Judgment

Judgment

If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land. (2 Chronicles 7:14)

Big Government scooping up meta-data in quantities and in ways which we’ve been completely unaware; where the whistleblower is either a patriot or a traitor, depending upon your viewpoint and, perhaps, where he eventually finds asylum. Or, the IRS singling out religious groups and individuals, and others who had the name “tea party,” or “patriot” included in their 501(c)(4) application. Or, Benghazi – where talking points were so carefully crafted that it reduced facts to fingering an amateur filmmaker for the deaths of American citizens. Or, seizing the records of an investigative reporter on the sworn statement of a politico that the reporter was a “criminal co-conspirator” as justification for a records grab that included the records of the reporter’s parents. And all of us Christians wring our hands and cry out, “See? America is going to hell in a hand basket! Those heathens better start praying and seeking God and turning from their wicked ways and then maybe God will forgive their sins and heal our land.” Really? “Their” sins? “Our” land?

The 2 Chronicles text is what God told Solomon the night after he had consecrated the newly-constructed temple. The corollary, however, was equally chilling: “But if you (referring to Solomon) turn away and forsake the decrees and commands I have given you …, then I will uproot Israel from my land … and will reject this temple I have consecrated for my Name. I will make it a byword and an object of ridicule among all peoples. This temple will become a heap of rubble.” (2 Chron. 7:19-21) But why would God do such a thing? Well, God doesn’t leave us uninformed. “People will answer, ‘Because they have forsaken the Lord, the God of their ancestors, who brought them out of Egypt, and have embraced other gods, worshiping and serving them — that is why he brought all this disaster on them.’” (Vs. 22)

What if it were you, living there at that time and walking in their sandals? What if it were you who heard the voice of the prophets and knew that certain judgment was coming, and that everyone around you was oblivious to it? That everyone simply went on with their lives with absolutely no idea of what was coming. What would you do? Maybe you’d want them to know. Maybe you’d want them to be saved, so maybe you’d tell them. But, frankly, who’d listen to you? Who’d take your warning seriously? Better yet, what about your own predicament? A nation’s heading for judgment, but you’re part of that nation. So, how do you save yourself? Where will you go to find safety? Outside the country? Judgment isn’t a matter of geography, you know. It doesn’t matter where you are. No place is far enough away.

We live in such a time and place, and we’ve heard the voice of the prophets. So the question isn’t hypothetical. It’s not even, “What would you do?” It’s, “What will you do? What will you do on the day of your judgment? What if you were one of them, back then, and your life ended before the nation’s judgment came? What then? Would you have escaped judgment? No. Judgment isn’t ultimately about nations; it’s about people. The Hebrew writer said as much: “Just as people are destined to die once, and after that to face the judgment.” (Heb. 9:27)  No one is exempt.

As long as there’s evil, there has to be judgment. Every sin, every wrong, every evil has to be brought to an end. Without it, there’d be no hope because heaven would then be filled with locks and prisons, hatred, violence, fear and destruction. Heaven would cease to be heaven. There must be judgment, because evil must end beyond which is then heaven. In other words, if evil entered heaven, heaven would cease to be heaven because it would have evil in it. And who are the evil? Killers; human trafficker’s; pedophiles, and the like. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of “evil” categories. But of the categories mentioned, do any of you fit into one of them? Probably not. But remember, “All the ways of a man are right in his own eyes.” (Proverbs 16:2) That’s just human nature, and we have to beware of the good Nazi. A good Nazi? Seriously? Isn’t that an oxymoron?

The Nazi’s sent millions to their death out of pure hatred and evil. In fact, can you think of a people more evil than that? And yet, do you think they saw themselves as evil? Probably not. And why? Because they compared themselves and measured themselves by the standards they themselves had created. Each, in his own eyes, was a good Nazi, a moral Nazi, a decent Nazi, a religious Nazi, and a Nazi no worse than the next Nazi. In other words, by seeing themselves in their own eyes, they became blind to the truth of what they’d become. And, ultimately, their judgment would come in the form of destruction, and their sins would be exposed to the world. Granted, there may be a big difference between Nazis and most people, but the principle is still the same. You can never judge yourself by your own standards and by your own righteousness, but only in light of God’s righteousness.

So, how do you hold up in the light of His righteousness? Put differently, which do you think is greater – the moral distance that separates us from Hitler, or the moral distance that separates us from God? Right – the distance that separates us from God. Because the first separation is finite; the second is infinite. So, what we see as the slightest of sins within ourselves appears, in the eyes of God who is absolute goodness, even more abhorrently evil than the crimes the Nazis committed appears to us. In the light of the absolute God, hatred becomes murder (Matt. 5:22), and lust becomes adultery. (Vs. 28)

So, who then can stand? Who can make it to heaven? Well, no one can stand, and no one can make it to heaven on their own, because how far would just one sin take you away from the infinite righteousness of God? It would take you an infinite distance away. So then, how far are we away from heaven? Right – an infinite distance. And how great is the judgment? Infinitely great. And how long would it take us to bridge the gap, to be reconciled to God, to enter heaven? An infinity of time. In a word, eternity. So we could never get there on our own, and to be infinitely separated from God and heaven is … well, it’s hell. The infinite separation from God and from all things good, total, infinite and eternal.

Since the soul is eternal, one way or another, at the end of a thousand ages, we’ll still exist. The question is, “Where?” And if the joy and glory of being in God’s presence in heaven is beyond our imagining, so then, too, is the darkness and horror of being in His absence … forever. Which leaves our predicament even more grave than that of a nation in the hour of judgment. The prospect of entering eternity without God, on the wrong side of an infinite judgment, is far graver than the judgment of any nation – infinitely more so. Nations are temporary; but the soul is eternal.

Let me put it this way. If you have an infinite gap and an infinite problem, what do you need? An infinite solution. Which means that the answer cannot come from yourself, or from this world. It can only come from the Infinite, from heaven … from God. Which means that any given answer, any given ideology, or any given system based on the efforts of man is ruled out which therefore rules out every answer; every answer based on man trying to reach God by reaching upward to heaven with his hand, so to speak. The answer can only come the other way ‘round – from the Infinite to the finite, from heaven to earth … from God to man. A hand reaching down from heaven. And what alone could answer an infinite judgment? The infinite mercy of an infinite love. And what alone could fill an infinite absence? An infinite presence: the infinite presence of the Infinite love.

You see, it’s not about religion. It’s about love. The overcoming of the infinite judgment by the infinite love of God. God is love. And what is the nature of love? To give. To give of itself. To put itself in the place of another even if it means that by doing so it sacrifices itself. So, if God is love, then what would the ultimate manifestation of His love be? The giving of Himself. God giving Himself to bear the judgment of those under judgment if, by so doing, it would save them. Love puts itself in the place of the other. So then the ultimate manifestation of love would be God putting himself in our place – in our life, in our death, in our judgment, in our eternity.

Jesus – the infinite sacrifice. The infinite sacrifice to bear an infinite judgment, in which all sins are nullified and all who partake are set free, forgiven and saved. An infinite redemption in which judgment and death are overcome and a new life is given, a new beginning, a new birth. The love of God is greater than judgment. There is no sin so deep that his love isn’t deeper. No life so hopeless, no soul so far away, and no darkness so dark that his love isn’t greater still.

Being religious has nothing to do with it. There’s no religion in heaven, only love; it’s the heart. And you couldn’t have been born into it to begin with, only born again into it. In fact, Jesus told one of the religious wise guys of his day that, “No one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again.” (John 3:3) But it can’t happen without you choosing it.

In the day of judgment, there’s no safe ground, no salvation, except in Him who is Salvation. And His name? Jesus. Actually, Yeshua, which in Hebrew means “God is Salvation,” or “God is Deliverance,” “Protection,” “Rescue,” “Freedom,” “Refuge” and “Safety.” And how does that happen? By receiving, by letting go, by letting the old life end and the new one begin. By choosing, by opening your heart to receive that which is beyond containing – the presence, the mercy, the forgiveness, the cleansing, the unending love of God. Which means accepting the gift, freely given and freely received, and yet so great a gift that you treasure it above life itself – so great a gift that it changes everything else. And the gift? Well, if God is love, and love is a gift, then the Giver and the Gift are the same. Salvation comes in the giving of his life and is complete in the receiving of his life. Here’s what I mean.

Think of a bride and bridegroom. The bridegroom gives everything he has for the bride, even his life. The bride does likewise. He calls her, and if she says yes, everything he has becomes hers, and everything she has becomes his. Her burdens become his burdens, her sins become his sins. He becomes her’s, and she becomes his. She leaves her old life behind for a new one with her husband. Wherever he goes, she goes with him, and wherever she dwells, he never leaves her. He loves her with all his being, as she loves him. The one lives for the other, and the other for the one. The two become as one. And although it’s a beautiful picture of an earthly marriage, Jesus used this same example in his ministry. And in his example, Jesus referred to the bridegroom as himself, and the bride as the one who receives him, collectively the church, his body, the ecclesia, the “called out.” Those who accept his offer; those who commit their lives for his purposes.

It’s a love story, and after all is said and done, that’s what it was always meant to be … a love story. An eternal marriage for which we were all born, and of which no one was to be left out, that no one would enter eternity alone. And it begins with the receiving, with the opening of one’s heart, with the turning away from darkness to light, with the giving of one’s self, the committing of one’s life – a vow, a prayer, a decision, an action, a total and unconditional yes.

And it takes place anywhere and any place. Alone, or with others. Wherever you are. It takes place anywhere, because it takes place in the heart. But it doesn’t take place at any time. It only takes place at one time. Now.

Now is the only time in which it can happen. Paul, in writing to the church in Corinth, said, “Now is the time of salvation.” (2 Cor. 6:2) Never tomorrow, only now. I suppose if we were talking about tomorrow it could still happen then. But only when then has become now, and tomorrow is today. But when that happens, where will you be?

And what if you choose not to choose, at least for now? Well, then you’ve chosen already. If you don’t choose to be saved, then you’ve chosen not to be saved. Your life and your eternity … it all rests on one heartbeat. So then, what will you do on the day of judgment? In the end, that’s really the only question. And no one knows when that day will come. The only thing you can be sure of is that it will come, and the only time you can be sure of is now. Now is all you have. And now is the time of salvation.

It’s a big decision. But it’s too big a decision not to make. And you don’t have to see to believe. In God’s economy, it’s just the opposite: believing is seeing. Seeing the meaning, the purpose of your life, the reason you were born. It’s the only way you’ll ever find it. Only in him who gave you life, can you truly find its meaning.

Grace,

Randy

Kingdom

Kingdom

The disciples of John the Baptist told John about everything Jesus was doing. So John called for two of his disciples, and he sent them to the Lord to ask him, “Are you the Messiah we’ve been expecting, or should we keep looking for someone else?”

John’s two disciples found Jesus and said to him, “John the Baptist sent us to ask, ‘Are you the Messiah we’ve been expecting, or should we keep looking for someone else?’”

At that very time, Jesus cured many people of their diseases, illnesses, and evil spirits, and he restored sight to many who were blind. Then he told John’s disciples, “Go back to John and tell him what you have seen and heard — the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the Good News is being preached to the poor. And tell him, ‘God blesses those who do not turn away because of me.’ (Luke 7:18-23)

No one was more shunned by their culture than the blind, the lame, the lepers and the deaf. They had no place to live. No name. No value. They were like canker sores on the culture. Or, like excess baggage thrown to the side of the road. But rather than calling them trash, Jesus called them treasures.

In our hall closet hangs a sweater that I never wear. It’s too small. The sleeves are too short, the shoulders too tight, and the thread is a little frazzled. I should probably just give that sweater away. I have no personal use for it. Logic says I should clear out the space and get rid of the sweater. That’s what logic says. But love won’t let me.

There’s just something unique about that sweater makes me keep it. What’s so unusual about it? Well, for one thing, it has no label. Nowhere on the garment will you find a tag that reads, “Made in Taiwan,” or “Wash in Cold Water.” It has no tag because it wasn’t made in a factory. It has no label because it wasn’t produced on some mass assembly line. It isn’t the product of some nameless, big company employee simply trying to make a living. And though the sweater has lost its use, it hasn’t lost its value. It’s valuable not because of its function, but because of its owner – my dad’s letterman sweater.

It reminds me of what the psalmist had in mind when he wrote, “you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” (Psalm 139:13)

Think on those words for a minute. You were knitted together. You aren’t an accident. You weren’t mass-produced. You aren’t an assembly-line product. You were deliberately planned, specifically gifted and lovingly positioned on this earth by the Master Craftsman.

“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10)

In a society that has little room for second fiddles, that’s really good news. In a culture where the door of opportunity opens only once and then slams shut, that’s a revelation. In a system that ranks the value of a human being by his salary, or the shape of her legs . . . . Let me tell you something: Jesus’ plan is a reason for joy!

Jesus told John that a new kingdom was coming — a kingdom where people have value not because of what they do, but because of whose they are.

The year 1899 marked the deaths of two very well-known men — Dwight L. Moody, the acclaimed evangelist, and Robert Ingersoll, a very famous lawyer, orator and political leader.

The two men had many similarities. Both were raised in Christian homes. Both were skilled orators. Both traveled extensively and were widely respected. Both drew immense crowds when they spoke, and each attracted loyal followings. But there was one striking difference between them — their view of God.

Ingersoll was an agnostic and a follower of naturalism; he had no belief in the eternal, but stressed the importance of living only in the here and now. Ingersoll made light of the Bible, stating that “free thought will give us truth.” To him the Bible was “a fable, an obscenity, a humbug, a sham and a lie.” He was a bold spokesman against the Christian faith. He claimed that a Christian “creed [was] the ignorant past bullying the enlightened present.”

Ingersoll’s contemporary, Dwight L. Moody, on the other hand, had different convictions. He dedicated his life to presenting a resurrected King to a dying people. He embraced the Bible as the hope for humanity, and the cross as the turning point of history. He left behind a legacy of written and spoken words, institutions of education, churches and changed lives.

Two men. Both powerful speakers. Both influential leaders. One rejected God; the other embraced him. And, perhaps, the impact of their decisions is seen most clearly in the way they died. Read how one biographer paralleled the two deaths:

Ingersoll died suddenly. The news of his death stunned his family. His body was kept at home for several days because his wife was reluctant to part with it. It was eventually removed for the sake of the family’s health.

Ingersoll’s remains were cremated, and the public response to his passing was a yawn. For a man who put all of his hopes on this world, death was tragic and came without the consolation of any hope at all.

Moody’s legacy was different. On December 22, 1899, Moody woke up to his last winter dawn. Having weakened substantially during the night, he began to speak in slow, measured words: “Earth recedes, heaven opens before me!” His son Will, who was nearby, hurried across the room to his father’s side, thinking his dad was hallucinating.

“Father, you’re dreaming,” he said. “No. This is no dream, Will,” Moody said, “It is beautiful. It is like a trance. If this is death, it is sweet. God is calling me, and I must go. Don’t call me back.” At that point, the family gathered around, and moments later the great evangelist died. It was his coronation day — a day he had looked forward to for many years. He was with his Lord.

The funeral service of Dwight L. Moody reflected that same confidence. There was no despair. Loved ones gathered to sing praise to God at a triumphant home-going service. Many remembered the words the evangelist had spoken earlier that year in New York City: “Someday you will read in the papers that Moody is dead. Don’t you believe a word of it. At that moment I shall be more alive than I am now . . . . I was born of the flesh in 1837; I was born of the Spirit in 1855. That which is born of the flesh may die. That which is born of the Spirit shall live forever.”

Jesus looked into the eyes of John’s followers and gave them this message: “Go back to John and tell him . . . the dead are raised to life.” Jesus wasn’t oblivious to John’s imprisonment. He wasn’t blind to John’s captivity. But he was dealing with a greater dungeon than Herod’s; he was dealing with the dungeon of death.

But Jesus wasn’t through. He passed along one other message to clear the cloud of doubt from John’s heart: “The good news is being preached to the poor.”

Many years ago, long before 9/11, I was late to catch a plane out of Portland. I wasn’t terribly late, but I was late enough to be bumped and they’d apparently given my seat to a stand-by passenger. When the ticket agent told me that I would have to miss the flight, I went lawyer on her and gave her a very compelling final argument.

“But the flight hasn’t left yet, right?” “Yes, but you got here too late.” “I got here before the plane left. So, is that too late?” “The regulation says you must arrive ten minutes before the flight is scheduled to depart, and that was two minutes ago.” “But, ma’am,” I pleaded, “I’ve got to get back to San Diego.” She was patient, but firm. “I’m sorry, sir, but the rules say passengers must be at the gate ten minutes before the scheduled departure time.” “I know what the rules say,” I explained. “but I’m not asking for justice; I’m just asking for a little mercy.”

She didn’t give it to me, and I had to take the next flight home.

But God does. Even though by the “book” I’m guilty, by God’s love I get another chance. Even though by the law I’m indicted, by mercy I’m given a fresh start. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith … not by works, so that no one can boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9)

No other world religion offers such a message. All other religions demand the right performance, the right sacrifice, the right chant, the right ritual, the right séance or the right experience. Theirs is a kingdom of trade-offs and bartering. You do this, and God will give you that. The result? Either arrogance or fear. Arrogance if you think you’ve achieved it; fear if you think you haven’t.

Christ’s kingdom is just the opposite. It’s a kingdom for the poor. A kingdom where membership is granted, not purchased. You are placed into God’s kingdom. You are “adopted.” And this occurs not when you do enough, but when you admit that you can’t do enough. You don’t earn it; you simply accept it. And the result? You serve, not out of arrogance or fear, but out of gratitude.

Some time ago I read a story of a woman who for years was married to a very harsh husband, and that’s putting it nicely. Each day he would leave her a list of chores to complete before he got home from work. “Clean the yard. Stack the firewood. Wash the windows,” etc. And if she didn’t complete the tasks before her husband got home, she would be met with his explosive anger. And even when she did complete the list, he was never satisfied; he would always find inadequacies in her work. Always.

After several years, her husband died. Time passed and she later remarried, but this time to a man who lavished her with tenderness and adoration. One day, while going through a box of old papers, the wife discovered one of her first husband’s dreaded lists. And as she read the sheet, a realization caused a tear of joy to splash onto the list. “I’m still doing all of these things, but no one has to tell me. I do them because I love him.”

That’s the unique characteristic of God’s kingdom. Its subjects don’t work in order to go to heaven; they work because they’re going to heaven. Arrogance and fear are replaced with gratitude and joy.

But before we can pray, “Lord, thy kingdom come,” we must be willing to pray, “My kingdom go.” And that’s important because if we haven’t chosen the kingdom of God first, it will make no difference what we’ve chosen instead.

Grace,

Randy

Dads

Dad

This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about. His mother Mary was engaged to marry Joseph, but before they married, she learned she was pregnant by the power of the Holy Spirit. Because Mary’s husband, Joseph, was a good man, he did not want to disgrace her in public, so he planned to divorce her secretly.

While Joseph thought about these things, an angel of the Lord came to him in a dream. The angel said, “Joseph, descendant of David, don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife, because the baby in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.”

All this happened to bring about what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will be pregnant. She will have a son, and they will name him Immanuel,” which means “God is with us.”

When Joseph woke up, he did what the Lord’s angel had told him to do. Joseph took Mary as his wife, but he did not have sexual relations with her until she gave birth to the son. And Joseph named him Jesus. {Matt. 1:18–25}

The white space in between Bible verses is fertile soil for all sorts of questions. You can hardly read Scripture without muttering, “I wonder ….” “I wonder if Eve ever ate any more fruit.” “I wonder if Noah slept well during storms.” “I wonder if Jonah liked fish, or if Jeremiah had any friends”? “Did Moses avoid bushes? Did Jesus tell jokes? Did Peter ever try water-walking again?”

The Bible is like a fence full of knotholes through which we can peek but never really see the whole picture on the other side. Or, it’s like a scrapbook of snapshots that capture people encountering God, but not always picturing the result. So we’re left to wonder: when the woman caught in adultery went home, what did she say to her husband? After the devil-possessed man was delivered, what did he do for a living? And after Lazarus had been raised from the dead, did he have any regrets?

Knotholes. Snapshots. “I wonders.” You’ll find them in almost every chapter of the Bible. But nothing, in my opinion, stirs so many questions as the birth of Jesus. Characters in that drama appear and then simply disappear before we can ask them anything. For instance, the innkeeper too busy to welcome God – did he ever learn who he turned away? Or the shepherds in the field – did they ever hum the song the angels sang? And the wise men who followed the star – what was it like to worship a toddler?

And then there’s Joseph. Especially Joseph. I’ve got a few questions for him, too. Like “Did you and Jesus arm wrestle?” “Did he let you win?” “Did you ever look up from your prayers and see Jesus listening?” “How do you say ‘Jesus’ in Egyptian?” “What ever happened to the wise men?” Better yet, “What ever happened to you?”

The truth is we don’t know what happened to Joseph. His role seems so crucial that we just expect to see him throughout the rest of the drama. But with the exception of a short scene with his twelve-year-old in the temple in Jerusalem, he never reappears. The rest of his life is left to speculation, and we’re left with our questions. And of all my questions, my first would be about Bethlehem. I’d like to know about that night in the stable.

I can just picture Joseph. Moonlit pastures. Stars twinkling overhead. Bethlehem sparkling in the distance. And there he is, pacing outside the stable. What was he thinking while Jesus was being born? What was on his mind while Mary was giving birth? He’d done all he could do – heated the water, prepared a place for Mary to lie down. He’d probably made Mary as comfortable as she could be in a barn and then he stepped out.

And in that eternity between his wife’s dismissal and Jesus’ arrival, what was he thinking? He walked out into the night and looked into the stars. Do you think he prayed? Frankly, I don’t see him being exactly silent; I see Joseph being animated, pacing. I mean this is his first experience with childbirth. So, maybe he’s shaking his head one minute, and his fist the next because this isn’t what he had in mind.

“This isn’t the way I planned it, God. Not at all. My child being born in a stable? Really? This isn’t the way I thought it would be. A cave with sheep and donkeys, hay and straw? My wife giving birth with only the stars to hear her pain? This isn’t at all what I imagined. No, I imagined family. I imagined grandmas. I imagined neighbors clustered outside the door and friends standing at my side. I imagined the house erupting with the first cry of the baby. Slaps on the back. Loud laughter. Jubilation. That’s how I thought it would be. You know, the midwife would hand me my child and all the people would applaud. Mary would rest and we would celebrate. All of Nazareth would celebrate for that matter.”

“But now? Just look. Nazareth’s five days’ journey from here. And here we are in a, in a … barn. So, who’s gonna celebrate with us? The sheep? The shepherds? The stars? Right. This doesn’t seem right. I mean, what kind of husband am I? I provide no midwife to help Mary. No bed to rest her aching back. And her pillow’s a blanket from my donkey. My house for her is a shed of hay and straw. The smell is bad, the animals are loud and I smell like a sheep herder.”

“Did I miss something? Did I, God? When you sent the angel and spoke of a son being born, this isn’t exactly what I had pictured. Frankly, I’d envisioned Jerusalem, the temple, the priests, and the people gathered to watch. Maybe even a pageant, perhaps. Who knows? A parade, maybe?”

“I mean, this is the promised Messiah! Or, if not born in Jerusalem, how ‘bout Nazareth? Wouldn’t Nazareth have been better? At least there I have my house and my business. But out here, what do I have? A tired mule, a stack of firewood, and a pot of warm water. Terrific. This is not the way I wanted it to be. This is not the way I wanted my son.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, God. I did it again, huh? I didn’t mean to do that; it’s just that I forget. I know, I know. He’s not my son, he’s yours. The child is yours. The plan is yours. The idea is yours. So, please forgive me, but is this how God enters the world? The coming of the angel? I get that. The questions people asked about the pregnancy? I put up with those. The trip to Bethlehem? Fine. But God, a birth in a stable? Seriously?”

“Any minute now Mary will give birth. Not to a child, but to the Messiah. Not to an infant, but to God. That’s what the angel said. That’s what Mary believes. And God, that’s what I want to believe. But surely you can understand; it’s not easy. It just so, so, so … bizarre. Now, don’t get me wrong, here. I’m just unaccustomed to strangeness, God, that’s all. I’m a carpenter for cryin’ out loud. I make things fit. I square off the edges; I follow the plumb line; I measure twice before I cut once. Surprises are not the friend of a builder. I like to know the plan. I like to see the plan before I begin. But this time I’m not the builder, am I? This time I’m simply a tool. A hammer in your grip, or a nail between your fingers. A chisel in your hands. This project is yours, not mine.”

“God, I guess it’s pretty foolish of me to question you. And please forgive my struggling. But trust doesn’t come easy to me, God. But then again, you never said it would be easy, did you? Oh, and one final thing, Father. The angel you sent? Any chance you could send another? If not an angel, maybe just another person? I don’t know anyone here and some company would be really nice right about now. Maybe the innkeeper or a traveler? At this point, even a shepherd would do.”

I wonder. Did Joseph ever pray such a prayer? Perhaps he did. Maybe he didn’t. But you probably have. You’ve stood where Joseph stood. Caught between what God says and what makes sense. You’ve done what he told you to do only to wonder if it was him speaking in the first place. You’ve stared into a sky blackened with doubt and you’ve asked what Joseph asked. You’ve asked if you’re still on the right road. You’ve asked if you were supposed to turn left when you turned right. And you’ve asked if there is a plan behind this scheme because things haven’t turned out like you thought they would.

Each of us knows what it’s like to search the night for light. Not outside a stable, perhaps, but maybe outside an emergency room, or on the gravel of a roadside, or on the manicured grass of a cemetery. We’ve asked our questions. We’ve even questioned God’s plan. And we’ve wondered why God does what he does. The truth is that the Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of a confused pilgrim. And if you’re asking what Joseph asked, then do what Joseph did. Obey. That’s what he did. Joseph obeyed. He obeyed when the angel called. He obeyed when Mary explained. He obeyed when God sent. He was obedient to God.

He was obedient when the sky was bright. He was obedient when the sky was dark. Joseph didn’t let his confusion disrupt his obedience. He didn’t know everything. But he did what he knew. He shut down his business, packed up his family and went to another country. Why? Because that’s what God said to do.

So, what about you? Just like Joseph, you can’t see the whole picture. But just like Joseph your task is to see that Jesus is brought into your part of your world. And just like Joseph you have a choice: you can obey or you can disobey. And because Joseph obeyed, God used him to change the world. So, the question is, “Can he do the same with you?”

God still looks for Josephs today. Men who believe that God is not through with this world. Common people who serve an uncommon God. Will you be that kind of man? Will you serve Him even when you don’t understand? The Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of an honest heart, nor will it be the last. And perhaps God didn’t answer every question for Joseph. But he answered the most important one: “Are you still with me, God?” And through the first cries of the God-child the answer came, “Yes, Joseph. I’m with you.”

There are many questions about the Bible and its characters that we won’t be able to answer until we get home. Hundreds of knotholes; thousands of snapshots. And many times we’ll muse, “I wonder ….” But in our wonderings, there are some questions we never need to ask. For instance, “Does God care?” “Do we matter to God?” “Does he still love his children?” Through the small face of the stable-born baby, God says “Yes.” Yes, your sins are forgiven. Yes, your name is written in heaven. Yes, death has been defeated. And yes, God has entered your world. Immanuel. God with us.

Will you be a Joseph? A carpenter who loved and obeyed God, even without a set of blueprints? Can you be a Joseph to your children who come without any instructions? Can you trust and then obey? There’s really no other way. Solomon summed it all up when he said, “Fear God and obey his commandments for this is the whole duty of man.” (Eccl. 12:13) Modeling that truth is the greatest gift a father could ever give his children.

Just ask Jesus.

Happy Father’s Day,

 Randy