Grace-Dependent

 

Grace-Dependent

Grace-Dependent - Audio/Visual

But he answered one of them, ‘Friend, I am not being unfair to you. Didn't you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the man who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don't I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ (Matthew 20:13-15)

When I was five, I was drafted to play right field for the Cubs in the T-Shirt division of my local Little League. I wasn’t very good, unless you consider picking dandelions in the outfield the makings of a future hall-of-famer. But it really didn’t matter because the Cubs finished first that year; I was given a trophy that said so. But later, when I was at my best friend’s house after the season was over, I saw that he had a first place trophy, too. The problem is that he was a Dodger. Turns out everyone got a first place trophy. It was a real kindergarten scandal.

I’ve since gotten over the ordeal; fortunately it didn’t leave me with any permanent scars. But do you remember the time when you studied really hard for that math test? The one that you aced and everyone else bombed? But since the class did so poorly the teacher gave a re-take and everyone wound up with the same grade as you. Or maybe it was that time at work when you were assigned a team project and you were the one who put in the long hours and carried the load, but when it was all finished the whole team got the same praise and the same raise. Yeah, I know – it’s not fair. And if any of those sound familiar to you, then listen to this one – it’s a real doozy.

There was this farmer who went to town early one morning to hire some workers to pick grapes in his vineyard. Now picking grapes in Palestine is hard work; temperatures during harvest can easily exceed 100°. Making matters worse, a grape harvest is a really hectic time of year since there’s a very narrow window of opportunity between the harvest, the BRIX (a grape’s sugar content) and the on-set of bad weather. So, in his haste to get the job done quickly, the farmer went back into town at 9:00 a.m. and hired some more workers. He did the same thing at noon, and then again at 3:00 p.m. Finally, at 5:00 p.m., just an hour before quitting time, he hired even more workers. It helps living close to town, apparently.

At 6:00 p.m., the farmer tells his foreman to call it quits for the day and give everyone their pay, starting with the ones who were hired last. This struck the workers as a bit odd since, usually, pay was handed out on a “first-come, first-served” basis. But, hey, who were they to complain? At least they weren’t getting stiffed. So, they watched curiously as the foreman began to hand out the paychecks and they noticed that the guys who had worked only an hour were paid a denarius, i.e., a day’s wage, or about $104.00 in California these days. That was an unbelievable wage back then, maybe even today, perhaps. In fact, that was the same wage paid to a Roman soldier, and it was way more than a common day-laborer would ever expect to get paid, even for an entire day's work.

But I’m thinking that the other laborers watching payday unfold probably didn't mind too much, either; at least not yet. They were probably flabbergasted at the owner’s generosity – especially the guys who’d been working there since sunrise. These guys likely ran a few calculations through their heads and thought, "Wow, if the guys who only worked an hour got a whole day’s pay, imagine how much I’m gonna make! I’ll be rich!" But when they got to the cashier, they got the same amount in their paycheck: a measly $104.00. Suffice it to say, the boys were steamed and one of them let the farmer have it. Not surprisingly, however, the farmer’s response was equally as telling.

The farmer graciously responded by calling him “friend,” and then asked him three questions – which was a very Jewish way of carrying on a conversation in those days. The first was, “Didn’t you agree to work for $104.00 a day?” Yep. Strike one. The next was, “Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my money?” Uh-huh. Strike two. And the last, “Are you envious because I’m generous?” Uhhh. Caught looking. Strike three; you’re out. And we’re left thinking, “Hey, that’s just like that Little League story,” or “That sounds a lot like everyone getting an “A” on a test when I studied the hardest,” or “Reminds me of that raise where everyone got the same increase, even though I was the one who put in all the hard work.” It bothers us. A lot.

It bothers us because when you’re talking about a Little League game, or a grade on a test, or even the workers in the parable, there’s certain rules that apply: one team really does score more runs than the other; one person really does get more questions right than someone else; and one person really does work longer and harder and deserves more pay. But Jesus isn’t talking about earthly rules, or even standards for that matter; he’s talking about heavenly matters because that’s how he starts the parable, “For the kingdom of heaven is like….” And therein lies the problem. The problem is that even when Jesus tells us point-blank what he’s talking about we’re too stuck in our own little world to actually get it. Maybe that’s why Jesus ends the parable with the question: “Or are you envious because I’m generous?” Perhaps the real problem is not so much with God’s generosity, or even his fairness, but with his grace because it exposes our selfishness in making the kingdom of God all about … us.

Just look at the context of the parable itself. Minutes earlier, Peter had incredulously asked Jesus, “We’ve given up everything to follow you. What will we get?” (Matt. 19:27) And then no sooner had Jesus finished his story than James’ and John’s mommy comes up to Jesus and says, "In your Kingdom, please let my two sons sit in places of honor next to you, one on your right and the other on your left." (Matt. 20:21) It’s no wonder then that three verses later Matthew would say that the other disciples, including Matthew himself, were “indignant.” Maybe that’s why Jesus concludes his discussion by observing that, “those who are last now will be first then, and those who are first will be last.” (Vs. 16)  And that offends us.

I know that sounds absurd, because we love grace don’t we? How could grace possibly be offensive? We sing about grace and call it amazing; we say grace and then eat our meals; we even quote scripture that by grace we’ve been saved. And that’s all well and good – so long as grace remains just a nice word we use in church. But what if someone hurts you, or offends you. How do you respond then? Do you offer grace and forgiveness, or do you find it absurd that God would actually expect you to let the assailant, or the offender off the hook? I mean, they hurt you, didn’t they? They don’t deserve grace. Or what if God blesses someone financially while you’re teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. Are you grateful for their success, or are you bitter that it’s not your own? You see, when we actually encounter pure, unadulterated grace we sometimes find it offensive. In fact, we hardly have a category for it – like this story, for instance.

On the evening of November 13, 2004, a car-load of bored teenagers decided to find some excitement by breaking into a parked car and stealing stuff, including a credit card. They then went to a video store and charged $400.00 worth of DVD’s and video games. Then they headed to a grocery store where they bought a 20-pound frozen turkey and sped off down the highway. About this same time, a 44 year old woman was headed home after having attended her niece’s music recital. When asked about it later, Victoria Ruvolo said that she didn’t remember a speeding car approaching her; didn’t remember a teenage boy hanging out the window; and didn’t remember the 20-pound frozen turkey that came crashing through her windshield despite the fact that the turkey struck her directly in the face, breaking every bone it encountered. The incident left Victoria with absolutely no memory of the event.

After 8 hours of surgery, titanium plates in her face, an eye reattached by synthetic film, a wired jaw and a tracheotomy, Victoria began the excruciating process of rehabilitation. Later, friends and family would explain to Victoria that an 18-year-old boy named Ryan Cushing had thrown the 20-pound frozen turkey through the windshield of her car for absolutely no reason whatsoever. But after nine agonizing months spent in recovery, Victoria finally had the chance to meet Ryan face-to-face – in the courtroom. She watched intently as Ryan accepted a plea bargain and then receive the sentence for his crimes: 6-months in jail, five years’ probation, some counseling, and a few hours of community service.

What? You’re kidding me, right? That’s unbelievable! Is that what our justice system has come to? I mean, who thinks that 6-months in jail even begins to come close to paying for permanently destroying someone else’s face? Well, Victoria Ruvolo does because she had previously asked the court to be lenient on the defendant. And after the sentencing, Ryan crossed the courtroom, hugged Victoria and then bawled like a baby. “I forgive you,” she said. “I want your life to be the best it can be.” Now that’s grace! But that’s also offensive and an outrage, isn’t it? Aren’t we just a little disturbed that Ryan’s sentence was only six months in jail, probation, some counseling and a wee bit of community service? Where’s the justice in that? But that’s what happens when we encounter grace unleashed – we hardly know what to do with it. You see, the problem’s not with grace; the problem’s with our hearts.

And Jesus reminds us that we’re foolish if grace offends us, because we’re wholly reliant upon it. Even the first workers in the parable were completely dependent upon the owner to give them a job. If he didn’t hire them, they didn’t work. And if they didn’t work, their family didn’t eat. Worse yet, they had no qualifications – nada, nothing, zero, zilch. But he offered to pay them more than they deserved. In other words, even the ones who worked all day, the ones who we think are the most deserving, were still only there because of the owner’s grace.

The same’s true for me and the Cubbies. We thought we were the best team in the league but the truth is, by competitive standards, we were horrible. In fact, as far as I know, not a single one of us made it to the Majors. I mean, we had a hard enough time running the bases in the right direction, much less getting the ball to first base. The only reason any of us got a trophy was because of grace. And no matter how religious or how spiritual we think we are, we are what we are because of grace. We are utterly, totally dependent upon grace.

So be captivated by God’s grace – he pursued you even when you turned your back on him. Be in awe of God’s grace – he forgave you even though you had nothing to offer. And be saved by God’s grace – he loved you so much that he gave his only son to pay for your sins.

Grace-dependent? Yes, we are. Bothered still?

Grace,

Randy

Living Loved

Living Loved

Living Loved - Audio/Visual 

God showed how much he loved us by sending his only son into the world so that we might have eternal life through him. This is real love. It is not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins. (Jn. 4:9-10)

Not everyone in Jesus’ world gave him a warm welcome; not everyone received him with grace. And many didn’t just ignore him, they flat-out rejected him. Isaiah prophesied Jesus’ reception like this: “He was despised and rejected by men.” (Isa. 53:3) And John summarized the rejection of Jesus with these words: “He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him.” (John 1:10-11)

How did Christ endure treatment like that? At any point he could have said, “You know what? I quit. I’ve had enough.” So, why didn’t he? What kept him from giving up? I wonder if Lee Ielpi understands the answer. Lee is a retired New York City firefighter. He gave twenty-six years to the city. But on September 11, 2001, the twenty (20) year anniversary of which we remembered just a few weeks ago, he gave much more. He gave his son. Jonathan Ielpi was a fireman as well. When the Twin Towers fell, Jonathan was there.

Firefighters, like most first-responders, are a loyal bunch – when one of their own dies in the line of duty, the body is left where it came to rest until a firefighter who knows the person can come and quite literally pick the body up. Lee made the discovery of his son’s body his personal mission. He dug daily with dozens of others at the sixteen-acre graveyard that was once the twin towers. One Tuesday, December 11, three months after the disaster, his son was found. And Lee was there to carry him out.

You see, Lee didn’t give up. The father didn’t quit. He refused to turn and leave. Why? Because his love for his son was greater than the pain of the search. And can’t the same be said about Jesus? Why didn’t he quit? Because the love for his children was greater than the pain of the journey to the cross. Jesus has come to pull us out. Our world had collapsed, and that’s why he came. We were dead – dead to sin. That’s why he came. He loves you. That’s why he came.

And that’s why he endured the distance between us. That’s why he endured the resistance from us. Why? Because “love endures all things.” (1 Cor. 13:7) And that’s why he went the final step of the incarnation: “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Cor. 5:21)

Why did Jesus do that? There’s only one answer. And that answer has one word. Love. And that love of Christ “bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” (1 Cor. 13:7)

Think about that for a moment. Drink from that for a moment. Drink deeply. Don’t just sip at it, or nip from it. It’s time to take a gulp. It’s time to let his love cover everything in your life. All the secrets. All the hurts. All the hours of evil, and minutes of worry. The years you peddled prejudice and pride? His love will cover that. Every promise broken, drug taken and penny stolen. Every cross word, cuss word and harsh word. His love covers all things.

So let it. Discover, along with the psalmist, that “He … loads me with love and mercy.” (Ps. 103:4). Picture a giant dump truck full of love, and there you are behind it. God lifts the bed until the love starts to slide. Slowly at first, then down, down, down until you are hidden, buried, covered in his love. “Hey, where are you?” someone asks. “In here, covered in love.”

Let his love cover all things. Do it for his sake – to the glory of his name. Do it for your sake – for the peace of your heart. And do it for their sake – for the people in your life. Let his love fall on you so yours can fall on them.

But what do you do when you’re low on love? Do you try to conjure it up by the sheer force of will? As if there’s inside us a brewery of affection that lacks only a piece of wood or a hotter fire. We poke at it and stoke it with resolve.

For instance, what’s our typical strategy for treating a troubled relationship? To try harder. “My spouse needs my forgiveness? I don’t know how, but I’m going to give it.” “I don’t care how much it hurts; I’m going to be nice to that bum.” “I’m supposed to love my neighbor? Okay. By golly, I will.” So we try. Teeth clinched. Jaw firm. It’s as if we’re going to love if it kills us. And it may do just that.

Could it be that we’re missing a step? Could it be that the first step of love is not toward them but toward him? Could it be that the secret to loving is receiving? Could it be that you give love by first receiving? “We love each other as a result of his loving us first.” (1 John 4:19)

Do you want to be more loving? Begin by accepting your place as a dearly loved child. “Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us.” (Eph. 5:1-2)

Do you want to learn to forgive? Then consider how you’ve been forgiven. “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ, God forgave you.” (Eph. 4:32)

Finding it hard to put others first? Think of the way Christ put you first. “Though he was God, he did not demand and cling to his rights as God.” (Phil. 2:6)

Need more patience? Drink from the patience of God. “The Lord isn’t really being slow about his promise, as some people think. No, he is being patient for your sake. He does not want anyone to be destroyed, but wants everyone to repent.” (2 Pet. 3:9) Or, is generosity an elusive virtue? Then consider how generous God has been with you. “But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.” (Rom. 5:8). Having trouble putting up with ungrateful relatives or cranky neighbors? God puts up with you when you act the same way. “He is kind to the ungrateful and wicked.” (Luke 6:35)

Can’t we love like this? Not without God’s help we can’t. If we haven’t received these things ourselves, how can we give them to others? Apart from God, “the heart is deceitful above all things.” (Jer. 17:9) A marriage-saving love is not within us. A friendship-preserving devotion can’t be found in our hearts. We need help from an outside source. A transfusion. Would we love as God loves? Then we start by receiving God’s love.

We’ve all been guilty of skipping this step. “Love each other!” we tell each other in church. “Be patient, kind, forgiving,” we urge. But instructing people to love without telling them they’re loved is like telling them to write a check without our making a deposit in their accounts. So, it’s no wonder why so many relationships are overdrawn. Hearts have insufficient love.

The apostle John models the right sequence. He makes a deposit before he tells us to write the check. First the deposit: “God showed how much he loved us by sending his only son into the world so that we might have eternal life through him. This is real love. It is not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.”(Jn. 4:9-10) And then, having made such an outrageous, eye-opening deposit, John calls on you and me to pull out the checkbook: “Dear friends, since God loved us that much, we surely ought to love each other.” (John 4:11)

Maybe the secret to loving is living loved. Many people tell us to love. But only God gives us the power to do so.

Grace,

Randy

Courage

 

Courage

Courage - Audio/Visual

But don’t be afraid of those who threaten you. For the time is coming when everything that is covered will be revealed, and all that is secret will be made known to all. What I tell you now in the darkness, shout abroad when daybreak comes. What I whisper in your ear, shout from the housetops for all to hear! Don’t be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot touch your soul. Fear only God, who can destroy both soul and body in hell. What is the price of two sparrows — one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows. (Matt. 10:26-31)

He was a professional thief. His name struck fear in the hearts of men and women, alike. He terrorized the Wells Fargo stage line for thirteen years, roaring like a tornado in and out of the Sierra Nevada hillsides. In journals from San Francisco to New York, his name became synonymous with the dangers of the Great Frontier. During his reign of terror between 1875 and 1883, he is credited with stealing the breath and bags away from twenty-eight different stagecoach crews. And he did it all without firing a single shot. His weapon was his reputation. His ammunition was intimidation. A flower sack, with holes cut out for the eyes, hid his face. No victim ever saw him. No artist ever sketched his features. No sheriff could ever track his trail. He never fired a shot or took a hostage. He didn’t have to. His presence was enough to paralyze. Black Bart. A hooded bandit armed with a deadly weapon.

He reminds me of another thief. We’ve never seen his face, and we couldn’t describe his voice or sketch his profile. But when he’s near, we know it immediately. Because if you’ve ever been in the hospital, you’ve felt the leathery brush of his hand against yours. If you’ve ever sensed someone was following you, you’ve felt his cold breath breathing down your neck. And if you’ve ever awakened late at night in a strange room, it was his husky whisper that stole your sleep. You know him. It was this thief who left your palms sweaty as you went in for that job interview. It was this con man who convinced you to swap your integrity for popularity. And it was this scoundrel who whispered in your ear as you left the cemetery, “You may be next.” He’s the Black Bart of the soul. The thing is, he doesn’t want your money, your diamonds or even your car. He wants something a lot more precious. He wants your peace of mind — your joy. His name? Fear.

His job is to take your courage and leave you a timid and trembling wreck. His modus operandi is to manipulate you with the mysterious, and taunt you with the unknown. Fear of death; fear of failure; fear of God; fear of tomorrow — his arsenal is enormous. And his goal? To create cowardly, joyless souls. He doesn’t want you to make the journey to the mountain. He figures that if he can rattle you enough, you’ll take your eyes off the peaks and settle for a dull existence in the prairies.

A legend from India describes a mouse who was terrified of cats until a magician agreed to transform him into a cat. That resolved his fear . . . until he met a dog. So, the magician changed him into a dog. And the mouse-turned-cat-turned-dog was content until he met a tiger — so, once again, the magician changed him into what he feared. But when the tiger came complaining that he’d met a hunter, the magician refused to help. “I’m going to make you into a mouse again, because you may have the body of a tiger but you still have the heart of a mouse.”

Sound familiar? How many people do you know who’ve built a formidable exterior, only to tremble inside with fear? We tackle our anxieties by taking on the appearance of a tiger. We face our fears with force: military power, security systems, and defense strategies — all reflect a conviction that muscle creates security. Or, if we don’t use force we try other methods. We stockpile wealth. We seek security in stuff. We cultivate fame and pursue popularity. But can power, possessions, or popularity ever really deliver us from our fears?

If power could, then Joseph Stalin should have been fearless. Instead, this infamous Russian dictator was afraid to go to bed. He had seven different bedrooms, and each could be locked as tightly as a safe. In order to foil any would-be assassin, he slept in a different bedroom each night. Five chauffeur-driven limousines transported him wherever he went, each with curtains closed so no one would know which car actually contained Stalin. In fact, so deep-seated were his apprehensions that he employed a servant whose sole responsibility was to monitor and protect his . . . tea bags. And if possessions could conquer fear, the late billionaire Howard Hughes would have been fearless. But you probably know his story. His distrust of people and paranoia of germs led the billionaire to Mexico where he died a lonely death as a cadaverous hermit with a belt-length beard and corkscrew fingernails. Okay, but what about popularity? John Lennon’s fame as a singer, songwriter, and pop icon made him a household word. But his fears only brought him misery. His biographers describe him as a frightened man, unwilling to sleep with the lights off, and afraid to touch anything because of its filth.

Granted, Stalin, Hughes and Lennon are extreme cases. But they’re illustrative. “Though you have the body of a tiger, you still have the heart of a mouse.” Courage is an outgrowth of who we are. Exterior supports may temporarily sustain, but only inward character creates courage. And it’s those inward convictions that Jesus was building in the Beatitudes. Matthew 5 is not a list of proverbs, or a compilation of independent sayings. It is, instead, a step-by-step description of how God rebuilds the believer’s heart.

The first step is to ask for help — to become “poor in spirit” – by admitting our need for a Savior. The next step is sorrow: “Blessed are those who mourn . . . .” Those who mourn are those who know they’re wrong and say they’re sorry. No excuses. No justification. Just tears. The first two steps are an admission of inadequacy and repentance from pride. The next step is one of renewal: “Blessed are the meek . . . .” Realization of weakness leads to the source of strength — God. And renewal comes when we become meek — when we give our lives to God to be his tool. The first two beatitudes pass us through the fire of purification; the third places us in the hands of the Master. The result of this process? Courage: “. . . they shall inherit the earth.” No longer shall the earth and its fears dominate us, for we follow the one who dominates the earth.

Could you use some courage? Are you backing down more than you’re standing up? If so, let the Master lead you up the mountain again. Let him remind you why you should “fear not.” Listen to the time Jesus scattered the butterflies out of the stomachs of his nervous disciples and see if his words help you. (Matt. 10:1-28) But before we get there, we need to remember that the disciples were common men given a compelling task. Before they were the stained-glassed saints in the windows of cathedrals, they were somebody’s next-door-neighbor trying to make a buck and raise a family. They weren’t cut from theological cloth or raised on supernatural milk. But they were an ounce more devoted than they were afraid, and did some extraordinary things. They would have done nothing, however, had they not learned to face their fears. Jesus knew that. That is why he spoke his words of courage.

So, here’s the picture. The disciples are being sent out on their own. For a limited time they will go into the cities and do what Jesus has done — but without Jesus. Jesus assembles them to give them their final instructions. And maybe the disciples look a little nervous. They have reason to be nervous. What Jesus tells them would quicken the pulse rate of the best athlete’s heart. First, Jesus tells them not to take any extra money or extra clothing on their journey. Then he assures them that they are being sent out “like sheep among wolves.” And his answer to their questioning is not very reassuring. He tells them they will be taken before the authorities, flogged, and arrested. And it gets worse. Jesus goes on to describe the impact their mission will have on people: “Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child; children will rebel against their parents and have them put to death. All men will hate you because of me, but he who stands firm to the end will be saved.” (Matt. 10:21-22) At this point, I’m thinking that some eyes duck; some eyes probably widen. Someone swallows. Feet shift. A brow is wiped. And though no one says it, you just know someone is thinking, “Is it too late to get out of this?”

And that’s the setting for Jesus’ paragraph on courage. Three times in five verses (Matt. 10:26-31) he says, “Do not be afraid.” Read the words and see his call and cause for courage. See the reason you should sleep well tonight: “So do not be afraid of them. There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known.” (Matt. 10:26) On the surface, those words would seem like a reason for panic rather than a source of peace. I mean, who of us would like to have our secret thoughts made public? Who would want our private sins published? Who would get excited over the idea that every wrong deed we’ve ever done will be announced to everyone? You’re right, no one would. But we’re told over and over that such a thing will happen: Nothing in all creation is hidden from God. Everything is naked and exposed before his eyes, and he is the one to whom we are accountable. (Heb. 4:13); He reveals deep and hidden things; he knows what lies in darkness, though he is surrounded by light. (Dan 2:22); But I tell you this, you must give an account on judgment day for every idle word you speak. (Matt. 12:36) You spread out our sins before you – our secret sins – and you see them all. He will bring our darkest secrets to light and will reveal our private motives. (Ps. 90:8, 1 Cor. 4:5)

To think of the disclosure of my hidden heart conjures up shame, humiliation and embarrassment. There are things I’ve done that very few know about. There are thoughts I’ve thought that I wouldn’t want revealed. So why does Jesus point to the day of revelation as a reason for courage? How can we possibly take strength in what should be a moment of abject anguish? The answer is found in Romans 2:16. And you can let out a sigh of relief as you underline the last three words of the verse: “This will take place on the day when God will judge men’s secrets through Jesus Christ.” Did you see that? Jesus is the screen through which God looks when he judges our sins. Now read another chorus of verses and focus on their promise:

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. [God] justifies those who have faith in Jesus. (Rom. 8:1, 3:26) Through him everyone who believes is justified from everything. (Acts 13:39) For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more. (Heb. 8:12) For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. (Col. 3:3) If you are in Christ, these promises are not only a source of joy but they’re the foundation of true courage. You are guaranteed that your sins will be filtered through, hidden in and screened out by the sacrifice of Jesus. In other words, when God looks at you, he doesn’t see you; he sees the One who hides you. That means that failure is not a concern for you. Your victory is secure. So how could you not be courageous?

Picture it this way. Imagine that you’re an ice skater in Olympic competition. You’re in first place with one more round to go. If you perform well, the gold medal is yours. You’re nervous, anxious and frightened. Then, only minutes before your performance, your coach rushes up to you with the thrilling news: “You’ve already won! The judges tabulated the scores, and the person in second place can’t catch you. You’re too far ahead.” Now if you heard that news, how would you feel? Exhilarated! And how would you skate? Timidly? Cautiously? Of course not. How about courageously and confidently? You’d do your best because the prize is already yours. You’d skate like a champion because that’s what you are. You’d hear the applause of victory. Hence, these words from Hebrews: “Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus . . . let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith.” (Heb. 10:19, 22)

The point is this: the truth will triumph. The Father of truth will win, and the followers of truth will be saved. As a result, Jesus says, don’t be afraid: “What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs. Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” (Matt. 10:27-28) In the big picture, earthly fears are no fears at all because all the mystery has been revealed. The final destination is guaranteed. Answer the big question of eternity, and the little questions of life fall into perspective.

By the way, remember Black Bart? As it turns out, he wasn’t anything to be afraid of either. When the hood came off, there was nothing to fear. When the authorities finally tracked him down, they didn’t find a bloodthirsty bandit from Death Valley; just a mild-mannered druggist from Decatur, Illinois. The man the papers pictured storming through the mountains on horseback was, in reality, so afraid of horses he rode to and from his robberies in a buggy, and then robbed the stagecoaches on foot. He was Charles E. Boles — the bandit who never once fired a shot, because he never once loaded his gun.

Know of any false hoods in your world?

Grace,

Randy