Tests

 

Tests

Tests - Audio/Visual 

Immediately after this, Jesus insisted that his disciples get back into the boat and cross to the other side of the lake, while he sent the people home. After sending them home, he went up into the hills by himself to pray. Night fell while he was there alone. Meanwhile, the disciples were in trouble far away from land, for a strong wind had risen, and they were fighting heavy waves. About three o’clock in the morning Jesus came toward them, walking on the water. When the disciples saw him walking on the water, they were terrified. In their fear, they cried out, “It’s a ghost!” But Jesus spoke to them at once. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Take courage. The I Am is here. (Matt. 14:22-27)

There’s a window in your heart through which you see God. Once upon a time the window was clear and your view of God was crisp; you could see God as vividly as you could see a gentle valley or a grassy hillside. The glass was clean; the pane unbroken. You knew God. You knew how he worked. You knew what he wanted you to do. No surprises. Nothing unexpected. You knew that God had a will and you continually discovered what it was. Then, suddenly, the window cracked. A pebble broke the window. A pebble of pain. Perhaps the rock came through the window when you were a child and a parent left home — forever. Maybe the rock hit in adolescence when your heart was broken. Maybe you made it into adulthood before the window was cracked. But the rock came nevertheless. Was it a phone call? “We have your daughter at the station. You’d better come down.” Was it a letter on the kitchen table? “I’ve left. Don’t try to reach me. Don’t try to call me. It’s over. I just don’t love you anymore.” Was it a diagnosis from the doctor? “I’m afraid the news is not very good.” Was it a telegram? “We regret to inform you that your child has been killed in action.”

Whatever the rock’s form, the results are the same — a shattered window. The pebble rocketed into the pane and shattered it. The crash echoed down the halls of your heart. Cracks shot out from the point of impact, creating a spider web of fragmented pieces and suddenly God wasn’t so easy to see. The view that had once been so crisp had changed. You turned to see God and his figure was distorted. It was hard to see him through the pain. It was hard to see him through the fragments of hurt. And you’re left puzzled. God wouldn’t allow something like this to happen, would he? Tragedy and travesty weren’t on the agenda of the One you had seen, were they? Had you been fooled? Had you been blind?

The moment the rock struck the glass became a reference point for you because from then on there was life before the pain and life after the pain. Before your pain, the view was clear; God seemed so near. After your pain, well, he was harder to see. He seemed a bit distant – harder to perceive. Your pain distorted the view and now all you can see is the chip in the windshield. Maybe this doesn’t describe your situation. There are some people who never have to redefine or refocus their view of God. But most of us do. Most of us know what it means to feel disappointed by God. Most of us have a way of completing this sentence: “If God is God, then why would he . . . .” Call it an agenda; a divine job description. Each of us has an unspoken, yet definitive expectation of what God should do. “If God is God, then why . . . .” You know the agenda, don’t you? Stuff like there will be no financial collapse in my family; my children will never be buried before me; people will treat me fairly; my prayers will be answered. These aren’t articulated criteria. They’re not written down or notarized, but they’re real.

They define the expectations we have of God. And when pain comes into our world — when the careening rock splinters the window of our hearts — these expectations go unmet and doubts may begin to surface. We look for God but can’t find him. Fragmented and shattered glass hinders our vision. God is enlarged through this piece and reduced through that one. Lines jigsaw their way across his face. Large sections of shattered glass opaque the view, the shards in our hands cut us to the quick and now we aren’t quite sure what we see.

The disciples weren’t quite sure what they saw either because Jesus failed to meet their expectations, too. The day Jesus fed the five thousand men, he didn’t do what they wanted him to do. The twelve had just returned from their mission followed by an army. They’d finished their training. They’d recruited the soldiers. They were ready for battle. They expected Jesus to let the crowds crown him as king and attack the city of Herod. They expected battle plans; strategies; a new era for Israel. What did they get? Just the opposite. Instead of weapons, they got oars. Rather than being sent to fight, they were sent afloat. The crowds were sent away, Jesus walked away and they were left on the water with a storm brewing in the sky. What kind of Messiah would do that? Note the sequence of the stormy evening as Matthew records it: “Immediately after this, Jesus insisted that his disciples get back into the boat and cross to the other side of the lake, while he sent the people home. After sending them home, he went up into the hills by himself to pray. Night fell while he was there alone.” (Matthew 14:22-24)

Matthew is specific about the order of events. Jesus sent the disciples to the boat. Then he dismissed the crowd and ascended a mountainside. It was evening, maybe around 6:00 p.m. The storm struck immediately, because the sun had scarcely set before typhoon-like winds began to whistle and roar down the mountainside. Note that Jesus sent the disciples out into the storm alone. Even as he was ascending the mountainside, he could probably feel and hear the gale’s force. Jesus wasn’t ignorant of the storm. He was aware that a torrent was coming that would carpet-bomb the Galilean sea’s surface. But he didn’t turn around. The disciples were left to face the storm - alone. But the greatest storm that night probably wasn’t in the sky; it was likely in the disciples’ hearts. Their greatest fear was not from seeing the storm-driven waves; it came from seeing the back of their leader as he left them to face the night with only questions as companions. It was this fury that the disciples were facing that night. Imagine the incredible strain of bouncing from wave to wave in a tiny fishing boat. One hour would tire you; two hours would exhaust you.

Surely Jesus will help us, they probably thought. They’d seen him still storms like this before. On this same sea they had awakened him during a storm and he had commanded the skies to be silent. They’d seen him quiet the wind and soothe the waves. Surely he will come off the mountain, they must have thought. But he doesn’t. Their arms begin to ache from rowing. Still no sign of Jesus. Three hours. Four hours. The winds rage. The boat bounces. Still no Jesus. Midnight comes. Their eyes search for God. By now the disciples have been on the sea for at least six hours and all this time they have fought the storm and sought the Master. And so far the storm is winning – the Master is nowhere to be found.

You can just hear them, can’t you? “Where is he?” cried one. “Has he forgotten about us?” yelled another. “Yeah, he feeds thousands of strangers and leaves us here to die?” muttered a third. The Gospel of Mark adds some compelling insight into the disciples’ attitude. “(T)hey still didn’t understand the significance of the miracle of the loaves. Their hearts were too hard to take it in.” (Mark 6:52)

What does Mark mean by that? Simply this: the disciples were mad. They began the evening in a huff. Their hearts were hardened toward Jesus because he’d fed the multitude. Their preference, remember, had been to “send the crowds away.” (Matthew 14:15) But Jesus had told them to feed the people, instead, and they wouldn’t even try. They said it couldn’t be done. They told Jesus to let the people take care of themselves. Remember, too, that the disciples had just spent some time on center stage. They’d tasted stardom. They were celebrities. They had rallied crowds. They had recruited an army. They were, no doubt, pretty proud of themselves and with heads a bit swollen they’d told Jesus, “Just send them away.” But Jesus didn’t. Instead, he chose to bypass the reluctant disciples and use the faith of an anonymous boy. What the disciples said couldn’t be done was done in spite of them, not through them. So, they pouted; they sulked.

Rather than being amazed by the miracle, they were mad at the miracle worker. After all, they’d felt foolish passing out the very bread they said could not be multiplied. Add to that Jesus’ command to go to the boat when they wanted to go to battle, and maybe it’s easier to understand why these guys were steamed. Further, Peter, Andrew, James and John had seen storms like this. They’re fishermen; the sea is their life. They know the havoc the gale-force winds can wreak. They’ve seen the splintered hulls float to shore. They’ve attended the funerals. They know, perhaps better than anyone else in that boat, that this night could be their last. But finally, Jesus appears. “About three o’clock in the morning Jesus came toward them, walking on the water.” (Matthew 14:15) Jesus came. He finally came. But between verse 24 — being thrashed by the waves — and verse 25 — when Jesus appeared — a thousand questions had likely been asked during what seemed like a lifetime.

Maybe you know the angst of being suspended between verses 24 and 25. Maybe you’re riding a storm, searching the coastline for a light and a glimmer of hope. You know that Jesus knows what you’re going through. You know that he’s aware of your storm. But as hard as you look to find him, you can’t see him. Maybe your heart, like the disciples’ hearts, has been hardened by unmet expectations. Your pleadings for help are salted with angry questions. You know what storms do. Storms attack your faith. Storms destroy. Storms come at you like a missile. Storms usher in the night. And storms bring questions. Questions like, “Where’s God in this?” and “Why would he do this?” Frankly, each day can seem like a pop quiz. And some seasons feel more like final exams – brutal, sudden pitfalls of stress, sickness or sadness. So, what’s the purpose of the test? The apostle James, Jesus’ half-brother, said, “For when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be strong in character and ready for anything.” (James 1:3-4)

Tests. It’s possible that this particular chapter in your life may look like rehab, or smell like unemployment, or even sound like a hospital. But you’re in training. God hasn’t forgotten you. It’s just the opposite, actually. He’s chosen to train you. So trust in his training, and then thank him for the results – a life ready for anything, including the Kingdom to come.

Grace,

Randy

Sacred Delight

 

Sacred Delight

Sacred Delight - Audio/Visual 

God blesses those who are poor and realize their need for him, for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs. God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted. God blesses those who are humble, for they will inherit the whole earth. God blesses those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they will be satisfied. God blesses those who are merciful, for they will be shown mercy. God blesses those whose hearts are pure, for they will see God. God blesses those who work for peace, for they will be called the children of God. God blesses those who are persecuted for doing right, for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs. (Matthew 5:3-10)

Frankly, she had every reason to be bitter. Though talented, she went unrecognized for years. Prestigious opera circles closed their ranks when she tried to enter, and American critics completely ignored her compelling voice. She was repeatedly rejected for parts for which she was easily qualified. It was only after she went to Europe and won the hearts of the tough-to-please European audience that stateside opinion leaders finally acknowledged her immense talent.

Her professional life, however, was not her only battle because her personal life was also marked by challenges. She was the mother of two handicapped children, one of whom is profoundly deaf and has multiple sclerosis; the other is severely autistic and institutionalized. To meet their needs, she restricted her performances to care for her children. Years ago, in order to escape the pace of New York City, she purchased a home on Martha’s Vineyard – it burned to the ground two days before she was to move in.

Professional rejection. Personal setbacks. Perfect soil for the seeds of bitterness. A receptive field for the roots of resentment. But anger didn’t find a home. Her friends never called her bitter; they called her “Bubbles.” Beverly Sills. Internationally acclaimed opera singer. Retired director of the New York City Opera, who passed away in July, 2007. But if you ever saw her interviewed, her phrases were sugared with laughter. Her face was softened with serenity. After interviewing her, Mike Wallace stated that “she is one of the most impressive — if not the most impressive — ladies I’ve ever interviewed.” How can a person handle such professional rejection and personal trauma and still be known as Bubbles? “I choose to be cheerful,” she said. “Years ago I knew I had little or no choice about success, circumstances or even happiness; but I knew I could choose to be cheerful.” And then there’s him.

No man had more reason to be miserable than this one — yet no man was more joyful. His first home was a palace. Servants were at his fingertips. The snap of his fingers changed the course of history. His name was known and loved. He had everything — wealth, power, respect. And then he had nothing. Students of the event still ponder it. Historians stumble as they attempt to explain it. How could a king lose everything in one instant? One moment he was royalty; the next he was in poverty. His bed became, at best, a borrowed pallet — and was usually just hard ground. He never owned even the most basic mode of transportation, and was dependent upon handouts for his income. He was sometimes so hungry that he would eat raw grain or pick fruit off of a tree. He knew what it was like to be rained on; to be cold. He knew what it meant to have no home.

His palace grounds had been spotless; now he was exposed to filth. He had never known disease, but was now surrounded by illnesses of all kinds. In his kingdom he had been revered; now he was ridiculed. His neighbors tried to lynch him. Some called him a lunatic. His family tried to confine him to their house. Those who didn’t ridicule him tried to use him – they wanted favors; they wanted tricks. He was a novelty. They wanted to be seen with him — that is until being with him was out of fashion. Then they wanted to kill him. He was accused of a crime he never committed. Witnesses were hired to lie. The jury was rigged. No lawyer was assigned to his defense. A judge swayed by politics handed down the death penalty. They killed him. He left as he came — penniless.

He was buried in a borrowed grave, his funeral financed by some compassionate friends. Though he once had everything, he died with nothing. He should have been miserable. He should have been bitter. He had every right to be a pot of boiling anger. But he wasn’t. He was joyful. Sourpusses don’t attract a following, but people followed him wherever he went. Children avoid soreheads, but children scampered after this man. Crowds don’t gather to listen to the woeful, but crowds clamored to hear him. Why? He was joyful. He was joyful when he was poor. He was joyful when he was abandoned. He was joyful when he was betrayed. He was even joyful as he hung on a tool of torture, his hands pierced with six-inch Roman spikes. Jesus embodied a stubborn joy. A joy that refused to bend in the wind of hard times. A joy that held its ground against pain. A joy whose roots extended deep into the bedrock of eternity.

What type of joy is this? What’s this cheerfulness that dares to wink at adversity? What’s this bird that sings while it’s still dark? What is the source of this peace that defies pain? Some call it a sacred delight. It’s sacred because it’s not of the earth. What is sacred is God’s. And this joy is God’s. And it’s delight because delight can both satisfy and surprise. Delight is the Bethlehem shepherds dancing a jig outside a cave. Delight is Mary watching God sleeping in a feeding trough. Delight is white-haired Simeon praising God just before he’s about to be circumcised. Delight is Joseph teaching the Creator of the world how to hold a hammer. Delight is the look on Andrew’s face at the lunch pail that never came up empty. Delight is the dozing wedding guests who drank the wine that had once been water. Delight is Jesus walking through waves as casually as you walk through curtains. Delight is a leper seeing a finger where there’d once been only a nub . . . a widow hosting a party with food made for a funeral . . . a paraplegic doing somersaults. Delight is Jesus doing impossible things in crazy ways: healing the blind with spit, paying taxes with a coin found in a fish’s mouth, and coming back from the dead disguised as a gardener.

What is sacred delight? It’s God doing what gods would be doing only in their wildest dreams —wearing diapers, riding donkeys, washing feet, dozing in storms. Delight is the day they accused God of having too much fun, attending too many parties, and spending too much time with the Happy Hour crowd. Delight is the day’s wage paid to workers who had worked only one hour. . . the father scrubbing the pig smell off his son’s back. . . the shepherd throwing a party because the sheep was found. Delight is a discovered pearl, a multiplied talent, a heaven-bound beggar, a criminal in the kingdom. Delight is the surprise on the faces of street folks who’ve been invited to a king’s banquet. Delight is the Samaritan woman big-eyed and speechless, the adulteress walking out of the stone-cluttered courtyard, and a skivvy-clad Peter plunging into cold waters to get close to the one he’d cursed.

Sacred delight is good news coming through the back door of your heart. It’s what you’d always dreamed, but never expected. It’s the too-good-to-be-true coming true. It’s having God as your pinch-hitter, your lawyer, your dad, your biggest fan and your best friend. God on your side, in your heart, out in front and protecting your back. It’s hope where you least expected it; a flower in life’s sidewalk. It’s sacred because only God can grant it. It’s a delight because it thrills. And since it’s sacred, it can’t be stolen; since it’s delightful, it can’t be predicted. It was this gladness that danced through the Red Sea. It was this joy that blew the trumpet at Jericho. It was this secret that made Mary sing. It was this surprise that put the springtime into Easter morning. It’s God’s gladness. It’s sacred delight. And it’s this sacred delight that Jesus promises in the Sermon on the Mount.

Nine times he promises it. And he promises it to an unlikely crowd: “The poor in spirit.” (Beggars in God’s soup kitchen) “Those who mourn.” (Sinners Anonymous bound together by the truth of their introduction: “Hi, I’m _________. I’m a sinner) “The meek.” (Pawnshop pianos played by Van Cliburn – he’s so good no one notices the missing keys) “Those who hunger and thirst.” (Famished orphans who know the difference between a TV dinner and a Thanksgiving feast) “The merciful.” (Winners of the million-dollar lottery who share the prize with their enemies) “The pure in heart.” (Physicians who love the infected and escape infection) “The peacemakers.” (Architects who build bridges with wood from a Roman cross) “The persecuted.” (Those who manage to keep an eye on heaven while walking through hell on earth)

It is to this band of pilgrims that God promises a special blessing. A heavenly joy. A sacred delight. But this joy isn’t cheap. What Jesus promises is not a gimmick to give you goose bumps, or a mental attitude that has to be pumped up at pep rallies. No, Matthew 5 describes God’s radical reconstruction of the heart. And pay particular note of the sequence. First, we recognize we are in need (we’re poor in spirit). Next, we repent of our self-sufficiency (we mourn). We quit calling the shots and surrender control to God (we’re meek). So grateful are we for his presence that we yearn for more of him (we hunger and thirst). As we grow closer to him, we become more like him: we forgive others (we’re merciful); we change our outlook (we’re pure in heart); we love others (we’re peacemakers); and we endure injustice (we’re persecuted). It’s no casual shift of attitude. It’s a demolition of the old structure and a creation of the new. The more radical the change, the greater the joy. And it’s worth every effort, for this is the joy of God. It’s no accident that the same word used by Jesus to promise sacred delight is the word used by Paul to describe God: “The blessed God. . .” (1 Tim. 1:11); “God, the blessed and only Ruler . . . .” (1 Tim. 6:15)

Think about God’s joy. What can cloud it? What can quench it? What can kill it? Is God ever in a bad mood because of bad weather? Does God get ruffled over long lines or traffic jams? Does God ever refuse to rotate the earth because his feelings are hurt? No. His is a joy that consequences cannot quench. His is a peace that circumstances cannot steal. There’s a delicious gladness that comes from God. A holy joy. A sacred delight. And it’s all within your grasp if you’re one of “those.”

Grace,

Randy

Kingdome Come; Kingdom Go

 

Kingdom Come; Kingdom Go

Kingdom Come; Kingdom Go (Audio/Visual) 

The disciples of John the Baptist told John about everything Jesus was doing. So John called for two of his disciples, and he sent them to the Lord to ask him, “Are you the Messiah we’ve been expecting, or should we keep looking for someone else?” John’s two disciples found Jesus and said to him, “John the Baptist sent us to ask, ‘Are you the Messiah we’ve been expecting, or should we keep looking for someone else?’” At that very time, Jesus cured many people of their diseases, illnesses, and evil spirits, and he restored sight to many who were blind. Then he told John’s disciples, “Go back to John and tell him what you have seen and heard — the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the Good News is being preached to the poor. And tell him, ‘God blesses those who do not turn away because of me.’ (Luke 7:18-23)

No one was more shunned by their culture than the blind, the lame, the lepers and the deaf. They had no place to live; no name; no value. They were like canker sores on the culture, or like excess baggage thrown to the side of the road. But rather than calling them trash, Jesus called them treasures.

In our hall closet hangs a sweater that I never wear. It’s too small. The sleeves are too short, the shoulders too tight and the thread is a little frazzled. I should probably just give that sweater away. I have no personal use for it. Logic says I should clear out the space and get rid of the sweater. That’s what logic says, but love won’t let me. There’s just something unique about that sweater that makes me keep it.

What’s so unusual about it? Well, for one thing it has no label. Nowhere on the garment will you find a tag that reads, “Made in Taiwan,” or “Wash in Cold Water.” It has no tag because it wasn’t made in a factory. It has no label because it wasn’t produced on some mass assembly line. It isn’t the product of some nameless, big company employee simply trying to make a living. And though the sweater has lost its use, it hasn’t lost its value. It’s valuable not because of its function, but because of its owner – my dad’s high school letterman's sweater. It reminds me of what the psalmist had in mind when he wrote, “You knit me together in my mother’s womb.” (Psalm 139:13)  

Think on those words for a minute. You were knitted together. You aren’t an accident. You weren’t mass-produced. You aren’t an assembly-line product. You were deliberately planned, specifically gifted and lovingly positioned on this earth by the Master Craftsman. “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10) In a society that has little room for second fiddles, that’s really good news. In a culture where the door of opportunity opens only once and then slams shut, that’s a revelation. In a system that ranks the value of a human being by his salary, or the shape of her legs . . . . Let me tell you something: Jesus’ plan is a reason for joy! Jesus told John that a new kingdom was coming — a kingdom where people have value not because of what they do, but because of whose they are.

The year 1899 marked the deaths of two very well-known men — Dwight L. Moody, the acclaimed evangelist, and Robert Ingersoll, a very famous lawyer, orator and political leader. The two men had many similarities. Both were raised in Christian homes. Both were skilled orators. Both traveled extensively and were widely respected. Both drew immense crowds when they spoke, and each attracted loyal followings. But there was one striking difference between them — their view of God.

Ingersoll was an agnostic and a follower of naturalism; he had no belief in the eternal, but stressed the importance of living only in the here and now. Ingersoll made light of the Bible stating that “free thought will give us truth.” To him the Bible was “a fable, an obscenity, a humbug, a sham and a lie.” He was a bold spokesman against the Christian faith. He claimed that a Christian “creed [was] the ignorant past bullying the enlightened present.” Ingersoll’s contemporary, Dwight L. Moody, on the other hand had very different convictions. He dedicated his life to presenting a resurrected King to a dying people. He embraced the Bible as the hope for humanity, and the cross as the turning point of history. He left behind a legacy of written and spoken words, institutions of education, churches and changed lives. Two men. Both powerful speakers. Both influential leaders. One rejected God; the other embraced him. And, perhaps, the impact of their decisions is seen most clearly in the way they died. Read how one biographer paralleled the two deaths:

Ingersoll died suddenly. The news of his death stunned his family. His body was kept at home for several days because his wife was reluctant to part with it. It was eventually removed for the sake of the family’s health. Ingersoll’s remains were cremated and the public response to his passing was a yawn. For a man who put all of his hopes in this world, death was tragic and came without the consolation of any hope at all. Moody’s legacy was different. On December 22, 1899, Moody woke up to his last winter dawn. Having weakened substantially during the night, he began to speak in slow, measured words: “Earth recedes, heaven opens before me!” His son Will, who was nearby, hurried across the room to his father’s side thinking his dad was hallucinating. “Father, you’re dreaming,” he said. “No. This is no dream, Will,” Moody said. “It is beautiful. It is like a trance. If this is death, it is sweet. God is calling me, and I must go. Don’t call me back.”

At that point, the family gathered around and moments later the great evangelist died. It was his coronation day — a day he had looked forward to for many years. He was with his Lord. Here’s the headline from that day: The funeral service of Dwight L. Moody reflected that same confidence. There was no despair. Loved ones gathered to sing praise to God at a triumphant home-going service. Many remembered the words the evangelist had spoken earlier that year in New York City: “Someday you will read in the papers that Moody is dead. Don’t you believe a word of it. At that moment I shall be more alive than I am now . . . . I was born of the flesh in 1837; I was born of the Spirit in 1855. That which is born of the flesh may die. That which is born of the Spirit shall live forever.”

Jesus looked into the eyes of John’s followers and gave them this message: “Go back to John and tell him . . . the dead are raised to life.” Jesus wasn’t oblivious to John’s imprisonment. He wasn’t blind to John’s captivity but he was dealing with a greater dungeon than Herod’s; he was dealing with the dungeon of death. But Jesus wasn’t through. He passed along one other message to clear the cloud of doubt from John’s heart: “The good news is being preached to the poor.”

Many years ago, long before 9/11, I was late to catch a plane out of Portland. I wasn’t terribly late, but I was late enough to be bumped and they’d apparently given my seat to a stand-by passenger. When the ticket agent told me that I would have to miss the flight, I went lawyer on her and gave her what I thought was a very compelling final argument. “But the flight hasn’t left yet, right?” “Yes, but you got here too late.” “I got here before the plane left. So, is that too late?” “The regulations say you must arrive ten minutes before the flight is scheduled to depart, and that was two minutes ago.” “But, ma’am,” I pleaded, “I’ve got to get back to San Diego.” She was patient, but firm. “I’m sorry, sir, but the rules say passengers must be at the gate ten minutes before the scheduled departure time.” “I know what the rules say,” I explained. “I’m not asking for justice; I’m just asking for a little mercy.” She didn’t give it to me, and I had to take the next flight home. So much for the lawyering.

But God does. Even though by the “book” I’m guilty, by God’s love I get another chance. Even though by the law I’m indicted, by mercy I’m given a fresh start. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith … not by works, so that no one can boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9) No other world religion offers such a message. All other religions demand the right performance, the right sacrifice, the right chant or the right experience. Theirs is a kingdom of trade-offs and bartering. You do this, and God will give you that. The result? Either arrogance or fear. Arrogance if you think you’ve achieved it; fear if you think you haven’t. Christ’s kingdom is just the opposite. It’s a kingdom for the poor. A kingdom where membership is granted, not purchased. You are placed into God’s kingdom. You are “adopted.” And this occurs not when you do enough, but when you admit that you can’t do enough. You don’t earn it; you simply accept it. And the result? You serve – not out of arrogance or fear, but out of gratitude.

I read a story of a woman who for years was married to a very harsh husband, and that’s putting it nicely. Each day he would leave her a list of chores to complete before he got home from work. “Clean the yard. Stack the firewood. Wash the windows,” etc. And if she didn’t complete the tasks before her husband got home, she would be met with his explosive anger. And even when she did complete the list, he was never satisfied; he would always find inadequacies in her work. Always. After several years, her husband died. Time passed and she later remarried, but this time to a man who lavished her with tenderness and adoration. One day, while going through a box of old papers, the wife discovered one of her first husband’s dreaded lists. And as she read the sheet a realization caused a tear of joy to splash onto the list. “I’m still doing all of these things, but no one has to tell me. I do them because I love him.”

That’s the unique characteristic of God’s kingdom. Its subjects don’t work in order to go to heaven; they work because they’re going to heaven. Arrogance and fear are replaced with gratitude and joy. But before we can pray, “Lord, thy kingdom come,” we must be willing to pray, “My kingdom go.” And that’s important because if we haven’t chosen the kingdom of God first, it will make no difference what we’ve chosen instead.

Grace,

Randy

Judgment

Judgment

Judgment - Audio/Visual 

If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land. (2 Chronicles 7:14)

Big Government scooping up meta-data in quantities and in ways which we’ve been completely unaware; where the whistleblower is either a patriot or a traitor, depending upon your viewpoint and, perhaps, where he eventually finds asylum. Or the IRS singling out individuals, religious groups and other organizations that had the name “tea party,” or “patriot” included in their 501(c)(4) applications. And all of us Christians wring our hands and cry out, “See? America is going to hell in a hand basket! Those heathens better start praying and seeking God and turning from their wicked ways and then maybe God will forgive their sins and heal our land.” But is it really “their sins”?

The 2 Chronicles text is what God told Solomon the night after he had consecrated the newly-constructed temple. The corollary, however, was chilling: “But if you (referring to Solomon) turn away and forsake the decrees and commands I have given you …, then I will uproot Israel from my land … and will reject this temple I have consecrated for my Name. I will make it a byword and an object of ridicule among all people. This temple will become a heap of rubble.” (2 Chron. 7:19-21) But why would God do such a thing? Fortunately, God provides the answer: “People will answer, ‘Because they have forsaken the Lord, the God of their ancestors, who brought them out of Egypt, and have embraced other gods, worshiping and serving them — that is why he brought all this disaster on them.’” (vs. 22)

What if it were you living there at that time and walking in their sandals? What if it were you who heard the voice of the prophets and knew that certain judgment was coming and that everyone around you was oblivious to it? That everyone simply went on with their lives with absolutely no idea of what was coming. What would you do? Maybe you’d want them to know. Maybe you’d want them to be saved, so maybe you’d tell them. But who would listen to you? Who’d take your warning seriously? Better yet, what about your own predicament? A nation is heading for judgment, but you’re part of that very same nation. How do you save yourself? Where will you go to find safety? Outside the country? Judgment isn’t a matter of geography; it doesn’t matter where you are. No place is far enough away.

We live in such a time and place, and we’ve heard the voice of the prophets. So the question isn’t hypothetical. It’s not even, “What would you do?” It’s “What will you do? What will you do on the day of your judgment? What if you were one of them, back then, and your life ended before the nation’s judgment came? What then? Would you have escaped judgment? No. Judgment isn’t ultimately about nations; it’s about people. The Hebrew writer said as much: “Just as people are destined to die once, and after that to face the judgment.” (Heb. 9:27)  No one is exempt. And as long as there’s evil, there has to be judgment. Every sin, every wrong, every evil has to be brought to an end. Without it there’d be no hope because heaven would then be filled with locks and prisons, hatred, violence, fear and destruction. Heaven would cease to be heaven. There must be judgment, because evil must end beyond which is then heaven. If evil entered heaven, heaven would cease to be heaven because it would have evil in it.

And who are the evil? Killers; human trafficker’s; pedophiles, etc. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands of “evil” categories. But of the categories mentioned, do any of you fit into one of them? Probably not. But remember, “All the ways of a man are right in his own eyes.” (Proverbs 16:2) That’s just human nature, and we have to beware of the good Nazi. A good Nazi? That’s oxymoronic.

The Nazi’s sent millions to their death out of pure hatred and evil. Yet do you think they saw themselves as evil? Probably not. And why? Because they compared themselves and measured themselves by the standards they themselves had created. Each in his own eyes was a good Nazi, a moral Nazi, a decent Nazi, a religious Nazi and a Nazi no worse than the Nazi next door. In other words, by seeing themselves in their own eyes they became blind to the truth of what they’d become. Their judgment would ultimately come in the form of destruction, and their sins would be exposed to the world. Granted, there may be a big difference between Nazis and most people, but the principle remains the same. You can never judge yourself by your own standards and by your own righteousness, but only in light of God’s righteousness.

So how do you hold up in the light of God’s righteousness? Put differently, which do you think is greater – the moral distance that separates us from Hitler, or the moral distance that separates us from God? Right, because the first separation is finite; the second is infinite. So what we see as the slightest of sins within ourselves appears, in the eyes of God who is absolute goodness, even more abhorrently evil than the crimes the Nazis committed appears to us. In the light of the absolute God, hatred becomes murder (Matt. 5:22), and lust becomes adultery. (vs. 28) Then who can stand? Who can make it to heaven? Well, no one can stand and no one can make it to heaven on their own because how far would just one sin take you away from the infinite righteousness of God? It would take you an infinite distance away. So then how far are we away from heaven? An infinite distance. And how great is the judgment? Infinitely great. And how long would it take for us to bridge the gap, to be reconciled to God, to enter heaven? An infinity of time. In a word, eternity. So we can never get there on our own, and to be infinitely separated from God and heaven is … well, it’s hell. The infinite separation from God and from all things good, total, infinite and eternal.

Since the soul is eternal, one way or another, even at the end of a thousand ages, we’ll still exist. The question is, “Where?” And if the joy and glory of being in God’s presence in heaven is beyond our imagining, so then, too, is the darkness and horror of being in his absence … forever. Which leaves our predicament even more grave than that of a nation in the hour of judgment. The prospect of entering eternity without God, on the wrong side of an infinite judgment, is far graver than the judgment of any nation – infinitely more so. Nations are temporary; but the soul is eternal.

If you have an infinite gap and an infinite problem what do you need? An infinite solution. Which means that the answer cannot come from yourself, or from this world. It can only come from the Infinite, from heaven … from God. Which means that any given answer, any given ideology, or any given system based on the efforts of man is ruled out which therefore rules out every answer; every answer based on man trying to reach God by reaching upward to heaven with his hand, so to speak. The answer can only come from the Infinite to the finite, from heaven to earth, from God to man. A hand reaching down from heaven. And what alone could answer an infinite judgment? The infinite mercy of an infinite love. And what alone could fill an infinite absence? An infinite presence: the infinite presence of the Infinite love. You see, it’s not about religion. It’s about love. The overcoming of the infinite judgment by the infinite love of God. God is love. And what is the nature of love? To give. To give of itself. To put itself in the place of another even if it means that by doing so it sacrifices itself.

So if God is love, then what would the ultimate manifestation of his love be? The giving of himself. God giving himself to bear the judgment of those under judgment if, by so doing, it would save them. Love puts itself in the place of the other. So then the ultimate manifestation of love would be God putting himself in our place – in our life, in our death, in our judgment, in our eternity. Jesus – the infinite sacrifice. The infinite sacrifice to bear an infinite judgment, in which all sins are nullified and all who partake are set free, forgiven and saved. An infinite redemption in which judgment and death are overcome and a new life is given, a new beginning, a new birth. The love of God is greater than judgment. There is no sin so deep that his love isn’t deeper. No life so hopeless, no soul so far away, and no darkness so dark that his love isn’t greater still. Being religious has nothing to do with it. There’s no religion in heaven, only love; it’s the heart. And you couldn’t have been born into it to begin with, only born again into it. In fact, Jesus told one of the religious wise guys of his day that, “No one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again.” (John 3:3) But it can’t happen without you choosing it.

In the Day of Judgment, there’s no safe ground, no salvation, except in him who is salvation. And his name? Jesus. Actually, Yeshua, which in Hebrew means “God is Salvation,” or “God is Deliverance,” “Protection,” “Rescue,” “Freedom,” “Refuge” and “Safety.” And how does that happen? By receiving, by letting go, by letting the old life end and the new one begin. By choosing, by opening your heart to receive that which is beyond containing – the presence, the mercy, the forgiveness, the cleansing, the unending love of God. Which means accepting the gift, freely given and freely received, and yet so great a gift that you treasure it above life itself – so great a gift that it changes everything else. And the gift? Well, if God is love, and love is a gift, then the Giver and the Gift are the same. Salvation comes in the giving of his life and is complete in the receiving of his life. And it takes place anywhere and any place. Alone, or with others. Wherever you are. It takes place anywhere, because it takes place in the heart. But it doesn’t take place at any time. It only takes place at one time. Now.

Now is the only time in which it can happen. Paul, in writing to the church in Corinth, said, “Now is the time of salvation.” (2 Cor. 6:2) Never tomorrow, only now. I suppose if we were talking about tomorrow it could still happen then. But only when then has become now, and tomorrow is today. But when that happens, where will you be? And what if you choose not to choose, at least for now? Well, then you’ve chosen already. If you don’t choose to be saved, then you’ve chosen not to be saved. Your life and your eternity … it all rests on one heartbeat. So then what will you do on the Day of Judgment? In the end, that’s the only question really. And no one knows when that day will come. The only thing you can be sure of is that it will come, and the only time you can be sure of is now. Now is all you have. And now is the time of salvation.

It’s a big decision. But it’s too big a decision not to make. And you don’t have to see to believe. In God’s economy it’s just the opposite: believing is seeing. Seeing the meaning, the purpose of your life, the reason you were born. It’s the only way you’ll ever find it. Only in him who gave you life can you truly find its meaning.

Grace,

Randy