God is Still in Control

 

God is Still in Control

They stopped, their faces drawn with misery, and the one called Cleopas replied, “You must be the only stranger in Jerusalem who hasn’t heard all the things that have happened there recently!” “What things?” asked Jesus. “Oh, all about Jesus, from Nazareth. There was a man — a prophet strong in what he did and what he said, in God’s eyes as well as the people’s. Haven’t you heard how our chief priests and rulers handed him over for execution, and had him crucified? But we were hoping he was the one who was to come and set Israel free…. (Luke 24:18-21)

Phineas was up before the sun. He'd hardly slept the night before, and long before a sound was heard in the house he was racing downstairs with his bag packed, ready to climb into the wagon. It was the summer of 1820, and Phineas was about to see an island. His island. The island promised to him by his grandfather and presented to him – by Gift Deed – on his second birthday. It was a sizable portion of Connecticut land called Ivy Island. And today, for the first time, Phineas was going to see it.

Of course, not every boy is born a land baron, and Phineas' parents were always quick to remind their son of that fact. They urged him not to forget them when he came of age. But Phineas was different from his playmates. While they dreamed of dragons and knights, his fantasies were of Ivy Island. Someday he would be lord of his own territory. He'd build a house. Start a farm. Raise cattle. Rule his own domain. Because when you own an island, you feel important. When you own an island, you want to see it. And Phineas had yet to see his, so he pleaded with his father to take him to Ivy Island.

Three sleepless nights preceded the expedition. Then, early that eventful morning, Phineas, his father and a hired hand climbed into the buggy and began the long-anticipated journey. Finally, Phineas would get to see his island. He could barely sit still. At the top of each hill he’d ask, "Are we there yet? Can I see it from here?” His father would encourage him to be patient and assured him that they were getting close. Finally, his dad pointed north beyond a meadow to a row of tall trees stretching into the sky. "There," he said. "There’s Ivy Island." Phineas was overcome with emotion. He jumped out of the wagon and sprinted through the meadow leaving his father and companion far behind. He raced to the row of trees into an opening from which he could see his island – Ivy Island.

When he saw his island, however, he stopped. His heart sank. Ivy Island was five acres of snake-infested marshland. His grandfather had called it the most valuable land in Connecticut, but it was worthless. His father had told him it was a generous gift, but it wasn't. It was a joke; a cruel joke. And as a stunned Phineas stared, the father and the hired hand roared with laughter. Phineas was not the fortunate beneficiary of his immediate family; he was the laughingstock of the entire family. Grandfather Taylor had played a joke on him, but Phineas wasn’t laughing. Fact is, he never forgot. That disappointment shaped his life. He made a lifestyle out of deception. The little boy fooled made a career of fooling others. You probably don't know him as Phineas. You know him as P.T. You don't know him as a landowner; you know him as a promoter. You know him as the one who coined the phrase, "There's a sucker born every minute," and he spent his life proving it. You probably know him as P.T. Barnum.

And such is the life of many others who’ve been told they'd be taken to the “Promised Land,” only to find themselves taken to a swamp. The businessman who, a decade ago, had an income ten times what he has today but that was before his industry slumped. That was before he went bankrupt. Or the husband who cares more about his golf game than he cares about his wife. Maybe even the cute couple who had to file suit against their contractor who never finished the house of their dreams.

Is there anything wrong with these people? No, their desires are healthy. One wants a strong business; another a husband who'll honor his promise; or a family who wants a builder who'll keep his word. Who can fault them for their expectations? Who’d blame them for dreaming? Who’d have thought their dreams would be crushed? They certainly didn't. But now they’re faced with a decision. What do they do with their disillusionment? What do they do with their broken hearts? And we're not talking mere inconveniences or hassles. We're not talking about long lines, or red lights, or a bad game of golf. We're talking heart-break. We're talking about what two friends of Jesus were feeling a couple of days after his death. Their world had caved in on them, and it's obvious by the way they walk. Their feet shuffle, their heads hang and their shoulders droop. The seven miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus must have felt like seventy. And as they walk, they talk "about everything that had happened." (Luke 24:14)

It's not hard to imagine their words. "Why did the people turn against him?" "He could have come down from the cross. Why didn't he?" "He just let Pilate push him around." "What do we do now?" And as they walk, a stranger comes up behind them. It’s Jesus, but they don't recognize him. Discouragement will do that to you. It will blind you to the very presence of God. Discouragement turns our eyes inward. God could be walking right next to us, but despair clouds our vision.

Despair does something else. It hardens our hearts. We get cynical. We get calloused. And when good news comes, we don’t accept it for fear of being disappointed once again. That's what happened to these two disciples. Later on, they say these words: “Yes, and as if that weren’t enough, it’s been three days since all this happened; and some of the women from our group have really disturbed us. They said they went to the tomb at dawn, and then when they couldn’t find his body they said that they had a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of our people ran out to see and, sure enough, his body was gone, just as the women had said!” (Luke 24:22-24)

When reading Scripture, we can't always tell in what tone the words were actually spoken. Sometimes we don't know if the speaker meant to be happy, sad, or peaceful. This time, however, there’s no question about what they're thinking: “As if it's not bad enough that Jesus was killed, now some grave robber has taken the body and fooled our friends.” These two followers aren't about to believe the women. Cleopas and his friend are putting their hearts in a shell. They won't take another risk. They won't be hurt again.

Ever been hurt by love? Then don't love. Had your heart broken? Then don't give it away. Do like P. T. Barnum – settle the score by blaming the world and hardening your heart. However, there’s a fine line which, once crossed, can be fatal. It's the line between discouragement and anger. Between hurt and hate, between bitterness and blame. And if that line’s near, step back for a moment and ask yourself: “How long am I going to pay for my discouragement? How long am I going to nurse my hurt?”

At some point we have to move on. At some point we have to heal. At some point we have to let Jesus do for us what he did for these men. First, he came to them. He didn’t sit back and cross his arms and say, “Why can’t these two guys get with the program?” He didn’t complain to the angel and say, “Why won’t they believe the empty tomb? Why are they so hard to please?" Instead, he met them at their point of pain. Though death had been destroyed and sin annulled, Jesus hadn’t retired. The resurrected Lord had once again wrapped himself in flesh, put on human clothes and searched out hurting hearts. See if you can find their hurt.

“Jesus said to them, ‘What are you talking about?’ They said, ‘About Jesus of Nazareth. He was a prophet who said and did many powerful things before God and all the people. Our leaders and the leading priests handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him. But we were hoping that he would free Israel.’" (Luke 24:19-21) There it is. "But we were hoping ….” The disciples had hoped Jesus would free Israel. They had hoped he'd kick out the Romans. They'd hoped Pilate would be out and Jesus would be in. But Pilate was still in, and Jesus was dead.

Unfulfilled expectations. God didn't do what they wanted him to. They knew what they expected of Jesus. They knew what he was supposed to do. They didn't have to ask him. If Jesus is the Messiah, he won't sleep in my storm. He’ll never die. He won't defy tradition. He'll do what he’s supposed to do. But that's not what he did. And aren't we glad the prayer of Cleopas and his friend went unanswered? Aren't we glad God didn't adjust his agenda to fulfill the requests of these two disciples? They were good disciples with good hearts and sincere prayers. They just had the wrong expectations.

God knows more about life than we do. People wanted him to redeem Israel, but he knew better. He would rather his people be temporarily oppressed than eternally lost. When forced to choose between battling Pilate and battling Satan, he chose the battle we couldn't win. He said “No” to what they wanted and “Yes” to what they needed. He said “No” to a liberated Israel and “Yes” to a liberated humanity. And once again, aren't we glad he did? And aren't we glad he does? But let’s be honest. Are we glad he says “No” to what we want and “Yes” to what we need? Not always. If we ask for healing, and he says learn through the pain, we aren't happy. If we ask for more money, and he says treasure the unseen, we’re probably not doing any cartwheels.

When God doesn't do what we want, it's not easy. But faith is the conviction that God knows more than we do about this life and he will get us through it. (Heb. 11:1) Remember, discouragement is caused by unmet expectations. But discouragement can be cured by revising our expectations. It’s like the story about a guy who went to the pet store in search of a singing parakeet. The store owner had just the bird for him, so the man bought it. The next day he came home from work to a house full of music. He went to the cage to feed the bird and noticed for the first time that the parakeet had only one leg. He felt cheated that he'd been sold a one-legged bird, so he called to complain. "What do you want," the store owner responded, "a bird who can sing or a bird who can dance?"

Good question for times of discouragement. What do we want? That's what Jesus asks the disciples. What do you want? Do you want temporary or eternal freedom? Jesus sets about the task of restructuring their expectations, and he did it by telling them a story. But not just any story.

He told them the story of God and God's plan for his people. "Then starting with what Moses and all the prophets had said about him, Jesus began to explain everything that had been written about himself in the Scriptures." (Luke 24:27) Interesting. Jesus' cure for the discouraged and broken-hearted was the story of God – beginning with Moses and finishing with himself.

Why’d he do that? Why did he give them a history lesson? Why did he go all the way back two thousand years to the story of Moses? Maybe it’s because what they heard is what we all need to hear when we’re discouraged: we need to hear that God is still in control. We need to hear that it's not over until he says so. We need to hear that life's mishaps and tragedies are not a reason to bail out. They’re simply a reason to sit tight.

Corrie ten Boom used to say, "When the train goes through a tunnel and the world gets dark, do you jump out? Of course not. You sit still and trust the engineer to get you through." Why did Jesus tell the story? So we'd know that the engineer still controls the locomotive. So how do we deal with discouragement? And what’s the cure for disappointment? Go back to the story. Read it again and remember that their story is yours.

For instance, is the challenge too great? Read the story because that's you crossing the Red Sea with Moses. Too many worries? Well, that's you receiving heavenly food with the Israelites. Are your wounds too deep? Read the story because that's you, Joseph, forgiving your brothers for betraying you. Your enemies too mighty? Picture yourself marching with Jehoshaphat into a battle you’ve already won. Is your discouragement too great? Read the story of the Emmaus-bound disciples. The Savior they thought was dead now walked right there beside them. He entered their house, sat at their table, and ate with them. And something happened in their hearts. "It felt like a fire burning in us when Jesus talked to us on the road and explained the Scriptures to us." (v. 31)

So, the next time you're discouraged, don't panic. Don't jump out. Don't give up. Just be patient and let God remind you that he's still in control. Or as Yogi Berra used to say, “It ain't over till it's over.”

Grace,

Randy

Finding that Needle of Belief In Your Haystack

 

^{Finding that Needle of Belief In Your Haystack}

^{Finding that Needle of Belief in Your Haystack - Audio/Visual} 

 

So, they brought the boy. But when the evil spirit saw Jesus, it threw the child into a violent convulsion, and he fell to the ground, writhing and foaming at the mouth. “How long has this been happening?” Jesus asked the boy’s father. He replied, “Since he was a little boy. The spirit often throws him into the fire or into water, trying to kill him. Have mercy on us and help us if you can.” “What do you mean, ‘If I can’?” Jesus asked. “Anything is possible if a person believes.” The father instantly cried out, “I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:20-24)

Some people pray like an F-15E Strike Eagle – their words are high and mighty. Their prayers seem to send sonic booms into the heavens. Others, like me, are more like the Gossamer Condor – a human powered aircraft capable of flight, but at speeds of only 8 miles per hour. Designed by Dr. Paul MacCready and tested in 1977, it was lightweight but low-speed. Kind of like me. Nothing flashy. Flies low and covers the same ground over and over. Frankly, sometimes it’s a challenge just to crank up the engine. Maybe you’re like me, as most of our prayer lives could probably use a tune-up. For instance, some prayer lives lack consistency. They're either a desert or an oasis. Long, arid, dry spells interrupted by brief plunges into the waters of communion with God. We go for days, or even weeks without consistent prayer. But then something happens – we hear a sermon, read a book, experience a tragedy – something leads us to pray, so we dive in. We submerge ourselves in prayer and leave refreshed and renewed. But as the journey resumes, our prayers don't seem to travel so well.

Others need some sincerity. Their prayers are a little hollow, memorized and rigid. More liturgy than life. More form over substance. And though they’re daily, they’re dull. Still others lack, well … honesty. We honestly wonder if prayer makes a difference because why on earth would God in heaven want to talk to me? I mean, if God knows everything, who am I to tell him anything? And if God’s in control, who am I to do anything?

If you struggle like me with your prayer life, I've got just the guy for you. You’ll like him. He's not a saint or some knobby-kneed apostle. He’s not a prophet whose middle name is “Meditation,” or a holier-than-thou reminder of how far you need to go in your prayer life. He's just the opposite, actually. He’s a fellow Gossamer Condor. He’s a parent with a sick son in desperate need of a miracle. And this guy’s prayer isn't much of a prayer, but the answer certainly is. And the result reminds us that the power is not in the prayer; it's in the one who hears it.

This dad prayed out of desperation. His son, his only son (Luke 9:38), was demon-possessed. Not only was he a deaf mute and an epileptic, but he was also possessed by an evil spirit. And ever since the boy was young, the demon had thrown him in fires and water of any source. Imagine the pain of that father. Other dads watched their children grow up and mature; he could only watch his child suffer. While others were teaching their sons an occupation, he was just trying to keep his son alive. What a challenge. And he couldn't leave his son alone for a minute because who knew when the next attack would come? The dad had to remain on call, on alert twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. He was desperate and tired, and his prayer reflected both: “If you can do anything for him, please have pity on us and help us."

Listen to that prayer. Does that sound courageous to you? Confident? Strong? Hardly. One word would have made a lot of difference. Instead of “if,” what if he'd said “since”? "Since you can do anything for him, please have pity on us and help us." But that's not what he said. He said “If.” The Greek is even more emphatic. The Greek tense implies doubt. It's as if the man was saying, “This one's probably above your pay grade, Jesus, but if you can ….” A classic Gossamer Condor approach. More meek than mighty. More timid than towering. More like a crippled lamb coming to a shepherd, than a proud lion roaring in the jungle. And if his prayer sounds like your own, then don't be discouraged because that's where prayer starts. It begins as an honest appeal. Ordinary people staring at their personal Mount Everest. No pretense. No boasting. Just prayer. Feeble prayer, but prayer, nevertheless.

Sometimes we’re tempted to wait to pray until we know how to pray. Even the disciples asked Jesus how to pray. But we’ve heard the prayers of the spiritually mature, and we know we don’t measure up. Not by a long-shot. We've read of the rigors of the religiously disciplined, and we’re absolutely convinced that we've got a long way to go. And since we'd rather not pray than pray poorly, we just don't pray. Or we pray infrequently. So, we just wait until we learn how to pray. Good thing this man didn't make that same mistake. He wasn't much of a prayer, mind you, and his prayer wasn't much of a prayer at all. The guy even admits it: "I do believe," he quickly responded, just "help me to believe more." (Mark 9:24) That kind of prayer certainly isn't destined for a worship manual. No Psalm will ever be written about that one. His was a simple prayer. In a word? “Help.” No incantation. No chant. No flowery language. Fewer than ten words. But Jesus responded. And he didn’t respond because of the man’s eloquence, but responded to his pain, instead. Now mind you, Jesus had a bunch of reasons why he could have simply ignored this man's pretty feeble request.

For one thing, Jesus was just returning from the mountain, the Mount of Transfiguration. While there his face had changed and his clothes had become as bright as a flash of lightning. (Luke 9:29) A roaring radiance had poured out from him. The burdens of earth were replaced with the splendors of heaven. Moses and Elijah came, and angels encouraged the gathered. He was transfigured. And while the journey up that mountain was exhilarating, the journey down was downright depressing.

For instance, look at the chaos that greets Jesus as he returns. The disciples and the religious leaders are arguing. A crowd of bystanders is gawking. A boy who has suffered his entire life is on public display. And a father who'd come for help is despondent and confused as to why no one can seem to do anything about it. No wonder Jesus says, "You people have no faith. How long must I stay with you? How long must I put up with you?" (v. 19) Never has the difference between heaven and earth been so stark. Never has the arena of prayer been so poor, because where’s the faith in this picture? The disciples have failed, the scribes are amused, the demon is victorious, and the father is desperate. You'd be hard-pressed to find a needle of belief in that haystack.

And maybe that’s true for you, too. Maybe you’re hard-pressed to find the needle in your own haystack of a life. Your world seems a long way from heaven: a noisy house with screaming kids instead of singing angels; problems so overwhelming that you can't even begin to remember the last time when you didn't wake up to those particular demons. And yet out of the din of doubt comes your timid voice, "If you can do anything for me . . . ."

 But does that kind of prayer really make a difference? Well, let Mark answer that question. “When Jesus saw that a crowd was quickly gathering, he ordered the evil spirit, saying, ‘You spirit that makes people unable to hear or speak, I command you to come out of this boy and never enter him again.‘ The evil spirit screamed and caused the boy to fall on the ground again. Then the spirit came out. The boy looked as if he was dead, and many people said, ‘He’s dead!’ But Jesus took hold of the boy’s hand and helped him to stand up.” (Mark 9:25-27) Apparently, this really troubled the disciples because as soon as they got away from the crowds they asked Jesus, “Why couldn't we force that evil spirit out?" And Jesus’ answer? "That kind of spirit can only be forced out by prayer." But what prayer? What’s Jesus talking about? Whose prayer made the difference here?

Was it the prayer of the apostles? No, they didn't pray. Jesus had just confirmed that. Well, maybe it was the prayers of the religious know-it-alls. Maybe they went to the temple and interceded for the boy. No, they didn’t. The scribes didn't pray either because who has time to pray when you’re busy interpreting and enforcing God’s law? Well, then, it must have been the crowd. Perhaps they held a prayer vigil for the child. Nope. The people didn't pray, either. They never bent a knee. They were too busy gawking at the freak show. Then what prayer could possibly have led Jesus to deliver the demon? Well, there’s only one prayer in the story, right? It's the honest prayer of a hurting dad. And since God is moved by our hurt rather than our eloquence, he responded. That's what fathers do.

That's exactly what Jim Redmond did. His son Derek, a twenty-six-year-old Briton, was favored to win the 400-meter race in the 1992 Barcelona Olympics. With 120 meters to go in his semifinal heat, a fiery pain suddenly seared through Derek’s right leg. He crumpled to the track with a torn hamstring. As the medical attendants were approaching, Derek fought to his feet. He set out hopping and pushing away the coaches in a desperate attempt to finish the race. When he reached the final turn, a big man pushed through the crowd. He was wearing a t-shirt that read "Have you hugged your foot today?" and a hat that challenged anyone who cared to "Just Do It." The man was Jim Redmond, Derek’s father.

"You don't have to do this," he told his weeping son. "Yes, I do," Derek declared. "Well, then," Jim said, "we're going to finish this race together." And they did. Jim wrapped Derek's arm around his shoulder and helped him hobble to the finish line. Fighting off security men, and with his son’s head, at times, buried in his father's shoulder, they stayed in Derek’s lane to the very end. The crowd clapped, then stood, then cheered, and then wept as the father and son finished the race – together. So, what in the world made Jim do that? What made a dad leave the stands, race past security like a mad man, fend off coaches and then medical attendants just so that he could meet his son on the track in a race his son had already lost? Was it the strength of his child? No, it was the pain of his child. His son was hurt and fighting just to finish the race. So, the father came to help him finish. God does the same.

Your prayers may be awkward; your attempts feeble. Your words may be few and lack confidence, much less courage. But since the power of prayer is in the one who hears it and not in the one who says it, your prayers make a difference. It’s like finding that needle of belief in your haystack

Grace,

Randy