A Mature Love - Overcoming the Fear of Judgment

 

A Mature Love –

Overcoming the Fear of Judgment

God is love, and all who live in love live in God, and God lives in them. And as we live in God, our love grows more perfect. So, we will not be afraid on the day of judgment, but we can face him with confidence because we live like Jesus here in this world. Such love has no fear because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of punishment, and this shows that we have not fully experienced his perfect love. We love each other because he loved us first. (1 Jn. 4:16-19)

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

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

Then, Arnold Schwarzenegger fills your side mirror, and you don’t dare open your door because the second you do the officer’s hand will Marshal Dillon its way to his or her holster and say, "Keep your hands where I can see them, please." Your best option at this point is to return to prayer because only God can help you now. We dread those moments, don’t we? Remember when the teacher took you outside the classroom, or when your dad heard you climbing through the bedroom window past midnight? We have a phrase for those moments. “Judgment Day.” The evidence is in, the truth is out and the patrolman’s at your door. No one likes the thought of judgment, and the Ephesian Christians didn't, either.

They feared the judgment – not the highway patrol, but God. Because knowing that God sees all sin, and knowing he hates all sin, and knowing he must hate what he sees – which is not a very comforting thought – they were afraid. So, John comforted them. He dipped the quill of his pen into the inkwell of God's love and wrote, “As we live in God, our love grows more perfect. So, we will not be afraid on the day of judgment, but we can face him with confidence because we are like Christ here in this world. Such love has no fear because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of judgment, and this shows that his love has not been perfected in us.” (1 John 4:17-18; emphasis mine)

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

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

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

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

See what perfect love does? A mature, unconditional love. An agape love. It drives out the fear of judgment. In fact, it purges the fear of the day of judgment. As John wrote, "So we will not be afraid on the day of judgment, but we can face him with confidence because we are like Christ here in this world." (1 Jn. 4:17) And on that topic, John makes no apology and pulls no punches. The day of judgment is not a phrase in a fiction novel, but a day circled on heaven's calendar. Of the twenty-seven New Testament books, only the postcard-sized epistles of Philemon and Third John fail to reference our divine court appearance. While the details of the day are unrevealed to us and debated by many, we know this: the day is coming. On that day, earthly wealth will not matter. Physical beauty won't be a factor. Fame will be forgotten. You might be standing next to Napoleon or Julius Caesar, but you won't be asking any questions about Waterloo or Brutus because all eyes will be on Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

A perfect, or mature love can overcome the fear of judgment – and driving the speed limit could probably conquer your fear of the highway patrol.

Grace,

Randy

Yours is the Hand He Loves to Hold

 

Yours is the Hand He Loves to Hold

Yours is the Hand He Loves to Hold - Audio/Visual 

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

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

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

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

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

“She had suffered a great deal from many doctors.” (v. 26) Do you smell quackery in those words? Maybe. This is Mark’s account not Luke’s, and Luke is the doctor here. Luke, on the other hand, simply states that the woman “…could find no cure.” (Luke 8:43) Apparently “suffering” and “many doctors” didn’t suit Luke’s notion of the Hippocratic oath, or maybe he was just helping his colleagues avoid a malpractice lawsuit. According to Mark, however, doctors had done nothing to heal the disease but had taken great pains to remove her wallet in the process. She "had spent everything she had to pay them, but she had gotten no better. In fact, she had gotten worse.” (Mark 5:26) From broke to broken.

No health. No money. No family. “Unclean,” according to the Law of Moses. The Law protected women from aggressive, insensitive men during those times of the month. But in this woman's case, the application of the Law had left her not just untouched, but untouchable; ceremonially unclean. The hand you see in the crowd? The one reaching for the robe? No one will touch it. She’s a contagion; a disease. She’s toxic and no one wants to be around this wasted waif. It’s been that way for over a decade. She might as well be wearing a scarlet letter “A,” like Hester Prynne wore in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s 1850 novel The Scarlet Letter. But for this woman, it would be a scarlet letter “D” for “diseased,” and the color of what she can’t keep – her blood.

That wasn't always the case, was it? We don’t know, but surely a husband once took her hand in marriage. The hand looked different in those days: clean, soft-skinned, and perfumed. Maybe a husband once loved that hand, and a family once relied on that hand. To cook and sew. To wipe tears from cheeks, and tuck blankets under chins. Are the hands of a mother ever still? Only if they’re diseased.

And if once married, maybe the husband tried to stay with her, taking her to doctors and treatment centers. Or maybe he simply gave up, overwhelmed by her naps, nausea and anemia. So, maybe he put her out. A change of clothes and a handful of change – that’s it. Simply closed the door and walked away. And now she has nothing. No money. No home. No health. Dilapidated dreams. Deflated faith. Unwelcome in the synagogue. Unwanted by her community. For twelve years she’s suffered. She has nothing, her health is getting worse, she’s not getting any younger and no one even cares.

Maybe that's what did it. She “had gotten worse.” (Mark 5:26) Maybe this morning she could scarcely stand. Perhaps she had splashed water on her face and was horrified by the skeletal image she saw in the pool’s reflection. What you and I see in Auschwitz photos, she likely saw in her reflection – gaunt cheeks, tired and taut skin and two full-moon eyes. She’s desperate for a miracle. And her desperation births an idea.

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

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

Life rushes in. Pale cheeks turn pink. Shallow breaths become full. There are cracks in the Hoover Dam of her fragile health, and a river floods her soul. The woman feels power enter. And Jesus? Jesus feels power exit. "Jesus realized at once that healing power had gone out from him, so he turned around in the crowd and asked, 'Who touched my robe?'" (v. 30) Funny. Did Jesus surprise even Jesus? Has Christ the divine moved faster than Jesus the human? The Savior out-stepped the neighbor? "Who touched my robe?" You can’t steal a miracle from God.

His disciples are incredulous. "'Look at this crowd pressing around you. How can you ask, ‘Who touched me?"' But he kept on looking around to see who had done it." (Mark 5:31-32)

Can we fault this woman's timidity? She doesn't know what to expect. Jesus could berate her or embarrass her. Besides, he was her last choice. She sought the help of a dozen others before she sought his. And the people – what will they do? What will the ruler of the synagogue do? He’s upright. She’s untouchable. And here she is, lunging at the town guest. No wonder she’s afraid. But she has one reason to have courage. She’s healed. "The woman, knowing what had happened, knowing she was the one, stepped up in fear and trembling, knelt before him, and gave him the whole story." (v. 33 MSG) She stood up to then kneel in humility and reverence.

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

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

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

Illness took her strength, and what’s taken yours? Red ink? Hard drink? Late nights in the wrong arms? Long days in the wrong job? Pregnant too soon? Too often? Is her hand your hand? If so, take heart. Your family may shun it. Society may avoid it. But Jesus? He wants to touch it. When your hand reaches through the messes and the masses, he knows because you’re not untouchable; yours is the hand he made.

And yours is the hand he loves to hold.

Grace,

Randy