Tepid

Tepid

You should be looking at yourselves to make sure that you are really Christ’s. It is yourselves that you should be testing, not me. You ought to know by this time that Christ is in you, unless you are not real Christians at all. And when you have applied your test, I am confident that you will soon find that I myself am a genuine Christian. I pray God that you may find the right answer to your test, not because I have any need of your approval, but because I earnestly want you to find the right answer, even if that should make me no real Christian. For, after all, we can make no progress against the truth; we can only work for the truth. (2 Corinthians 13:5-8)

We worship an incalculable, faultless and eternal God who loves us unconditionally. And even though we could die at any moment, and generally think our lives are pretty sweet compared to loving God, he persists in loving us despite ourselves. And our response to that kind of love should be like the man in one of Jesus’ parables: The kingdom of Heaven is like some treasure which has been buried in a field. A man finds it and buries it again, and goes off overjoyed to sell all his possessions to buy himself that field. (Matt. 13:44)

In the parable, this guy joyfully sells all he has so that he can get the only thing that matters. He knows what he’s stumbled upon – the kingdom of heaven – and that it’s more valuable than anything he has. So, he goes for it with everything he’s got. That kind of enthusiastic response to God’s love is entirely appropriate. Unfortunately, it stands in pretty stark contrast to our typical response when we discover the same treasure.

Numbers really impress us, don’t they? For instance, we gauge the success of a church by how many members it has, or who comes forward on any given Sunday. We’re wowed by big crowds. Jesus, however, questioned the authenticity of that kind of record keeping. According to Luke’s account (Luke 8:10), when a crowd started to follow him, Jesus began speaking in parables – “so that” those who weren’t genuinely listening to him wouldn’t get it. The fact is, Jesus wasn’t really interested in people who were just faking it.

In the parable of the sower (Luke 8:4-8), Jesus explained that the seed is the truth, or the Word of God. When the seed was flung onto the path, it was heard but was quickly stolen away. When the seed was tossed onto the rocks, no roots took hold – an appearance of depth and growth because of the good soil, but the results were only skin deep. When the seed fell among thorns, it was received but was soon choked out by life’s worries, riches and pleasures. But when the seed was thrown onto good soil, it grew, took root and produced fruit in various quantities.

We all want to assume that we’re the good soil, right? And maybe we are. But isn’t it possible that some of us are just a little thorny? Wanting God and a bunch of other stuff. Good soil suffocated by what it produces. Soil where money, sins, activities, favorite sports teams, or commitments are piled on top of it. Maybe it’s because a lot of us have too much in our lives – where things, by themselves, are good, but when combined can keep us from living healthy, fruitful lives for God.

Let me ask you what I’ve been asking myself lately: Has your relationship with God actually changed the way you live? Do you see evidence of God’s kingdom in your life? Or, are we slowly choking it out by spending too much time, energy, money and thought on the things of this world? Think of it this way: Are you satisfied with being “godly enough,” or looking “good enough” in comparison to others? Can you say with Paul that, “I long to know Christ and the power shown by his resurrection: now I long to share his sufferings, even to die as he died, so that I may perhaps attain as he did, the resurrection from the dead.”? (Phil. 3:10)

I struggle with that verse because it’s just got too much Jesus in it for me. In my way of thinking, the verse should’ve ended after the word resurrection. That way, I can have an appealing, popular Jesus who didn’t suffer. And the feedback from those who may share my opinion only reassures me that that’s a fine perspective. The problem is that it gives me little reason to really strive to know Jesus more deeply. It’s like we’ve been told that we’re good enough, maybe even godly enough.

But compare that attitude to what the Bible says. If you do, you’ll probably discover that the church, at least in some of the communities in which we live, can be a difficult place to fit in if we really want to live out New Testament Christianity. The goals of a lot of churches are for their members to have a nice marriage, kids who don’t swear and good church attendance. But taking the words of Christ literally and seriously, however, are rarely done because that’s for the “radicals” who are unbalanced and go overboard. Let’s face it. Most of us want a balanced life that we can control. A life that’s safe. A life that doesn’t involve suffering. I mean, who wants to suffer?

The Bible tells us to test ourselves. So, recently, I took that testing thing seriously and I did. I took that test. Figured I’d ace it. Turns out I’m no ace. Turns out I may be one of those people who attend church pretty regularly because that’s what’s expected; that’s what “good Christians” do, so we go. And giving money to charity and to the church? Sure, so long as it doesn’t impinge on our standard of living. But if we have a little extra, and it’s easy and safe to give, we do so. After all, God loves a cheerful giver, right? These same types also tend to choose what’s popular over what’s right when they’re in a conflict. They desire to fit in both at church and outside the church; they care more about what people think of their actions (like church attendance and giving) than what God thinks of their hearts and lives.

Tepid people don’t really want to be saved from their sin; they just want to be saved from the penalty of their sin. They don’t genuinely hate sin and aren’t truly sorry for it. They’re merely sorry because God’s going to punish them. They really don’t believe that this new life Jesus offers is better than the old, sinful one, but are still moved by stories about people who do radical things for Christ. They just don’t act upon it themselves. That kind of stuff is for “extreme” Christians, not average ones. In other words, calling “radical” what Jesus expected of all his followers. As a result, faith is rarely shared with neighbors, co-workers or friends. Why? Well, they don’t want to be rejected, and they certainly don’t want to make people uncomfortable by talking about private issues like “religion.”

 

So, we say we love Jesus, and that he’s a part of our lives. But only a part. We give him a section of our time, our money and our thoughts, but Jesus isn’t allowed to control our lives. We love God, but we don’t love him with all our heart, soul and strength. Oh, we’re quick to assure anyone who’ll ask that we try to love God that much, but that sort of total devotion isn’t really possible for the average person; it’s only for pastors and missionaries and radicals. So, we love people but don’t seek to love them as much as ourselves. That kind of love is typically focused on those who love in return, like family, friends, and other people they know and with whom they can connect. As a result, there’s little love left over for those who can’t love them back, much less for those who intentionally slight them, whose kids are better athletes than theirs, or with whom conversations are awkward and uncomfortable. That kind of love is highly conditional and very selective, and generally comes with all sorts of strings attached.

We serve God and others, but there’s limits to how far we’ll go, or how much time, money and energy we’re willing to give. And, typically, we think about life on earth a lot more than eternity in heaven. Daily life is mostly focused on today’s to-do list, this week’s schedule, and next month’s vacation. Rarely, if ever, do we really consider the life to come. C.S. Lewis wrote, “If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were precisely those who thought most of the next. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this.”

Mind you, we’re thankful for our luxuries and comforts, but we rarely consider trying to give as much as possible to the poor. We’re quick to point out, “Jesus never said money is the root of all evil, only that the love of money is.” So, we minister to the rich while few are called to minister to the poor. In other words, we do whatever is necessary to keep ourselves from feeling too guilty. We do the bare minimum; to be “good enough,” without it requiring too much of us. We ask, “How far can I go before it’s considered a sin?” Or, “How much do I have to give?” rather than “How much can I give?” Or, “How much time should I spend praying and reading my Bible?” rather than “I wish I didn’t have to go to work so I could sit here and read more.” We play it safe and are slaves to the god of control. Our focus is on safe living which keeps us from sacrificing and risking for God.

As a result, we don’t live by faith because we don’t have to. We live by structure, instead. We don’t have to trust God if something unexpected happens because we have our savings account. We don’t need God’s help because we have a retirement plan in place. We don’t genuinely seek out what life God would have us to live because we’ve got it all figured out. We don’t depend on God on a daily basis because our refrigerators are full and, for the most part, we’re in good health. The truth is, our lives wouldn’t look much different if we just, all-of-a-sudden, stopped believing in God altogether.

This isn’t intended to be used as ammunition to judge a fellow believer’s salvation. Instead, as 2 Cor. 13:5 says, it’s a call to “… find the right answer to your test, not because I have any need of your approval, but because I earnestly want you to find the right answer….” The truth is that we’re all messed up human beings, and no one’s immune. But there’s a difference between a life that’s characterized by this kind of thinking and these kinds of habits, and a life that’s in the process of being transformed.

Growing up, I gave some thought to joining the Air Force because I wanted to be a commercial airline pilot, and being a former Air Force pilot was the ticket to that kind of ride. That was also about the same time that the Marines were advertising, “The few. The proud. The Marines.” What turned me off about those commercials, however, was that everyone was running. Always. And I hate running. But it wasn’t like I was going to ask them if they’d modify the rules for me so I could run less, or maybe do fewer push-ups. That would’ve been pointless and stupid, and I knew it. Everyone knows that if you sign up for any branch of the military, you have to do whatever they tell you. They own you.

But somehow that realization doesn’t cross over very well to our thinking about the Christian life. Jesus didn’t say that if you wanted to follow him you could do it half-heartedly. He said, “Take up your cross and follow me.” He also said, “Or, suppose there is a king who is going to war with another king, doesn’t he sit down first and consider whether he can engage the twenty thousand of the other king with his own ten thousand? And if he decides he can’t, then, while the other king is still a long way off, he sends messengers to him to ask for conditions of peace. So it is with you; only the man who says goodbye to all his possessions can be my disciple.” (Luke 14:31-33) In other words, Jesus asks for everything. The problem is, we try to give him less.

“Salt is a very good thing, but if salt loses its flavor, what can you use to restore it? It is no good for the ground and no good as manure. People just throw it away.” (Luke 14:34-35) Jesus isn’t making some cute little analogy here. He’s addressing those who aren’t willing to give everything, who won’t follow him all the way. He is saying that lukewarm, half-hearted following is useless, and that it sickens the soul. He’s saying that this kind of salt is not even fit for “manure.”

Wow. How would you like to hear the Son of God say, “You know, you’d ruin manure”? Yeah, me neither. When salt is salty, it helps manure become good fertilizer … but a lukewarm, tepid and uncommitted faith is pretty useless. It can’t even benefit … well, you get the picture.

Grace,

Randy

Regrets

Regrets

Yet, my brothers, I do not consider myself to have “arrived”, spiritually, nor do I consider myself already perfect. But I keep going on, grasping ever more firmly that purpose for which Christ grasped me. My brothers, I do not consider myself to have fully grasped it even now. But I do concentrate on this: I leave the past behind and with hands outstretched to whatever lies ahead I go straight for the goal — my reward the honor of being called by God in Christ. All of us who are spiritually adult should set ourselves this sort of ambition, and if at present you cannot see this, yet you will find that this is the attitude which God is leading you to adopt. (Philippians 3:13-15)

You have one. I have one. Truth is, we all have one. It’s a sack. A burlap sack. You may not be aware of it; maybe you were never told. On the other hand, maybe you just don’t remember. But it was given to you. A sack. An itchy, scratchy burlap sack. And you needed that sack so you could carry the rocks. Stones, boulders, pebbles. All sizes. All shapes. All unwanted. You didn’t ask for them. You didn’t even look for them. They were given to you.

Some were rocks of rejection. For instance, you were probably given one that time you didn’t make the team. It wasn’t due to a lack of effort – heaven knows how much you practiced. You thought you were good enough for the team. But the coach didn’t. The instructor didn’t. You thought you were good enough, but they said you weren’t. They and how many others?

And you don’t have to live long before you get a collection of these rocks. Make a poor grade. Make a bad choice. Make a mess. Get called a few names. Get mocked. Get abused. But the rocks don’t stop with adolescence. How many people do you know who’ve applied for a job, only to be rejected. Again. And again. And again. Maybe you’ve been one of the applicants.

And so the sack gets heavy. Heavy with rocks. Rocks of rejection. Rocks we don’t deserve. But if you look closely into the burlap sack, you’ll see that not all the rocks are from rejections. There’s a second type of rock. Those are the rocks of regret.

Regret for the time you lost your temper. Regret for the day you lost control. Regret for the moment you lost your pride. Regret for the years you lost your priorities. Maybe regret for the hour you lost your innocence. One rock after another; one guilty stone after another.

With time the sack gets really heavy, and we get tired. How can you have dreams for the future when all of your energy is required to shoulder your past? No wonder some people look miserable. That sack slows our steps. The sack chafes. It helps explain the irritation on so many faces, the drag in so many steps, the sag in so many shoulders, and most of all, the desperation in so many acts. We’re consumed with doing whatever it takes to get some rest.

So we take the sack to the office. We resolve to work harder so that we’ll forget about the sack. We arrive early and stay late. People are impressed. But when it’s time to go home, there’s the sack — waiting to be carried out the door.

Or, you carry the rocks to happy hour. With a name like that, it must bring relief, you say to yourself. So you set the sack on the floor, sit on the stool, and drink a few. The music gets loud and your head gets light. But then it’s time to go, and you look down and there’s the sack.

Maybe you drag it into therapy. You sit on the couch with the sack at your feet and spill all of those stones onto the floor and name them one by one. The therapist listens. She empathizes. Some helpful counsel is given. But when time is up, you’re obliged to pick up all those stones, put them back in the sack and take them back home with you.

Some even take the sack to church. Perhaps religion will help, we think. But instead of removing a few stones, some well-meaning but misguided preacher may add to your load. Unfortunately, God’s messengers sometimes give more hurt than help. And you might leave the church with a few new rocks in your sack.

The result? A person slugging his way through life, weighed down by the past. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s hard to be thought-full when you’re carrying a burlap sack full of rocks. It’s hard to be affirming when you are affirmation-starved. It’s hard to be forgiving when you feel guilty.

Paul had an interesting observation about the way we treat people. He said it about marriage, but the principle applies in any relationship. “Men ought to give their wives the love they naturally have for their own bodies. The love a man gives his wife is the extending of his love for himself to enfold her.” (Eph. 5:28) In other words, there’s a correlation between the way you feel about yourself and the way you feel about others. If you’re at peace with yourself — if you like yourself — you will get along with others.

The converse is also true. If you don’t like yourself, if you’re ashamed, embarrassed, or angry, other people are going to know it. And the real tragic part of the burlap-sack story is that we tend to throw our stones at the people we love. Unless the cycle is interrupted. Which takes us to the question, “So how, then, does a person get relief?” And the answer? One of the kindest verses in the Bible, “Come to me, all of you who are tired and have heavy loads, and I will give you rest. Accept my teachings and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble in spirit, and you will find rest for your lives. The teaching I ask you to accept is easy; the load I give you to carry is light.” (Matt. 11:28—30)

You probably knew I was going to say that. “But I’ve tried that. I’ve read the Bible, I’ve sat on the pew — but I’ve never received relief,” you say. Well, could it be that you went to religion and didn’t go to God? Could it be that you went to a church, but never saw Christ?

“Come to me,” Jesus says. But it’s easy to go to the wrong place. I’ve done it myself. I was in San Francisco to catch my return flight to San Diego. Checked my bag, had my ticket in hand, and went to the gate. I went past security, took my seat, and waited for the flight to be called. I waited and waited and waited — finally, I went to the desk to ask the attendant when they were going to call my flight. She looked at me and said, “You’re at the wrong gate, sir.”

Now, what if I’d pouted and sighed, “Well, I guess there isn’t a flight to San Diego after all. Looks like I’m stuck.” If you’d have been there, you would have said to me, “You’re not stuck. You’re just at the wrong gate. Go down to the right gate and try again.” And it’s not that you haven’t tried — you’ve tried for years to deal with your past. Alcohol. Drug abuse. Workaholism. Religion. Maybe you’re just stuck at the wrong gate.

In 1904, William Borden, heir to the Borden Dairy Estate, graduated from a Chicago high school a millionaire, and his parents gave him a trip around the world. Traveling through Asia, the Middle East and Europe gave Borden a real burden for the world’s hurting people. Writing home, he said, "I’m going to give my life to prepare for the mission field." When he made that decision, he wrote in the back of his Bible two words: NO RESERVES.

Borden arrived at Yale University in 1905. During his first semester, Borden started a movement that eventually transformed the entire campus. His friend wrote, "It was well on in the first term when Bill and I began to pray together in the morning before breakfast. We had been meeting only a short time when a third student joined us and soon after a fourth.”

Borden’s group was the beginning of daily groups of prayer that spread to every one of the college classes. By the end of his first year, 150 freshmen had become interested in meeting for weekly Bible studies. By the time he was a senior, 1,000 out of the 1,300 students were meeting in groups like these.

Borden also made it his habit to choose the most "difficult" students and attempt to bring them to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. Borden’s friend wrote, "In his sophomore year we organized Bible study groups and divided up the class of 300 or more, each man interested taking a certain number, so that all might, if possible, be reached. The names were gone over one by one, and the question asked, ‘Who will take this person or that?’ When it came to one who was a hard proposition, there would be an ominous pause. Nobody wanted the responsibility. Then Bill’s voice would be heard, ’Put him down to me.’"

However, Borden did not confine his work to Yale. He rescued drunks on the streets of New Haven and founded the Yale Hope Mission to rehabilitate them. Borden’s biographer wrote, "He might often be found in the lower parts of the city at night, on the street, in a cheap lodging house or some restaurant to which he had taken a poor hungry fellow to feed him, seeking to lead men to Christ."

By this time, Borden had already formed his purpose of becoming a missionary to the Muslims in China. A purpose from which he never wavered. He inspired his classmates to do likewise. "Although he was a millionaire,” his friend later remembered, “Bill seemed to realize always that he must be about his Father’s business, and not wasting time in the pursuit of amusement." And although he refused to join a fraternity, he did more with his classmates in his senior year than ever. In fact, he presided over the huge student missionary conference held at Yale, and was elected president of Phi Beta Kappa. Turning down high paying job offers after graduating from Yale, Borden entered two more words in his Bible: NO RETREATS.

Completing his studies at Princeton Theological Seminary, Borden sailed for China to work with Muslims, stopping first in Egypt to study Arabic. While in Egypt, however, he was stricken with spinal meningitis and died within a month at the age of 25. Borden had not only given his wealth, but – ultimately – himself. “Wow, what a waste,” we might say. Not in God’s plan. Because in his Bible underneath the words NO RESERVES and NO RETREATS, Borden had written the words NO REGRETS.

We don’t need to live a life filled with regrets because “(i)f we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9) It’s the soap-dish verse. God says he’ll give you a bath; get rid of the dirt in your life, forgive you, and wipe away your sins. The result? “No condemnation now hangs over the head of those who are “in” Jesus Christ. (Rom 8:1) Translation? No regrets. What’s left to regret? It’s been forgiven, and the condemnation that came with it no longer exists.

How would your life change if you accepted God’s grace and forgiveness and let go of those regrets? Jesus said, “The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.” (John 10:10) Are you letting the thief of regret steal a rich and satisfying life from you? If so, let Jesus be the rock collector and leave yours at the Cross.

Word has it that Jesus knows how to move stones.

Grace,

Randy

God's Valentine

Valentine

Praise be to God for giving us through Christ every possible spiritual benefit as citizens of Heaven! For consider what he has done—before the foundation of the world he chose us to become, in Christ, his holy and blameless children living within his constant care. He planned, in his purpose of love, that we should be adopted as his own children through Jesus Christ—that we might learn to praise that glorious generosity of his which has made us welcome in the everlasting love he bears towards the Son. (Ephesians 1:3-6)

I was taught the song, Jesus Loves Me, as a young child: “Jesus loves, me, this I know …” And even if you didn’t grow up in church, you probably know how it ends: “ … for the Bible tells me so.” But if you’ve spent any time in church at all, you’ve heard expressed, in some form or another, the idea that God loves us. I believed this for years because, as the song puts it, “the Bible tells me so.” The only problem was that it was a concept I was taught, not something I implicitly knew to be true. For years I “got” God’s love in my head, checked the right answer on the “what God is like” test, but didn’t fully understand it with my heart. And I don’t think I’m the only person who has misunderstood God’s love.

Most of us, to some degree, have a difficult time understanding, believing, or accepting God’s absolute and unlimited love for us. The reasons we don’t receive, trust or even see his love vary from one person to the next, but we all miss out because of it. Perhaps the concept of being wanted by a father is foreign to some. Fortunately, for me, that wasn’t the case. But for some, the only attention you may have received from your dad were the beatings you got because of your disobedience, or because your dad was annoyed. So, your goal in the relationship was to not misbehave or annoy your dad. As a result, you walked on eggshells trying not to upset him.

And the impact of that kind of relationship can have an affect on your relationship with God. For example, you try not to annoy God with your sins, or upset him with your little problems. You’ve had no aspiration of being wanted by God; you’re just happy not to be hated or hurt by him. Sometimes, however, useful lessons can be learned from dads who didn’t exactly model God’s love because dads can teach us discipline, respect, fear and obedience.

Despite my positive upbringing, I began to see how wrong I still remained in my thinking about God. Until I had children. For the first time, and continuing to this day, I get a taste of what I believe God feels toward us. I think about my kids all the time. I pray for them while they sleep at night. I show pictures of my kids to anyone who’ll look. I want to give my kids the world.

My own love, and desire for my kids’ love is so strong that it began to open my eyes to how much God must really desire and love us. Nothing compares to being truly, exuberantly wanted by your children. And through this experience I’ve begun to understand that my desire for my children is only a faint echo of God’s great love for me, and for every person he’s made. I’m just an earthly, sinful father, and I love my kids so much that it hurts sometimes. So, how could I not trust a perfect, heavenly Father who loves me infinitely more than I will ever love my kids?

 Jesus said, “If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” (Matt. 7:11) God is more worthy of trust than anyone else, yet for so long I’ve questioned his love and doubted his care and provision for me.

I think that’s because if I could pick a word to describe my feelings about God in those first years of being a Christian, it would be fear. And during that time, any verse that described His overwhelming greatness, or his wrath were easy for me to relate to: It is God who sits above the circle of the earth. (The people below must seem to him like grasshoppers!) He is the one who stretches out the heavens like a curtain and makes his tent from them. He dooms the great men of the world and brings them all to naught. They hardly get started, barely take root, when he blows on them and their work withers, and the wind carries them off like straw. (Jeremiah 40: 22-24) And the result? More fear, leading to guilt and anxiety.

Most Christians have been taught in church, or perhaps by their parents, to set aside a daily time for prayer and Scripture reading. It’s what we’re supposed to do. And so for a long time that’s what I valiantly attempted. When I didn’t, I felt guilty. But over time, I realized that when we love God, we naturally run to him – frequently and enthusiastically. Jesus didn’t command that we have a regular time with him each day. Rather, he told us to “love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” Jesus called this the “first and greatest commandment.” (Matt. 22:37-38) The results? An intimate time of prayer and study of his Word. But this time motivated by love, not guilt.

This is how God longs for us to respond to his extravagant, unending love: not with a cursory “quiet time” plagued by guilt, but with true love expressed through our lives. Fear is no longer the word I use to describe how I feel about God. Now I use words like reverence. I still fear God, and I pray that I always will because the Bible emphasizes the importance of fearing God. But many of us are plagued by spiritual amnesia. And for a long time, I narrowly focused on his fearsomeness to the exclusion of his great and abounding love. I think the prophet Jeremiah struggled with this same thing, too.

The Lord said to me, “I knew you before you were formed within your mother’s womb; before you were born I sanctified you and appointed you as my spokesman to the world.” “O Lord God,” I said, “I can’t do that! I’m far too young! I’m only a youth!” “Don’t say that,” he replied, “for you will go wherever I send you and speak whatever I tell you to. And don’t be afraid of the people, for I, the Lord, will be with you and see you through.” Then he touched my mouth and said, “See, I have put my words in your mouth! Today your work begins, to warn the nations and the kingdoms of the world.” (Jer. 1:4-10)

This shows God’s intimate knowledge of Jeremiah. And I had always acknowledged his complete sovereignty over me, too, but verses 4 and 5 took it to another level: The Lord said to me, ‘I knew you before you were formed within your mother’s womb; before you were born I sanctified you and appointed you as my spokesman to the world.’ In other words, God knew Jeremiah before Jeremiah was made. God knew Jeremiah before he existed.

God had been with Jeremiah from the start – in fact, from well before the start. He determined what Jeremiah would do before he was even born. But I questioned whether that was also true of me. Maybe all of this pertained just to Jeremiah’s life? You know. Because Jeremiah is so “Old Testament.”

Then I remembered Ephesians 2:10, which tells us that we were created “to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” That verse is meant for me and you and everyone else who’s been saved. My existence is not random, nor was it an accident. God knew who he was creating, and he designed me for a specific work. And God’s next words to Jeremiah assured me that I don’t have to fear failure.

“O Lord God, I said, I can’t do that! I’m far too young! I’m only a youth!” “Don’t say that,” he replied, “for you will go wherever I send you and speak whatever I tell you to. And don’t be afraid of the people, for I, the Lord, will be with you and see you through.” Then he touched my mouth and said, “See, I have put my words in your mouth! Today your work begins, to warn the nations and the kingdoms of the world.”

When Jeremiah voiced his hesitation and fear, God – the God of the galaxies – reached out and touched his mouth. It was a gentle, affectionate gesture, something a loving parent would do. It wasn’t some slap up the side of the head. And through this illustration I began to realize that I don’t have to worry about not meeting his expectations. God will ensure my success in accordance with his plan, not mine. And this is the God we serve, the God who knew us before he made us. The God who promises to remain with us and rescue us. The God who loves us and longs for us to love him back. So why, when we constantly offend him and are so unlovable and unloving, does God persist in loving us?

As kids, doing something offensive generally resulted in punishment, not love. And whether we want to admit it or not, every one of us has offended God at some point. Jesus affirmed that when he said, “No one is good – except God alone.” (Luke 18:19) So why does God still love us, in spite of us? I don’t have an answer to that question. But I do know that if God’s mercy didn’t exist, there’d be no hope. No matter how good we tried to be, we would be punished because of our sins.

A lot of people look at their lives and weigh their sins against their good deeds. But our good deeds can never outweigh the penalty of our sins. God’s mercy, although free, is costly apparel purchased with the blood of Christ. It cannot be earned, and our righteous acts don’t help us deserve it because the wages of sin will always be death. But because of God’s mercy, sin is paid for through the death of Jesus Christ, instead of the death of you and me.

The very fact that a holy, eternal, all-knowing , all-powerful, merciful, fair and just God loves you and me is nothing short of astonishing. The wildest part is that Jesus doesn’t have to love us. His being is utterly complete and perfect, apart from humanity. He doesn’t need me or you, yet he wants us, chooses us, even considers us his inheritance. (Ephesians 1:18)

The greatest knowledge we can ever have is knowing that God treasures us. The holy Creator sees you as his “glorious inheritance.” The irony is that while God doesn’t need us but still wants us, we desperately need God but don’t really want him most of the time. He treasures us and anticipates our departure from this earth to be with him – and we wonder, indifferently, how much we have to do for him to get by.

The Good News – the best news in the world, in fact – is that you can have God himself. Do you believe that God is the greatest thing you can experience in the whole world? Do you believe that the Good News is not merely the forgiveness of your sins, or the guarantee that you won’t go to hell, or the promise of life in heaven? That the best things in life are gifts from the one who steadfastly loves us? Okay, but are we really in love with God, or just his stuff?

Imagine how awful it would feel to have your child say to you, “You know, I don’t really love you or want your love, but I would like my allowance, please.” On the other hand, what a beautiful gift it would be to have the one you love look you in the eye and say, “I love you. Not because of your beauty, or your money, or your family, or your car. Just because of you.” Can we say that to God?

Our love for him always comes out of his love for us. Do you love this God who is everything, or do you just love everything he gives you? Do you really know and believe that God loves you, individually and personally and intimately? Do you see and know him as Abba (Daddy) Father? Loving God comes from an ever-deepening appreciation for the infinite and unfathomable depth of God’s love for us.

You’re God’s Valentine, and the ink of his signature is the blood of his Son.

Grace,

Randy