction novel, but a day circled on heaven's calendar. Of the twenty-seven New Testament books, only the postcard-sized epistles of Philemon and Third John fail to reference our divine court appearance. While the details of the day are unrevealed to us and debated by many, we know this: the day is coming. On that day, earthly wealth will not matter. Physical beauty won't be a factor. Fame will be forgotten. You might be positioned next to Napoleon or Julius Caesar, but you won't be asking any questions about Waterloo or Brutus. All eyes will be on Jesus Christ.

And those who ignored him have a legitimate reason to fear. "Then He will also say to those on His left, 'Depart from Me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels.'" (Matt. 25:41) But those who’ve accepted him have nothing to fear whatsoever. "We can face him with confidence because we are like Christ here in this world." (1 John 4:17)

Think about that statement. God views Christians the way he views Christ: sinless and perfect. Hence, Christians can view judgment the way Christ does: with confidence and hope. Does Jesus fear the judgment? No. A sinless soul needn't. Does Jesus fear death? No. The giver of life wouldn't. Should the Christian fear judgment or death? Not at all. "Our standing in the world is identical with Christ's." (v. 17) The Son of God stands next to you doing what the son of Robert Pape, Sr. did for me.

Robert Pape, Sr. was a square-jawed, rawboned man with a neck by Rawlings. In Bellflower, where I grew up, everyone knew him. Mr. Pape’s son, Rob, and I were best friends in high school, and we played football together. One Friday night after an out-of-town game, Rob invited me to stay at his house. By the time we reached his home, the hour was way past midnight, and Rob hadn't told his dad he was bringing anyone home. Mr. Pape didn't know me or my vehicle, so when I stepped out of the car in front of his house, he turned on a floodlight and aimed it right at my face.

Through the glare I saw this block of a man, and I heard his deep voice say, "Who are you?" I gulped. My mind moved at the speed of cold honey. I started to say my name but I couldn’t. My only hope was that Rob would speak up. And a glacier could have melted before he did, but Rob finally interceded. "It's okay, Dad. That's my friend, Randy. He's with me." The light went off, and Mr. Pape threw open the door. "Come on in, boys. Mom’s got food for you in the kitchen." Now, what changed? What made Mr. Pape turn the floodlight off? One fact. I had aligned myself with his son. My sudden safety had nothing to do with my accomplishments or offerings. I knew his son. Period.

For the same reason, you need never fear God's judgment. Not today. Not on Judgment Day. Jesus, in the light of God's glory, is speaking on your behalf. "That's my friend," he says. And when he does, the door of heaven flies open to a banquet that’s been prepared for your arrival. So, trust God's love. His perfect love. Don't fear he’ll discover your past. He already has. And don't fear disappointing him in the future because he can show you the book, chapter and verse where you will. With perfect knowledge of the past, and perfect vision of the future, he loves you perfectly – in spite of both.

Perfect love can handle your fear of judgment – and driving the speed limit can probably handle your fear of the highway patrol.

Grace,

Randy

Untouchable

Untouchable
Untouchable - Audio/Visual

A woman in the crowd had suffered for twelve years with constant bleeding. She had suffered a great deal from many doctors, and over the years she had spent everything she had to pay them, but she had gotten no better. In fact, she had gotten worse. She had heard about Jesus, so she came up behind him through the crowd and touched his robe. For she thought to herself, “If I can just touch his robe, I will be healed.” Immediately the bleeding stopped, and she could feel in her body that she had been healed of her terrible condition.

Jesus realized at once that healing power had gone out from him, so he turned around in the crowd and asked, “Who touched my robe?”

His disciples said to him, “Look at this crowd pressing around you. How can you ask, ‘Who touched me?’”

But he kept on looking around to see who had done it. Then the frightened woman, trembling at the realization of what had happened to her, came and fell to her knees in front of him and told him what she had done. And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace. Your suffering is over.” (Mark 5:25-34)

To see her hand you need to look down. Way down. Down low. That's where she lives. Low to the ground. Low on the priority list. Low on the pecking order. She's low. Very low. Can you see it? Her hand? It’s gnarled. Thin. Diseased. Dirt blackens the nails and stains her skin. Look carefully among the knees and the feet of the crowd. They’re scampering after Christ. He walks. She crawls. People bump her, but that doesn’t stop her. Others complain. She doesn’t care. The woman is desperate. Blood won't stay in her body. “A woman in the crowd had suffered for twelve years with constant bleeding.” (Mark 5:25) Twelve years of clinics. Treatments. Herbs. Prayer meetings. Incantations. You name it, she’d tried it.

“She had suffered a great deal from many doctors.” (v. 26) Do you smell quackery in those words? Maybe. This is Mark’s account, not Luke’s – and Luke’s the doctor. Luke simply states that the woman “…could find no cure.” (Luke 8:43) Apparently “suffering” and “many doctors” didn’t suit Luke’s notion of the Hippocratic oath, or maybe he was just helping his colleagues avoid a malpractice lawsuit. According to Mark, however, doctors had done nothing to heal the disease, but had taken great pains to remove her wallet in the process. She "had spent everything she had to pay them, but she had gotten no better. In fact, she had gotten worse.” (v. 26)

No health. No money. No family. “Unclean,” according to the Law of Moses. The Law protected women from aggressive, insensitive men during those times of the month. But in this woman's case, the application of the Law had left her not just untouched, but untouchable; ceremonially unclean. The hand you see in the crowd? The one reaching for the robe? No one will touch it.

That wasn't always the case, was it? Surely a husband once took it in marriage. The hand looked different in those days: clean, soft-skinned, and perfumed. A husband once loved this hand. And a family once relied on this hand. To cook and sew. To wipe tears from cheeks, and tuck blankets under chins. Are the hands of a mother ever still? Only if she’s diseased.

Maybe the husband tried to stay with her, taking her to doctors and treatment centers. Or maybe he simply gave up, overwhelmed by her naps, nausea and anemia. So he put her out. A change of clothes and a handful of change – that’s it. Simply closed the door.

She has nothing. No money. No home. No health. Dilapidated dreams. Deflated faith. Unwelcome in the synagogue. Unwanted by her community. For twelve years she’s suffered. She has nothing, and her health is getting worse.

Maybe that's what did it. She “had gotten worse.” (v. 26) Maybe this morning she could scarcely stand. Perhaps she had splashed water on her face and was horrified by the skeletal image she saw in the pool’s reflection. What you and I see in Auschwitz photos, she likely saw in her reflection – gaunt cheeks, tired and taut skin, and two full-moon eyes. She’s desperate for a miracle. And her desperation births an idea.

"She had heard about Jesus." (v. 27) Every society has a grapevine, even the society of the sick. Word among the lepers and the left out was that Jesus could heal. And Jesus was coming. By invitation of the synagogue ruler, Jesus was coming to Capernaum. Odd to find the ruler of the synagogue and the woman in the same story. He’s powerful. She’s pitiful. He’s in demand. She’s insignificant. He’s high. She’s low. But his daughter is dying. She’s twelve – the same number of years with which the woman in this story has been untouchable. Tragedy has a way of leveling the social topography. So the woman and the synagogue ruler find themselves on the same path in the village, and on the same page in the Bible.

As the crowd comes, she thinks, "If I can just touch his robe, I will be healed." (v. 28) Then, at just the right time, she crab-scurries through the crowd. Knees bump her ribs. "Move out of the way," someone shouts. She doesn't care; she’s not going to stop. Twelve years on the streets have toughened her. Jesus' robe is in sight. Four tassels dangle from blue threads. Ornaments of holiness worn by Jewish men. How long has it been since she’s touched anything holy? She extends her hand toward a tassel. Her sick hand. Her tired hand. The hand the husband no longer wants, and the family no longer needs. She touches the robe of Jesus, and "immediately the bleeding stopped, and she could feel in her body that she had been healed of her terrible condition." (v. 29)

Life rushes in. Pale cheeks turn pink. Shallow breaths become full. There are cracks in the Hoover Dam of her fragile health, and a river floods her soul. The woman feels power enter. And Jesus? Jesus feels power exit. "Jesus realized at once that healing power had gone out from him, so he turned around in the crowd and asked, 'Who touched my robe?'" (v. 30)

Did Jesus surprise even Jesus? Has Christ the divine moved faster than Jesus the human? The Savior out-stepped the neighbor? "Who touched my robe?" You can’t steal a miracle from God.

His disciples are incredulous. "'Look at this crowd pressing around you. How can you ask, "Who touched me?"' But he kept on looking around to see who had done it." (vv. 31-32)

Can we fault this woman's timidity? She doesn't know what to expect. Jesus could berate her, or embarrass her. Besides, he was her last choice. She sought the help of a dozen others before she sought his. And the people – what will they do? What will the ruler of the synagogue do? He’s upright. She’s untouchable. And here she is, lunging at the town guest. No wonder she’s afraid.

But she has one reason to have courage. She’s healed. "The woman, knowing what had happened, knowing she was the one, stepped up in fear and trembling, knelt before him, and gave him the whole story." (v. 33 MSG)

"The whole story." How long had it been since someone put the gear of life in Park, turned off the engine, and listened to her story? But when this woman reaches out to Jesus, that’s exactly what he does. With the town bishop waiting, a young girl dying, and a crowd pressing, he still makes time for a woman from the fringe. And using a term he gives to no one else, he says, "Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace. Your suffering is over." (v. 34) And then Christ moves on. But not before acknowledging the results of the woman’s faith.

And she moves on, too. But not before acknowledging the object of her faith. Maybe the Hebrew writer had her in mind when he wrote that “Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see.” (Heb. 11:1)

But sometimes we can't. We can’t move on. We can't because we've been there. Are there. We’ve been her. Are her. Desperate. Dirty. Drained. Untouchable.

Illness took her strength. And what’s taken yours? Red ink? Hard drink? Late nights in the wrong arms? Long days in the wrong job? Pregnant too soon? Too often? Is her hand your hand? If so, take heart. Your family may shun it. Society may avoid it. But Jesus? He wants to touch it. When your hand reaches through the masses, he knows.

You’re not untouchable; yours is the hand he made. And yours is the hand he loves to hold.

Grace,

Randy

Don't Leave

Don’t Leave
Don't Leave - Audio/Visual

Then the eleven disciples left for Galilee, going to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him — but some of them still doubted. (Matt. 28:16-17)

Apparently, three years of miracles weren't enough. Neither were forty days at the Resurrection Retreat Center. They'd seen him empty tombs and dictate weather patterns, but some of them still doubted. Really? Who knew him better than they did? Just ask them a Christ question. Did he hum as he walked? Did he pray before he ate? Did he talk to storms in his sleep? And, if he did, did the storms listen? They knew. They knew the person of Christ. And they knew the passion of their Master.

John probably winced as the hammer clanged. Mary wept as her son groaned. Close enough to be splattered by his blood, they knew his passion. When it came time to prepare the body for burial, they did. And when it came time to see the empty tomb, they did that, too. Peter ran a finger down the stone slab. Thomas studied Christ's pierced hands like a palm reader. And for forty days Jesus taught them. Can you imagine a six-week seminar with the mind behind the universe? Hand trained by Christ. Witnesses to the most critical moments in history. These folks were ready, weren’t they? Apparently not. Why? Because "some of them still doubted."

Questions surrounding the disciples kept buzzing like the summer flies in Ramona. Even after a thousand campfire conversations and a scrapbook full of jaw-dropping moments, some disciples resisted. “I'm still not sure.” So, what’s Jesus to do? What will he do with the doubters? We'd like to know, wouldn't we? We'd really like to know the answer to that question because that word, “still,” stalks our sentences, too. "I still worry." "I still gossip." "Permafrost still chills my marriage." "I'm still torn between the AA meeting and the corner bar." "I still clench my teeth every time I get a text from that ex-boyfriend of mine." The truth is that we find odd comfort in the lingering doubts of the disciples. That’s probably because we still have our own. And so we wonder, “Does Christ have a word for those of us who are at a standstill of doubt?” Yes, he does, and Jesus’ instruction might surprise you.

What he told them then, Jesus tells us today. “And when they came together, he gave them this order: ‘Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift I told you about, the gift my Father promised.” (Acts 1:4) Jesus’ word to the doubting disciples? "Don’t leave." Before you go out, stand still. Prior to stepping out, sit down. "Don’t leave the city until the Holy Spirit comes and fills you with power from heaven." (Luke 24:49) So they do. "They went to the upstairs room of the house where they were staying . . . . They all met together continually for prayer, along with Mary the mother of Jesus, several other women, and the brothers of Jesus." (Acts 1:13-14)

They have their reasons to leave, of course. Someone has a business to run, another has a field to farm. Besides, the same soldiers who killed Christ are still walking Jerusalem's streets. The disciples have ample reason to leave . . . but they don't. They stay. They don’t leave and they stay together. "They all met together continually." As many as 120 souls huddle in the same house. So, just imagine how many potential conflicts existed in that group. Talk about a powder keg.

Nathanael might glare at Peter for denying Christ at the fire. Then again, at least Peter stood near the fire. He could resent the others for running. But so could the women. Faithful females who stood near the cross share the room with cowardly males who fled the scene. The room is ripe for conflict. Mary could demand special treatment. Jesus' blood brothers are in the room. They once even tried to lock Jesus up. Who's to say they won't lock up his followers? And isn't this a men's meeting? Who let the women in? The room is a tinder box for bitterness, arrogance and distrust. But no one strikes a match. They stay together – and pray together. "They all met together continually for prayer."

Mark uses the same Greek word here translated "continually" to describe a boat floating in the water, waiting on Jesus. The Master, speaking on the beach of Galilee, told the disciples to have a boat ready and waiting. (Mark 3:9) The boat was "continually" in the presence of Christ. So are the Upper Room disciples. One day passes. Then two. Then a week. For all they know, a hundred more will come and go. But they aren't leaving. They persist. Then, ten days later, On the day of Pentecost, seven weeks after Jesus' resurrection, the believers were meeting together in one place. Suddenly, there was a sound from heaven like the roaring of a mighty windstorm in the skies above them, and it filled the house where they were meeting. Then, what looked like flames or tongues of fire appeared and settled on each of them. And everyone present was filled with the Holy Spirit. (Acts 2:1-4) Doubters became prophets. Peter preached, people came, and God opened the floodgates to the greatest movement in history. It began because the followers didn’t leave. They waited in the right place for power.

We're so reluctant to do what they did. Who has time to wait? We groan at the thought. But waiting doesn't mean inactivity. Waiting means watching for him. If you’re waiting on a bus, you’re watching for the bus. If you’re waiting on God, you’re watching for God, searching for God, hoping in God. Great promises come to those who do. "But those who wait on the Lord will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint." (Isa. 40:31) To those who still struggle, God says, "Wait on me." But be sure to wait in the right place.

Jesus doesn't tell us to stay in Jerusalem, but he does tell us to stay honest, stay faithful, and stay true. "If you rebel against the Lord’s commands and refuse to listen to him, then his hand will be as heavy upon you as it was upon your ancestors." (1 Sam. 12:15) Are you illegally padding your pocket? Are you giving your body to someone who doesn't share your name and wear your ring? Is your mouth a Colorado River of gossip? If you intentionally hang out at the bus stop of disobedience, you need to know something – God’s bus doesn't stop there. Go to the place of obedience, instead. "The Holy Spirit . . .  is God's gift to those who obey him." (Acts 5:32)

And while you're waiting in the right place, get along with the people with whom you’re waiting. Would the Holy Spirit have anointed contentious disciples? I don’t know. But according to Peter, disharmony hinders prayers. He tells husbands, "Live with your wives in an understanding way. . . . Do this so that nothing will stop your prayers." (1 Pet. 3:7) Waiting on God means working through conflicts, forgiving offenses and resolving disputes. "Always keep yourselves united in the Holy Spirit, and bind yourselves together with peace." (Eph. 4:3) Jesus promised, "When two or three of you are together because of me, you can be sure that I'll be there." (Matt. 18:20) So if you want power for your life, it will come as you "do your part to live in peace with everyone, as much as possible." (Rom. 12:18)

It will also come as you pray. For ten days the disciples prayed. Ten days of prayer plus a few minutes of preaching led to three thousand saved souls on one day. Too often, however, we invert the numbers. We're prone to pray for a few minutes and preach for ten days. Not the apostles. Like the boat waiting for Christ, they lingered in his presence. They never left the place of prayer. Biblical writers spoke often of this place. Early Christians were urged to "pray without ceasing" (1 Thess. 5:17); to "always be prayerful" (Rom. 12:12); and to "pray at all times and on every occasion." (Eph. 6:18)

Remember the adverb “continually” that described the Upper Room prayer of the apostles? It's used to describe our prayers as well: "Continue earnestly in prayer, being vigilant in it with thanksgiving." (Col. 4:2) Sound burdensome? For instance, are you wondering, “My business needs attention, my children need dinner, my bills need paying. How can I stay in a place of prayer?” Unceasing prayer may sound complicated, if not impossible, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Do this – change your definition of prayer.

Think of prayer less as an activity for God, and more as an awareness of God. Seek to live in uninterrupted awareness. Acknowledge his presence everywhere you go. As you stand in line to register your car, think, “Thank you, Lord, for being here.” In the grocery store as you shop, “Your presence, my King, I welcome.” As you wash the dishes, worship your Maker. Brother Lawrence did. This well-known saint called himself the "lord of the pots and pans." In his book The Practice of the Presence of God, he wrote: “The time of business does not with me differ from the time of prayer; and in the noise and clatter of my kitchen, while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, I possess God in as great tranquility as if I were upon my knees at the blessed sacrament.”

Though only a rookie in the League of Unceasing Prayer, I’ve been enjoying the pursuit of late. I've discovered the strength of carrying on two conversations: one with a person, another with the Person. I’ve found that one can, at once, both listen and petition. As a person unfolds his or her problem, for instance, I'm often silently saying, “God, a little help here, please?” He always provides it. I've also discovered the delight of regular sips from his water cooler. Lately, throughout any given day, my thoughts are marked with phrases like, “Guide me, God,” or “Forgive that idea, please,” or “Please God, protect my wife and children today.”

One last thought. The Upper Room was occupied by 120 disciples. Since it’s been estimated that there were about 4,000,000 people in Palestine at the time, that means that less than 1 in 30,000 was a Christian. Yet look at the fruit of their work. Better said, look at the fruit of God's Spirit working within them. We can only wonder what would happen today if we, who still struggle, did what they did: wait on the Lord in the right place, and not leave. “Wait passionately for God, don’t leave the path. He’ll give you your place in the sun while you watch the wicked lose theirs.”

Grace,

Randy