Equipped

Equipped

David went to Nob, to Ahimelech the priest. Ahimelech trembled when he met him, and asked, “Why are you alone? Why is no one with you?” David answered Ahimelech the priest, “The king sent me on a mission and said to me, ‘No one is to know anything about the mission I am sending you on.’ As for my men, I have told them to meet me at a certain place. Now then, what do you have on hand? Give me five loaves of bread, or whatever you can find.” But the priest answered David, “I don’t have any ordinary bread on hand; however, there is some consecrated bread here—provided the men have kept themselves from women.” David replied, “Indeed women have been kept from us, as usual whenever I set out. The men’s bodies are holy even on missions that are not holy. How much more so today!” So the priest gave him the consecrated bread, since there was no bread there except the bread of the Presence that had been removed from before the Lord and replaced by hot bread on the day it was taken away. Now one of Saul’s servants was there that day, detained before the Lord; he was Doeg the Edomite, Saul’s chief shepherd.

David asked Ahimelech, “Don’t you have a spear or a sword here? I haven’t brought my sword or any other weapon, because the king’s mission was urgent.” The priest replied, “The sword of Goliath the Philistine, whom you killed in the Valley of Elah, is here; it is wrapped in a cloth behind the ephod. If you want it, take it; there is no sword here but that one.” David said, “There is none like it; give it to me.”

(1 Sam. 21:1-9)

He’s despondent in the corner of the church where the others are gathered. His mouth is as dry as the desert, but his palms are clammy, even wet. He barely moves except for his chest which heaves while he tries to stifle the sobs that threaten to pour out of his heart. He feels very out of place, but where else can he go? He’d just violated every single belief that he cherished; hurt every person he ever loved; spent a night doing what he swore he’d never do. And now, on Sunday, he sits and stares blankly at the floor. He doesn’t speak and thinks to himself, “If these people only knew what I did; they have no idea.”

He could be a child beater, a wife cheater, an addict or even a thief. In fact, “he” could be a she: maybe single, pregnant and confused. He could be any number of people because it’s any number of people who come to God’s people in this condition – helpless and without hope.

A thousand questions race through his mind. How will the church react when they hear about the horrible things I did? I guess I shouldn’t expect much since I can barely believe it myself! Will I be criticized, or will they have compassion? I don’t think I could handle their rejection because now, more than ever, I just really need their acceptance” He needed a helping hand, not a bunch of raised eyebrows.

A helping hand is what David needed, too. He’s desperate; he’s on the lam; he’s a wanted man. He’s on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, and there’s a poster-sized glossy of his face in every post office in Israel. Saul’s got a contract out on his life and doesn’t particularly care who kills him. Whether the Wanted poster said “Wanted – Dead or Alive,” it was pretty clear that the outcome would end the same way – dead. So, David runs. He runs looking over his shoulder; he sleeps with one eye open; he eats at the table nearest the exit door which faces the window in a restaurant. He’s being stalked.

It’s been a blur for David. “Wasn’t it just two or three years ago that I was just minding my own business, tending my Dad’s sheep in Bethlehem?” Back then a big day for David was watching sheep sleep, working on his aim and strumming his guitar to a new tune he just wrote. And then along comes Samuel, this old guy with a mop of hair and some anointing oil. And as Samuel poured the oil over David’s head, God’s spirit poured over his soul.

Just like that, David went from serenading sheep to serenading Saul. The runt of Jesse’s litter, the youngest of eight boys, became the talk of the town. He was to Israel what King Arthur was to Camelot. David was handsome and humble. Enemies feared him. Michal, Saul’s daughter, married him. (Call her a trophy wife) Now, David’s father-in-law hates him with a deadly passion. So, after the sixth attempt on his life, David finally gets the point: “Apparently, Saul doesn’t like me very much.” So, with a price on his head and a posse on his trail, he kisses Michal and life in the court good-bye.

But where can he go? If he goes to Bethlehem, he jeopardizes the lives of his family. But if he runs into enemy territory, he risks his own. So, he chooses another hideout – church. He runs to Ahimelech, the great-grandson of Eli, who’s heading up a monastery of sorts in a city called Nob to seek sanctuary from Saul and his henchmen. David is desperate, scared and very hungry.

Now, it would be the understatement of a lifetime to suggest that David’s arrival didn’t cause much of a stir. Fact is, there was huge concern, maybe even panic in Nob, especially with Ahimelech. What in the world would bring a warrior like David to Nob? What does the son-in-law of the king want?

Desperate to get what he wants, however, David lies to the preacher. He tells him that he’s on a secret mission for the king and that he could really use some food for both himself and his men which is kind of a surprise because, at least up until this point, David had always taken the high road, told the truth and protected the king. A regular Mr. Clean. He stayed calm when his brother snapped; he remained strong when Goliath roared; he kept his cool when Saul lost his. But now? He lies like a rug, and he does it blatantly and very convincingly. Let’s face it – David’s not on some secret, royal business for the king. He’s a fugitive.

Now, Ahimelech doesn’t question David because, well, he didn’t have a reason to doubt the renegade. There’s just one problem, however: Ahimelech doesn’t have any resources to help him out. Oh, the priest had some bread alright, but it wasn’t just any kind of bread; it’s not like he had some spare loaf of Wonderbread in the back of the pantry. What’s Ahimelech to do? Give David the bread and violate the law? Or, keep the bread and ignore David’s hunger? So, Ahimelech looks for a loophole: “I don’t have any regular bread on hand. I only have holy bread. If your men have not slept with women recently, it’s yours.”

Ahimelech probably wondered if he’d done the right thing. Did he break the law? Well, yes. Did he obey a higher law? I guess that’s what he figured. He decided the hungry stomach was a higher call. So, rather than dot the “i” of God’s code, he met the need of God’s child. But now, even though David’s gotten the food thing squared away, he’s still desperate. Next on his “to-do” list? Get a weapon. David’s faith is really in quicksand now. Isn’t it funny how, not that long ago, his shepherd’s sling was all he needed against Goliath. Now, the same guy who refused both the armor and sword of Saul to defend himself against the giant requests a weapon from a priest no less. (Like priests are always packing) What’s happened to David?

Simple. He’s lost his God-focus.

Saul’s on the big screen of David’s imagination now, not God. As a result, desperation has set in. You know the kind, don’t you? That lie-spawning, fear-stirring, truth-shading kind of desperation? There’s no place to hide. There’s no food to eat. There’s no going back and, worse yet, there’s no resources except stale bread. Making matters worse, the only weapon in the monastery is a relic: Goliath’s sword. Interesting. The same steel that David had used to guillotine the head of the giant is now an artifact in the church basement.

Ever felt like a David? Teenaged and pregnant; middle-aged and broke; old-aged and sick. So, where can the desperate go? They can go to God’s sanctuary. God’s church. They can look for an Ahimelech, a person, or people, in a church that have a heart for desperate souls.

Bread and a sword. Food and equipment. The church exists to provide both. Does the church always succeed? No, not always. People-helping is not exactly a tidy business because people who need help don’t lead neat, tidy, little lives. They enter the church as fugitives, seeking shelter from angry Sauls in some cases, and bad decisions in others. The Ahimelechs of the church (leaders, teachers, members, etc.) are forced to choose not so much between black and white, but between shades of gray. The choice is not between right and wrong, but degrees of both. David stumbles in the story, but desperate people always do. At least David stumbles into the right place – where God meets and ministers to hopeless, helpless hearts.

Remember the guy sitting in church as we began this study? Did I mention the size of the church? It was pretty small – a dozen or so souls clustered together for strength. And did I tell you where they were meeting? It was a borrowed upstairs room in Jerusalem. And the date? The Sunday after Friday’s crucifixion. The Sunday after Thursday night’s betrayal.

Can’t you just see him there? Peter cowering in the corner and covering his ears. But as hard as he tries, he can’t silence the sound of his empty promise to Jesus that keeps echoing in his head: “I’d die for you!” (Luke 22:23) Yeah, for all his bluff and bluster, his courage melted in fear while he warmed himself by a midnight fire. And now he and the other runaways wonder what place God has for them. And then Jesus answers the question – by walking through the door.

Have you ever been there? Seeing yourself in desperate circumstances and lying to avoid any number of Sauls in your life who want to destroy you? Ever seen yourself in hopeless circumstances because of a lifetime of dumb decisions? Jesus brought bread for their souls – “Peace be with you.” (John 20:19) And, He brought a sword for the struggle – “Receive the Holy Spirit.” (John 20:22)

Jesus equipped them with bread and a sword. He gives both to the desperate. Still.

Grace,

Randy

Blinded

Blinded

As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

After saying this, he spat on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. “Go,” he told him, “wash in the Pool of Siloam” (this word means “Sent”). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.

His neighbors and those who had formerly seen him begging asked, “Isn’t this the same man who used to sit and beg?” Some claimed that he was. Others said, “No, he only looks like him.” But he himself insisted, “I am the man.” “How then were your eyes opened?” they asked.

He replied, “The man they call Jesus made some mud and put it on my eyes. He told me to go to Siloam and wash. So I went and washed, and then I could see.” “Where is this man?” they asked him. “I don’t know,” he said. (John 9:1-12)

About the only thing a blind man could do in those days was beg for a living. But the disciples didn’t look at the blind man so much as an object of mercy, but as a subject for theological debate. (It’s so much easier to talk about sin in the abstract, isn’t it?) Because the disciples were sure that the man's congenital blindness was caused by sin – either his own or his parents'. Jesus disagreed. Oh, there’s no doubt that both the man and his parents had, at some time, committed sin, but Jesus didn’t see their sin as the cause of the man’s blindness.

But the ensuing miracle led to a big problem: identification. Was this really the blind guy, and if so, who made him see? First the neighbors asked the man how he was healed, and then the Pharisees asked him. Not satisfied with his answer, the Pharisees then asked the man's parents, and then gave the son one final interrogation. But when you really think about it, they were really asking the wrong question, weren’t they? Because instead of asking “How,” shouldn’t they have been asking “Who?” (A simply rearranging of the letters)

When asked to describe his experience, the man simply told his questioners what had happened: all he knew was that the man who caused him to see was called “Jesus," (because he hadn’t actually seen him), and he didn’t know where he went. (For the same reason) In other words, the man had been healed, but he hadn’t been saved.

Now, since the Pharisees were the FBI of the faith, it was appropriate that the healed man be brought to them for questioning. The fact that they studied this miracle in such detail, however, is only further proof that Jesus actually healed the guy. But working on the Sabbath was illegal. Therefore, anybody who broke the Sabbath couldn’t possibly be a true prophet of God – even though this man had been cured of his congenital blindness.

But the beggar wasn’t intimidated by the Pharisees’ threats because when he was asked who he thought Jesus was, the man said, "He’s a prophet!" Of course, the religious leaders didn’t want to see Jesus given that kind of high designation. So, they had to come up with an explanation. And the explanation they chose? Obviously, Jesus had "switched" beggars.

Now, if you’re the FBI, you’ve got to get some evidence of the big “switcharoo.” And the best way to get that kind of evidence would be to interrogate the parents of the beggar. Hey, they should know, right? So they called them in and asked them two questions: "Is this your son?" and, if so, “How does he now see?" Well, the first one was a no-brainer, but that second one was a little tricky. So, they passed the buck and suggested that the inquisitors ask the boy himself because he was of age. (Talk about getting thrown under the bus!)

Anxious to settle the investigation, the Pharisees called him in, but this time put him under oath. The problem, however, is that the court was prejudiced from the start since they started the questioning with "We know that this Man is a sinner!" In other words, “You’d better cooperate; otherwise we’ll kick you out of church.” But the beggar didn’t flinch. He’d experienced a miracle, and wasn’t about to debate Jesus’ character. And for the fourth time, he’s asked again, "How did He open your eyes?"

By this time, the man’s lost his patience. I mean, he’s been blind all of his life and there’s so much to see. He certainly didn’t want to spend a lot of time in a courtroom looking at the faces of twelve angry men. But the Pharisees were cautious men who considered themselves conservatives, when in reality they were more like preservatives. At least a conservative takes the best of the past and uses it; a preservative simply pickles it.

It seemed incredible to the healed man that the Pharisees didn’t know who the man was that had opened his eyes. I mean, how many people were going around Jerusalem opening the eyes of blind people? But instead of investigating the miracle worker, they were investigating the miracle. So, the beggar gave the experts a lesson in practical theology: if Jesus healed a man born blind (which had never happened before), how could Jesus be a sinner? But religious bigots don’t want to face either evidence or logic, so they accuse the witness of being born in sin, and then excommunicate him from the local synagogue. So much for seeking the truth.

The good news is that The Good Shepherd always cares for his sheep, and he knew that the man had been excommunicated. So, he went out searching for the man, and then having found him revealed himself to him. And that’s when the real miracle happened. You see, it’s not enough to believe that he was "a man called Jesus," or even "a prophet," or "a man of God." Once Jesus identified himself as the Son of God, the beggar believed and was saved. (John 9:38) And then Jesus turns to give the Pharisees a little lesson on spiritual blindness.

You know, the same sun that brings the beauty out of a seed also exposes the vermin under the rock. The religious leaders were blind and wouldn’t admit it, and the light of the truth had only made them blinder. “In them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah: ‘You will be ever hearing but never understanding; you will be ever seeing but never perceiving. For this people’s heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them.’” (Matt. 13:14-15)

Stung by the prophet’s words, the listening Pharisees ask, "Are we blind also?" fully expecting Jesus to say, “No.” But Jesus had already called them "blind leaders of the blind," (Matt 15:14) so they already had their answer. You see, they were blinded by their pride, their self-righteousness, their tradition and their false interpretation of the Word of God.

And Jesus’ reply to these smart guys was a paradox of epic proportion. "If you were blind, you would be better off. But you claim to see. Therefore, you are guilty!" (John 9:40-41) In other words, blindness would at least be an excuse for not knowing what was going on. But they knew what was going on because Jesus had performed so many miracles in their presence. However, the religious leaders simply ignored the evidence so that they could come up with a results-oriented decision that fit their theology.

In contrast, the beggar was both physically and spiritually blind, yet both his eyes and his heart were opened. Why? Because he listened to the Word, believed it, obeyed it, and experienced the grace of God. The Pharisees, on the other hand, had good physical vision, but they were blind spiritually. Had they listened to the Word and sincerely considered the evidence, they too would have believed on Jesus Christ and been born again.

So, in what sense did the Pharisees actually see? Well, they saw the change in the blind beggar and couldn’t deny that he’d been healed. Even Nicodemus, one of their own, was impressed with the Lord's miracles. (John 3:2) If they’d simply examined the evidence with honesty, they would have seen the truth clearly. "If anyone is willing to do God’s will, he will know the teaching….” (John 7:17) "Yet you refuse to come to me to receive this life.” (John 5:40)

You see, the real crux of the problem was that the religious know-it-alls couldn’t control Jesus. I mean, here’s God with skin on walking among His people, and the God police are upset because He doesn’t act the way they think He should act. They say, “This man can’t be of God. Look, he breaks the Sabbath, goes against our customs, has no respect for our authority and doesn’t even bother to recognize our vast knowledge of God! We know the scriptures, and our interpretations of them are the only true way to understand God. We know God, by golly, and this man is not from God!” In other words, they thought they had it all figured out, and had put God in the prison of their own understanding.

We should never become so tied down to our own beliefs that we are blind to see how God is working in the world today. The Spirit of God is alive and well, and He is all around us, whether we accept it or not. And whether we believe it or not, God is moving in our lives. So, who are we to tell Him what He should be doing? All we can do is stand back in awe and wonder at His magnificence.

We never meet this healed beggar again. And while being excommunicated from the synagogue was certainly a painful experience for him, he found in his fellowship with Jesus far more spiritual help and encouragement than he could have ever have found in his Jewish traditions, or even church for that matter. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m all for church. But Christ died for a relationship, not a religion. And if our “religion” blinds us to the person of Jesus, then, as the great Biblical commentator, Matthew Henry, so plainly stated, there are “(n)one so blind as those who will not see.”

So, let’s quit switching beggars because life’s not a shell game.

Grace,

Randy

Pictures

Pictures

        

     When Naomi saw that Ruth had her heart set on going with her, she gave in. And so the two of them traveled on together to Bethlehem.

     When they arrived in Bethlehem the whole town was soon buzzing: "Is this really our Naomi? And after all this time!"

     But she said, "Don't call me Naomi; call me Bitter. The Strong One has dealt me a bitter blow. I left here full of life, and God has brought me back with nothing but the clothes on my back. Why would you call me Naomi? God certainly doesn't. The Strong One ruined me."

     And so Naomi was back, and Ruth the foreigner with her, back from the country of Moab. They arrived in Bethlehem at the beginning of the barley harvest. (Ruth 1:18-22)

It was a small house, simple but adequate: one large room on a dusty street. Its red-tiled roof was one of many in this very poor neighborhood on the outskirts of a Brazilian village. And it was a comfortable home. Lupe and her daughter, Christina, had done what they could to add color to the gray walls and warmth to the hard dirt floor: an old calendar here, a faded photograph of a relative over there, a wooden crucifix. The furnishings were modest, too – a pallet on the other side of the room, a washbasin and a wood-burning stove.

Lupe’s husband had died when Christina was just a baby. The young mother, stubbornly refusing many opportunities to remarry, got a job and set out to raise her young daughter by herself. And now, fifteen years later, the worst years were over, or at least she thought. Though Lupe’s salary as a maid afforded few luxuries, it was a reliable job and paid well enough to provide for their food and clothing. And now Christina was old enough to get a job so she could help out.

Some said Christina got her independence from her mother, but she bristled at the traditional idea of marrying young, like her mother, and raising a family. Not that she couldn’t have had her pick of husbands, mind you. Her olive brown skin and big, brown eyes kept a steady stream of potential suitors at the door. And she had an infectious way of throwing her head back and filling the room with laughter. She also had that rare magic some women have that makes every man feel like a king just by being near them. But it was her high-spirited curiosity that made her keep all the men at arm’s length, at least for a time.

Christina spoke often of going to the “Big City.” She dreamed of trading in her dusty, grimy neighborhood for the exciting avenues and bright lights of city life. Of course, the thought of this absolutely terrified her mother, and Lupe was always quick to remind Christina of the harshness and brutality of big-city streets. “People don’t know you there. Jobs are scarce, and life is cruel. And besides, if you went there, what would you do for a living?”

Lupe knew exactly what Christina would do, or – worse yet – would have to do for a living. That’s why her heart broke when she awoke one morning to find her daughter’s empty bed. Lupe knew in an instant where her daughter had gone. She also knew what she had to do to find her. So, Lupe quickly threw some clothes in a bag, gathered up all of her money, and ran out of the house. On her way to the bus stop she entered a drugstore to get one last thing: pictures.

Lupe sat in the photograph booth, closed the curtain and spent all she could on pictures of herself. Then, with her purse full of small black-and-white photographs, she boarded the next bus to the “Big City” – Rio de Janeiro.

Lupe knew Christina had no way of earning money. She also knew that her daughter was too stubborn to give up on her dreams of big-city life. Lupe knew that when pride meets hunger, a human will do things that … well … were unthinkable before. Knowing this, Lupe began her search. Bars, hotels, nightclubs, any place with a reputation for street-walkers. She went to every last one of them. And at each place she left her picture. Pictures were taped on a bathroom mirror, or tacked to a hotel bulletin board, or even fastened to a corner phone booth. And on the back of each photo she wrote a note. It wasn’t long, however, before both her money and the pictures ran out, and Lupe had to go home. Weary and heartsick, Lupe put her head in her hands and quietly wept as the bus began its long journey back to the small village.

It was a few weeks later that young Christina descended the hotel stairs. Her face, once so young and full of life, was now tired and lifeless. Her brown eyes no longer danced with youth, but spoke of pain and fear. Her laughter, which once filled a room, was broken and empty. Her dream of big-city life had become a big-city nightmare, and her heart ached a thousand times over to trade those countless beds for her secure little pallet. Yet her small village was, in so many ways, all but a distant a memory.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Christina’s eyes noticed a familiar face. She looked again, and there on the lobby mirror was a small black-and-white picture of her mother. Christina’s eyes burned and her throat tightened as she walked across the room and removed the small photo. And written on the back of the picture was her mother’s note: “Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve become, it doesn’t matter. Please come home.” And, she did.

The story of Ruth is many things, but at its core it’s the story of a believer coming home. Naomi has been a long way from home, but even farther from God. Now we find Naomi coming home, coming back to God. In fact, you can almost hear Naomi saying, “What a waste of time! I followed my husband and my two sons to the desert on some wild goose-chase and look where it’s gotten me? They’re dead, and I’m alone. Terrific.”

But then, like a shaft of light coming through a cloud-strewn dawn, she thinks, “But I can go home. There’s certainly nothing keeping me here anymore. The promises of food and success have vaporized, just like my joy. And the dream of a life that I thought I would share forever with a husband and sons who loved me has died with them. Now I’m alone, but I can still go home. Yeah, I guess I’ll just turn around and go home. Lord, I’m coming home.”

Frankly, in Naomi, we see a somewhat disturbing example of failure. On the one hand, we see her bitter experiences of being far away from God. But on the other, we also see a wonderful example of forgiveness. We see in Naomi the blessings we can experience when we set our hearts for home. Ten years have passed since Naomi left Bethlehem-Judah with her husband and two sons. Now, a decade later, she’s coming home. But it’s a bittersweet homecoming. The home and family she had in Bethlehem are all but a distant memory. And she ponders her return to a place where she has nowhere to live, no place to work and no one to come home to. Oh, she has Ruth alright, but it’s still not the same. “I don’t know how I’ll survive, but any place is better than this God-forsaken Moab,” she cries.

A businessman was once asked by a newspaper reporter how he had become so successful. He replied simply, “Good decisions.” Curious, the reporter asked, “But how did you learn to make good decisions?” The businessman answered, “Experience.” (He was a man of few words) Not satisfied, the cub reporter zeroed in on his subject, “Well then, how did you get that experience?” “Bad decisions,” said the man. 

And let’s face it – Naomi made a bad decision when she left Bethlehem. But she wasn’t stuck. Instead, Naomi used her experience and bad decisions as a prompt to make a good decision – to go back home to the Bethlehem and God that she once knew. You see, Bethlehem was in the land of Judah, which means “praise,” and Bethlehem was the place where God was being glorified and honored. It was the place where God was being praised and exalted. Naomi was returning to that place where God’s presence was very real. Moab, she remembered, beckoned with promise, but it proved nothing more than a mirage when she arrived. Bethlehem, on the other hand, was a place where God’s presence was palpable.

Not that the famine, which drove Naomi away from God in the first place, did anything to make her feel God in a more personal way. But now, in the desert, God’s absence was overwhelming; a darkness so thick that you could cut it with a knife. A suffocating darkness. Naomi had to get back to that place where she could be in God’s presence once again, and experience, first-hand, God’s loving-kindness.

It’s kind of like when Jonah rebelled against God. Remember him? His experience was described as running “from the presence of the Lord.” (Jonah 1:3) When God called him north, Jonah went south, and then he jumped on a boat to get even farther away. A believer out of fellowship with God, like Naomi in Moab, or Jonah for that matter, can’t enjoy the presence of the Lord. But it’s not like God’s left the building, either.

Bethlehem literally means the “House of Bread,” and Naomi had heard through the grapevine that God had visited His people in Bethlehem and had given them bread. Naomi had to smile and shake her head as she remembered leaving the “House of Bread” for a different kind of bread, a “tastier” bread, a bread that did not satisfy and, eventually, disappeared altogether. Yes, Bethlehem was the place where God was meeting the needs of His people. It was the place where God was at work. It was the place of God’s provision. It was the place where Naomi knew she should be.

But it’s hard to come home, isn’t it? Oh, the coming home part is easy enough, but what will happen to me when I return? Worse yet, how angry is God going to be when He sees me? Just like a teenager, we’ve stayed out past curfew, broken the rules and thumbed our nose at authority. Now, Dad’s REALLY going to get me. Right? Wrong. You see, Satan has that argument down pat; he uses it all the time. You know the one, “You’re a loser; you had your chance; you’ve really screwed up this time and you’ll never see Him at work in your life, ever again.” Or, “You’ve got one chance in this life and boy did you blow it!” Thing is, Satan’s a liar. Truth is, Satan’s the father of lies! (John 8:44)

Naomi knew that Bethlehem was a place of God’s people. It was a place of kindred spirits and like-minded souls. In fact, you can probably think of someone that used to be in church and their seat was never empty; it was kind of like they owned the pew. You know, the one with the bronze nametag? But now, that same person, or maybe family, is not only out of fellowship with God, but out of the fellowship of God. Prove it to yourself. Next Sunday, look around and see if you can’t spot an empty pew once occupied by Mr. or Ms. Dependable, or the “Reliable family.”

When Naomi got home, the people who knew her were shocked to see her. “Is this our Naomi,” they said? Notice her answer: “Don’t call me Naomi; call me Bitter.” Naomi goes from “Mrs. Pleasant” to Mara, “Ms. Bitter.” In one word, Naomi testifies to the results and consequences of leaving God.

Jonah found out that you can run but you can’t hide. Actually, Jonah found out that you can’t run from God and you can’t hide from Him. And Naomi discovered that even when she left God, He didn’t leave her. Somewhere, somehow, God confronts the believer away from home. In fact, Naomi tells everyone who runs out to meet her how God had brought her back by breaking her down. God knows how to get our attention. He knows how to bring us back.

And isn’t it interesting that Naomi comes home during the spring? Coincidence, I guess. It was the time of the barley harvest, which is about the same time as Passover. A time of first fruits; a time for starting over; a time for forgiveness; a time when new life comes to bloom. And it can be springtime for you, too. You can come home. You’ve seen the picture, haven’t you? You know, the colored photos of God you see plastered all over the place? And you’ve even read your Father’s message on the back, haven’t you? Yeah, that one. The one that says, “Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve become, it doesn’t matter. Please come home.”

Chinese philosopher, Lao-tzu said, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” So, go ahead. Turn your heart toward home. Take that first step because God’s got your picture on His fridge.

Grace, 

Randy

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia

Six days later, three of them saw that glory. Jesus took Peter and the brothers, James and John, and led them up a high mountain. His appearance changed from the inside out, right before their eyes. Sunlight poured from his face. His clothes were filled with light. Then they realized that Moses and Elijah were also there in deep conversation with him.

Peter broke in, "Master, this is a great moment! What would you think if I built three memorials here on the mountain—one for you, one for Moses, one for Elijah?"

While he was going on like this, babbling, a light-radiant cloud enveloped them, and sounding from deep in the cloud a voice: "This is my Son, marked by my love, focus of my delight. Listen to him."

When the disciples heard it, they fell flat on their faces, scared to death. But Jesus came over and touched them. "Don't be afraid." When they opened their eyes and looked around all they saw was Jesus, only Jesus.  (Matt. 17:1-8)

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia: a fear of long words. It’s funny that the word describing the condition is longer than the description of the condition itself. And frankly, we fear a lot of stuff. We’re phobic. So much so that, sometimes, we just want a safe God, a tame God, a God that we can manage. The kind of God that we keep in the trunk of our car in case of a flat. We want a God that we can control. We want a God who will bless us and be there when we need Him, but not one who’ll make us feel uncomfortable when He asks us to walk on water. We want enough of God to make us feel warm and cozy, but not so much of Him that our hearts explode and our world turns upside down.

And it seems to boil down to this: the bigger God is to us, and the bigger God is in us, the bolder we become to take on the big assignments. A big understanding of God leads us to big expectations from Him. Of course, the opposite is true as well – a small working of God in us generally leads only to small things.

So, Jesus took three of his disciples and decided to unveil his Glory before them on a mountaintop. He was asking a lot of these guys, and would be asking a lot more of them in the future. Jesus needed the power at work within them to be glorious, to be big, to be powerful, to be holy, to be all-consuming, and to be so big that their fears would be erased.

Come to think of it, just about every man or woman in the Bible who was called to a special work of God had a special encounter with God to strengthen them for what was ahead. For instance, Moses had the burning bush from which he eventually walked away totally believing in the sovereign power of God. Isaiah had an encounter that made him lay down the rest of his existence for God’s purposes. And the three disciples? They were having an experience that would alter their perception of Jesus – forever.

And so for a moment, Jesus peeled back his skin, so to speak, to allow His Glory, His radiance, His majesty, His worth to be revealed. His face was like the sun, and His body like a penetrating light. And the limitations between heaven and earth, and between times past and times present? They were suddenly eliminated as Moses and Elijah appeared with Him. Jesus was taking these earthbound disciples and giving them a life-altering moment.

So, who’s your favorite Jesus? Or, what’s your favorite picture of Him? We all have a tendency to mold and shape Jesus into the way we want to see Him. Some people still use idols to do that, but for Christians? It seems that our preference is to mold Jesus into someone who’s comfortable.

So, I’m pretty sure that the transfiguration blew the disciple’s model of Jesus completely out of the water. And that’s why church can be a dangerous place, because our sweet, tender, affectionate Jesus might turn into the ferocious, holy, sin-hating, glorious King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

That’s what the Hebrew writer meant when he said; See to it that you do not refuse him who speaks. If they did not escape when they refused him who warned them on earth, how much less will we, if we turn away from him who warns us from heaven? Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our "God is a consuming fire." (Heb. 12:25-29)

A consuming fire that eats everything in its path. I’ve seen something like that before. In October, 2003, I was helping a neighbor cut a fire break behind his house during the Cedar fire in Ramona. (By the way, if you’re ever digging a firebreak, don’t wear tennis shoes – they don’t hold up very well.) Using a shovel against a fire that sounded like a freight train, and that traveled just as fast, was like shooting BB’s off an elephant; it wasn’t very effective. But as quickly as the fire came, the fire left – and my neighbor’s house, thanks be to God, was left intact.

Jesus is set apart, sacred, unique and special in everything. We call that “holy.” His forgiveness is more forgiving than any other forgiveness. His power is the most powerful – unique from any other power. His wrath is more dangerous – set apart as the most dangerous. His purity is the most pure – unique in its purity. His greatness is unfathomable and unchallenged. His armies are immeasurable and scarier than any other army. His wisdom is wiser than any other wisdom. His Word is truth – it never changes with time, and always stands as the final word. His judgments are impeccable – they cannot be argued or appealed. His love is unexplainable and all-encompassing.

In other words, what happened at the transfiguration was that the disciples saw His absolute “otherness” – there’s nothing like Jesus, not even close. He is so unlike us in all His ways. His holiness means absolute purity – never a wrong thought, never small and petty in His ways, never ill-will, never a desire that isn’t pure, never a hidden motive. On the mountain that day the disciples saw Jesus’ glory. All their small thoughts of Him had vanished. All their earthly comparisons to other great teachers? Evaporated.

In other words, Jesus jumped out of the disciples’ box that day.

But that’s scary and, frankly, a lot of fears can be pretty poisonous. But this kind of “fear” is different. The disciples were totally amazed on many occasions at what they saw Jesus do. But now? Now they were totally awestruck by who Jesus was. In other words, their “fear” was an awe, a respect, a value, an admiration for Him. Solomon wrote, “Fear of the Lord is the foundation of true knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and discipline.” (Proverbs 1:7) Translation? If we don’t have God in the right place in our lives, then we’re pretty much stupid. Foolish. If we don’t have an awe of God, a deep respect for Him, then no matter what else we know we’ve totally missed the boat.

The disciples were left speechless. They were so convicted of the smallness of their life, including the smallness of their faith (and maybe their “box,” too), that they buried their heads in their hands. Has that ever happened to you? Think back. When was the last time your knees buckled and you were left breathless because you glimpsed God’s glory? Here, the disciples were terrified and fell face down on the ground. And what was Jesus’ response? “Get up.” “Don’t be afraid.” Now that’s a BIG God.

In the elementary school I attended, there was this bully named Tommy. His face had been horribly scarred by an unfortunate accident, and he carried a huge chip on his shoulder.  Tommy was an intimidator and terrified us kids at school. I remember meeting him in the hallway sometimes and being afraid. One day, Tommy and I got into a fight. I can’t remember who or what started it, but we pretty much fought to a draw.  After that, Tommy and I became pretty good friends. And that’s when it happened – my moment of freedom; my transformation. My walk was different; my freedom was different; where I went was different; how I viewed Tommy was different; and how I viewed myself was different.

In some sense, and probably at one time or another, we’ve been the victims of identity theft. The ferocious, holy, glorious Jesus (God with skin on) that walks with us and never leaves our side has been stolen. And now? Now, we’re left with a puny, demanding, limp, fireless Jesus. So is it any wonder that we’re terrified about the economy, or by the doctor’s report, or the flashing red lights we see in our rear-view mirror?

Even though the disciples would fail again and again, they got enough courage from this one experience to change the world. They went to places that were way outside their comfort zone. They spoke in places, and to people, who would’ve crushed them as they boldly proclaimed the risen Lord. They went through persecution and threats, and even met the devil along the way.

But there was someone with them who said that He would never leave them. Ever. And it transformed their lives. And, that’s nothing new, really. Moses met God and took on Egypt. David met God and took on Goliath. Daniel met God and took on an entire political system, including lions. And Paul met Jesus and took on the Roman Empire.

So, how big is your box? Or, are you just kakorrhaphiophobic? (afraid to fail)

Grace,

Randy