Maybe It's Time to Admit Your Faults

 

Maybe It’s Time to Admit Your Faults

The Lord is compassionate and merciful, very patient, and full of faithful love. God won’t always play the judge; he won’t be angry forever. He doesn’t deal with us according to our sin or repay us according to our wrongdoing, because as high as heaven is above the earth, that’s how large God’s faithful love is for those who honor him. As far as east is from west — that’s how far God has removed our sin from us. (Psalm 103:8-12)

What would the Vatican give for the Pope’s name? That was Rogers’ question because upon the death of Pope John Paul, Rogers Cadenhead, a self-described “domain hoarder,” registered www.BenedictXVI.com before the new Pope’s name was even announced. In other words, Cadenhead had secured the domain name before Rome even knew they needed it. And a sought-after domain name can prove very lucrative. For instance, another name, www.PopeBenedictXVI.com, sold for more than $16,000.00 on E-bay. Cadenhead, however, didn’t want the money. A Catholic himself, he was happy for the church to own the name. “I’m going to try and avoid angering 1.1 billion Catholics and my grandmother,” he quipped. He did want something in return, however. In exchange for the domain name, Cadenhead asked for: (1) “one of those hats;” (2) “a free stay at the Vatican hotel;” and (3) “complete absolution, no questions asked, for the third week of March, 1987.” It makes you wonder what happened that third week of March. Maybe it was Spring Break.

Does it remind you of a week of your own like that? Most of us have one … or more. A folly-filled summer, a month off-track, days gone wild. If a box of flash drives existed that documented every second of your life, which one of those thumb drives would you destroy? Do you have a season in which you indulged, imbibed or even inhaled? King David did.

Could a collapse be more complete than his? He seduces and impregnates Bathsheba, murders her husband and deceives his general and soldiers. Then he marries her and she bears the child. The cover-up appears complete. The casual observer didn’t even know. David has a new wife, and a happy life. All seems well on the throne. But all is not well in David’s heart. Guilt simmers. He later describes this season of secret sin in pretty grim terms: When I kept it all inside, my bones turned to powder, my words became daylong groans. The pressure never let up; all the juices of my life dried up. (Ps. 32:3–4)

David’s a wreck. His “third week of March” stalks him like a pack of wolves. He can’t escape it. Why? Because God keeps bringing it up. Underline the last verse of 2 Samuel chapter 11: “The thing that David had done displeased the Lord.” (v. 27) With these words the narrator introduces a new character into the David and Bathsheba drama: God. Because thus far, God’s been completely absent from the text, and unmentioned in the story. David seduces – no mention of God. David plots – no mention of God. Uriah buried, Bathsheba married – no mention of God. God is not spoken to, nor does he speak. And the first half of verse 27 lures us into a false “happy ending” because Bathsheba “became David’s wife and gave birth to his son.” In other words, they’d decorated the nursery and picked names out of a magazine. Nine months pass, and a son is born. As a result, we conclude, “Well, it looks like David dodged a bullet.” Apparently the story got dropped in the “Boys Will Be boys” file. But just when we think so (and David hopes so), someone steps from behind the curtain and takes center stage. “The thing that David had done displeased the Lord.”

God won’t be silent any more. The name not mentioned until the final verse of 2^nd Samuel chapter 11, dominates chapter 12. David, the guy usually giving the orders, sits while God takes control. First step? God sends Nathan to David. Nathan is a prophet, a preacher, a White House chaplain of sorts. The man probably deserved a medal for going to the king because he knew what happened to Uriah – David had killed an innocent soldier. So, what’s he going to do with a confrontational preacher?

Still, Nathan goes. However, rather than declaring the deed, he relates a story about a poor man with one little sheep. David instantly connects with the story because he shepherded flocks before he led people. He knows poverty. He’s the youngest son of a family that was too poor at the time to even hire a shepherd. Nathan tells David how the poor shepherd loved this sheep – holding her in his own lap, feeding her from his own plate. She was all he had. And then enters, as the story goes, the rich jerk. A traveler stops by his mansion, so a party’s in order. But rather than slaughtering a sheep from his own flock, the rich man sends his bodyguards to steal the poor man’s little lamb. So, they Hummer onto his property, snatch the lamb and fire up the Traeger.

As David listens, the hair on the back of his neck starts to stand on end. He grips the arms of the throne and renders a verdict without so much as even having conducted a trial: “As surely as the Lord lives, the one who did this is demonic! He must restore the ewe lamb seven times over because he did this and because he had no compassion.” (12:5–6) David, David, David. You never saw it coming, did you? You never saw Nathan erecting the gallows or throwing the rope over the beam. You never felt him tie your hands behind your back, lead you up the steps and stand you squarely over the trap door. Only when he squeezed the noose around your neck did you gulp – only when Nathan tightened the rope with four three-letter words: “You are the man!” (12:7)

David’s face pales. A bead of sweat forms on his forehead. He slinks back in his chair. He makes no defense. He utters no response. He has nothing to say. God, however, is just getting started. Through Nathan, God said: I made you king over Israel. I freed you from the fist of Saul. I gave you your master’s daughter and other wives to have and to hold. I gave you both Israel and Judah. And if that hadn’t been enough, I’d have gladly thrown in much more. So why have you treated the word of God with such brazen contempt, doing this great evil? You murdered Uriah the Hittite, then took his wife as your wife. Worse, you killed him with an Ammonite sword! (12:7–9) Gulp.

But these words reflect hurt, not hate, don’t they? Bewilderment, not belittlement. Your flocks fill the hills, David. So why rob? Beauty populates your palace. So, why take it from someone else? Why would the wealthy steal? David has no excuse. So, God levies the sentence: Now, therefore, the sword will never depart from your house, because you despised me and took the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your own. This is what the Lord says: “Out of your own household I am going to bring calamity upon you. Before your very eyes I will take your wives and give them to one who is close to you, and he will lie with your wives in broad daylight. You did it in secret, but I will do this thing in broad daylight before all Israel.” (12:10-12) And from that day forward, turmoil and tragedy marked David’s family. The child born of his adultery dies (12:18), and the surrounding nations begin to question the holiness of David’s God. David had soiled God’s reputation and blemished God’s honor. And God, who jealously guards his glory, punishes David’s secret sin in a very public way. And the king of Israel discovers the harsh truth of Numbers 32:23: “. . . you can be sure that your sin will track you down.”

Have you ever found that to be true? Does your “week of March, 1987” hound you? Infect you? Failures and colossal collapses just won’t leave us alone. Unconfessed sins sit on our hearts like festering boils – poisoning, expanding. And God applies the pressure to remove the seed of the boil from our lives: “The way of the transgressor is hard.” (Prov. 13:15) “Those who plow evil and sow trouble reap evil and trouble.” (Job 4:8) God takes your sleep, your peace. He takes your rest. Want to know why? Because he wants to take away your sin.

Can a mom sit idly by as sickness ravages her child? Well then, can God sit idly by as sin poisons his children? He will not rest until we do what David did: admit our faults. “Then David said to Nathan, ‘I have sinned against the Lord.’ Nathan replied, ‘The Lord has taken away your sin. You are not going to die.’” (2 Sam. 12:13) Interesting. David said the imaginary sheep stealer was worthy of death because that’s what they did with the demon-possessed. But God is far more merciful. He put away David’s sin. Rather than cover it up, he lifted it up and then put it away. As David would later reflect and then write, “As far as east is from west — that’s how far God has removed our sin from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him.” (Ps. 103:12–13)

It didn’t happen overnight, however. It took David a year. It took a surprise pregnancy, the death of a soldier, the persuasion of a preacher, and the probing and pressing of God, but David’s hard heart finally softened and he made his admission: “I have sinned against the Lord.” (2 Sam. 12:13) And God did with the sin what he does with yours and mine – he put it away.

Is there some sin in your past that you’ve yet to admit, confess and abandon? If so, there’s no better time than the present to get before the Lord and name that sin for what it is — spiritual rebellion, a slap in God’s face, a dark stain on the holy person God has made you to be. And then thank God that he has removed your guilt as far as the east is from the west and ask him for strength to not only avoid that sin in the future, but to gladly obey his counsel and his Word going forward. Actions will have their consequences (Gal. 6:7), just like David, but Jesus Christ absorbed the ultimate penalty for those sins by dying on the cross as the atoning sacrifice through which forgiveness for those sins has been extended. Saint Augustine summed it up this way: With a love for mankind and a hatred for sins.

Maybe it’s time for you to put your “third week of March, 1987” to rest. And you can do that by assembling a meeting of three parties: you, God and your memory. Place the mistake before the judgment seat of God. Let him condemn it; let him pardon it; and then let him put it away. Forever. He will. He said so. Maybe it’s time to admit your faults, because when does east ever meet west?

Grace,

Randy

God is Still in Control

 

God is Still in Control

God is Still in Control - Audio/Visual 

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