Regret

Regret
Regret - Audio/Visual

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 of 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 the 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’s 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’re 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 at the airport in San Francisco waiting to catch my return flight to San Diego. I’d checked my bag, had my ticket in hand and went to the gate. I went through 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 economy. 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, because 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

Lukewarm

Lukewarm
Lukewarm - Audio/Visual

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. Because 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. And 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, as 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.

Lukewarm 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, we don’t want to be rejected, and we 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 are 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

Empathetic

Empathetic
Empathetic - Audio/Visual

Seeing that we have a great High Priest who has entered the inmost Heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to our faith. For we have no superhuman High Priest to whom our weaknesses are unintelligible — he himself has shared fully in all our experience of temptation, except that he never sinned. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with fullest confidence, that we may receive mercy for our failures and grace to help in the hour of need. (Hebrews 4:14-16)

Chippie the parakeet never saw it coming. One second he was peacefully perched in his cage – the next he was sucked in, washed up and blown over. The problems began when Chippie’s owner decided to clean Chippie’s cage with a vacuum cleaner. She removed the attachment from the end of the hose and stuck it in the cage. Then the phone rang. She turned to pick up the phone and had barely said “Hello” when, “Sssopp!” Chippie got sucked in. The bird owner gasped, put the phone down, turned off the vacuum and opened the bag. There was Chippie — still alive, but stunned. But since the bird was now covered with dust and soot, she grabbed him and raced to the bathroom, turned on the faucet and held Chippie under the running water. Then, realizing that Chippie was soaking wet and shivering, she did what any compassionate bird owner would do … she reached for the hair dryer and blasted the pet with hot air. Poor Chippie never knew what hit him. A few days after the trauma, the Galveston reporter who’d initially written about the event contacted Chippie’s owner to see how the bird was recovering. “Well,” she replied, “Chippie doesn’t sing much anymore — he just sits and stares.” Sucked in, washed up, and blown over … that’s enough to steal the song from the stoutest heart.

Ever felt like Chippie? One minute we’re seated in familiar territory with a song on our lips, then .….. the pink slip comes; the rejection letter arrives; the doctor calls; the check bounces; a policeman knocks on the door. Sssopp! You’re sucked into a black cavern of doubts, doused with the cold water of reality, and stung with the hot air of empty promises. A life that had been so calm is now so stormy. It’s like you’re being hail stormed by demands. Assailed by doubts. Pummeled by questions. And somewhere in the trauma, you lose your joy. Somewhere in the storm, you lose your song. There’s a day in the life of Christ that you need to know about; aside from the Crucifixion, it’s probably the most stressful day of his life. A roaring sequence of bad news, demanding crowds and doubting friends. 24 hours in which Jesus faces the same gale-force fears that you and I do. Clouds of darkness billow. Yet through it all Jesus remains calm. He endures the day without losing his song. How?

He begins the morning by hearing about the death of John the Baptist: his cousin, his forerunner, his co-worker, his friend. The man who came closer to understanding Jesus than any other is now dead. Imagine losing the one person who knows you better than anyone else. Reflect on the horror of being told that your dearest friend has just been murdered. Consider your reaction if you were told that your best friend had just been decapitated by a people-pleasing, incestuous monarch, and you’ll see how the day begins for Christ. His world is beginning to turn upside down – and the day’s just begun.

The emissaries brought more than news of sorrow, however; they brought a warning: “The same Herod who took John’s head is interested in yours.” Listen to how Luke presents the monarch’s madness: “Herod said, ‘I beheaded John. Who, then, is this I hear such things about?’ And he tried to see him.” (Luke 9:9) Something tells me that Herod wanted to make more than just a social call. So, with John’s life taken and his own life threatened, Jesus chooses to get away for a while. “When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place.” (Matt. 14:13) But before he can get away, his disciples arrive. Mark’s gospel states that the “apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught.” (Mark 6:30) They return exuberant because Jesus had earlier commissioned them to proclaim the gospel and authenticate it with miracles. So, they went out and preached that people should repent. “They drove out many demons and anointed many sick people with oil and healed them.” (Mark 6:13) Can you imagine the excitement? Can you envision the scene? A reunion of twelve friends. A reuniting of disciples with their teacher. A homecoming bubbling with testimonies: Peter describing a lame man he healed. John telling about a crowd he taught. Andrew recounting the deliverance of an epileptic. James relating to Jesus how the crowds followed him wherever he went. Matthew reporting the healing of a blind woman.

Remember, these disciples were ordinary men. They weren’t orators, scholars, kings or saints. They were fishermen and a tax collector; common laborers who, by God’s power, had taken a nation by storm. The emotion? Exuberance. So, in a matter of moments, Jesus’ heart goes from the pace of a funeral dirge to the triumphant march of a ticker-tape parade. And look who follows the disciples to locate Jesus – about five thousand men plus women and children. Rivers of people cascade out of the hills and villages. They swarm around Jesus, each of them with only one desire: to meet the man who had empowered the disciples. What had begun as a mournful morning now buzzes with frenetic activity. The morning has been a jungle trail of the unexpected. First, Jesus grieves over the death of a dear friend and relative. Then his life is threatened. Next he celebrates the triumphant return of his followers. Then he is nearly suffocated by a brouhaha of humanity. Bereavement … jeopardy … jubilation … bedlam. And the day’s not even half over.

In light of all the commotion, Jesus decides to take the disciples to a quiet place where they can rest and reflect. He shouts a command over the noise of the crowd. “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” (Mark 6:31) So, the thirteen fight their way to the beach and climb into a boat. And, for a few precious moments, the world is quiet again. The din of the crowd grows distant and the only sound is the slap of the water against the hull of the boat. Jesus’ heart is weighed down by sorrow and buoyed by joy. He watches his followers swapping stories of victory. Then he raises his glance and sees on the horizon Tiberias, the city constructed by John the Baptist’s murderer, Herod. Joy suddenly married to indignation causes his fists to clench and his eyes to moisten. And who would question his desire to get away from the people? He just needs a few hours alone. Just a bit of a respite. A little retreat. A time to pray. A time to ponder. A time to weep. A time without the crowds or their demands. A campfire wreathed with friends. An evening with those he loves. The people can wait until tomorrow.

The people, however, have other ideas. “The crowds learned about it and followed him.” (Luke 9:11) It’s a six-mile walk around the northeastern corner of the Sea of Galilee, so the crowd takes a hike. So when Jesus got to Bethsaida, his desired retreat had become a roaring arena. “Surprise!”

Add to the list of sorrow, peril, excitement and bedlam the word interruption. Jesus’ plans are interrupted. What he has in mind for his day and what the people have in mind for his day are two completely different agendas. What Jesus seeks and what Jesus gets are not the same. Sound familiar? Remember when you sought a night’s rest and got a colicky baby? Remember when you sought to catch up at the office and got even further behind? Remember when you wanted to use your Saturday for leisure, but ended up fixing the neighbor’s sink? It happened to Jesus, too. Jesus knows how you feel. Ponder this and use it the next time your world goes from calm to chaos. His pulse has raced. His eyes have grown weary. His heart has grown heavy. He’s had to climb out of bed with a sore throat. He’s been kept awake late and had gotten up early. He knows how you feel. But you may have trouble believing that. You probably believe that Jesus knows what it means to endure heavy-duty tragedies. You’re likely convinced that Jesus is acquainted with sorrow and has wrestled with fear. Most people accept that. But can God relate to the hassles and headaches of our lives? For some reason, that’s harder to believe.

Maybe that’s why portions of this particular day are recorded in all of the Gospel accounts. No other event, other than the Crucifixion itself, is told by all four Gospel writers. Not Jesus’ baptism. Not his temptation. Not even his birth. But all four writers chronicle this day. It’s as if Matthew, Mark, Luke and John knew that you’d be wondering if God really understands. And they proclaim their response in four-part harmony: Jesus knows how you feel. And of the many messages Jesus taught us that day about stress, the first one is this: “God knows how you feel.” Re-read Hebrews 4:15. The writer of Hebrews is adamant, almost to the point of redundancy. It’s as if he anticipates our objections. So he boldly proclaims Jesus’ ability to understand. Look at the wording again. He himself – not an angel; not an ambassador. Not an emissary, but Jesus himself. Shared fully – not partially; not nearly; not to a large degree. Entirely. Jesus shared fully. In all our experience – every hurt; each ache; all the stresses and all the strains. No exceptions. No substitutes. Why? So he could sympathize with our weaknesses.

Every page of the Gospels hammers home this crucial principle: God knows how you feel. From the funeral, to the factory, to the frustration of a demanding schedule. Jesus understands. When you tell God that you’ve reached your limit, he knows what you mean. When you shake your head at impossible deadlines, he shakes his, too. When your plans are interrupted by people who have other plans, he nods in empathy. He’s been there. He knows how you feel.

Let me take you to the operating room of the Kane Summit Hospital, Pennsylvania. A doctor is performing an appendectomy. The patient has complained of severe abdominal pain. The diagnosis is clear: an inflamed appendix. Dr. Evan O’Neill Kane is performing the surgery. In his distinguished thirty-seven year medical career, he has performed nearly four thousand appendectomies, so this surgery will be uneventful in all ways except two.

The first novelty was the use of local anesthesia in major surgery. Dr. Kane was a crusader against the hazards of general anesthesia. He contended that a local application was far safer. Many of his colleagues agreed with him in principle, but in order for them to agree in practice they would have to see the theory applied. So, Dr. Kane searched for a volunteer, a patient who was willing to undergo surgery while under local anesthesia. But a volunteer was not so easily found. Many were squeamish at the thought of being awake during their own surgery. Others were fearful that the anesthesia might wear off too soon. Eventually, however, Dr. Kane found a candidate.

So, on Tuesday morning, February 15, 1921, the historic operation occurred. The patient was prepped and wheeled into the operating room. A local anesthetic was applied. And as he had done thousands of times, Dr. Kane dissected the superficial tissues and located the appendix. He skillfully removed it and concluded the surgery. And during the procedure, the patient had only complained of minor discomfort. The volunteer was taken into post-op, then placed in a hospital ward. He recovered quickly and was discharged the next day. Dr. Kane had proven his theory. Thanks to the willingness of a brave volunteer, Kane had successfully demonstrated that local anesthesia was a viable, and even preferable, alternative. But recall that I had said there were two facts that made the surgery unique. You’ve only heard the first.

The second was the patient. The courageous candidate for surgery by Dr. Kane was Dr. Kane, himself. To prove his point, the 60 year-old had operated on himself using mirrors. The doctor became a patient in order to convince the patients to trust the doctor. But the story of the doctor who became his own patient is mild compared to the story of the God who became human. But Jesus did. So that you and I would believe that the Healer knows our hurts, he voluntarily became one of us. He placed himself in our position. He suffered our pains and felt our fears. Rejection? He felt it. Temptation? He knew it. Loneliness? He experienced it. Death? He tasted it. And stress? He could write a best-selling book about it. And why did he do it? One reason. So that when you hurt, you will go to him — your Father and your Physician — and let him heal you.

Jesus knows how you feel. That’s empathy. That’s grace. That’s God.

Grace,

Randy

Sanctified

Sanctified
Sanctified - Audio/Visual

Under the old covenant, the priest stands and ministers before the altar day after day, offering the same sacrifices again and again, which can never take away sins. But our High Priest offered himself to God as a single sacrifice for sins, good for all time. Then he sat down in the place of honor at God’s right hand. There he waits until his enemies are humbled and made a footstool under his feet. For by that one offering he forever made perfect those who are being made holy. (Hebrews 10:11-14)

Over the years, I’ve played in a number of golf tournaments, usually to raise money for a charitable cause. In one of those tournaments, the teams were comprised of a pro and three amateurs, and the lowest score of any player would be recorded. In other words, even on the holes where I stunk, if one of my partners did well, I did well. And that’s exactly what happened on seventeen of the eighteen holes. Let’s take a long par five, for example. Where I score an eight but the pro, or one of my partners, scores a four, guess whose score is recorded? Correct. The four. My eight is forgotten and the other player’s birdie is noted. And for duffers like me, I could really get used to that kind of scoring system. In other words, I got credit for the good work of someone else simply by virtue of being on his team.

And Christ has done the same for me and you. What my team did for me during that golf tournament, our Lord does for us every day of the week. Because of his performance, we close our daily round with a perfect score. It doesn’t matter if we hooked a few into the woods, or sliced one into the drink. What matters is that you showed up to play and joined the right foursome. In this case, your foursome’s pretty good: it’s you, the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. A better team doesn’t exist. The fancy theological term for this is positional sanctification. Simply stated, it means that you are given a prize, not because of what you do, but because of who you know. But there’s a second term that was illustrated in my golf game that day: progressive sanctification. Here’s what I mean.

Remember my contribution on the golf course? Right. One out of eighteen holes. On one hole I actually made a par. My par went on the card and carried the team. Want to guess which hole it was? Right again. The last one. Though I offered so little, however, I did improve with each hole. The pro kept giving me tips and changing my grip until I finally made a contribution. I improved progressively. The prize came because of the pro’s score. The improvement came because of the pro’s help. Positional sanctification comes because of Christ’s work for us. Progressive sanctification comes because of Christ’s work in us. Both are gifts from God. “With one sacrifice he made perfect forever those who are being made holy.” (Heb. 10:14; my emphasis) See the blending of the tenses? “He made perfect” (positional sanctification) those who are “being made holy” (progressive sanctification). Positional and progressive sanctification. All in one verse. Stated differently, it’s God’s work for us and God’s work in us. Neglect the first, and you grow fearful. Neglect the second, and you grow lazy. Both are essential, and both are seen in the moistened dirt at the base of the cross of Christ. Remember the scene?

“But one of the soldiers stuck his spear into Jesus’ side, and at once blood and water came out.” (John 19:34) Even a casual student of Scripture knows the connection between blood and mercy. As far back as the son of Adam, worshipers knew that “without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness.” (Heb. 9:22) How Abel knew this truth is anyone’s guess, but somehow he knew to offer more than prayers and parsley. He knew to offer a life. He knew to pour out more than his heart and his desires; he knew to pour out blood. So, with a field as his temple and the ground as his altar, Abel became the first to do what millions would later imitate. He offered a blood sacrifice for sins. But that ended at the cross. What Abel sought to accomplish in the field, God achieved with his Son on the cross. What Abel began, Christ completed. After his sacrifice there would be no more sacrificial system because “he came as High Priest of this better system which we now have.” (Heb. 9:11)

After Christ’s sacrifice there would be no more need to shed blood. He “once for all took blood into that inner room, the Holy of Holies, and sprinkled it on the mercy seat; but it was not the blood of goats and calves. No, he took his own blood, and with it he, by himself, made sure of our eternal salvation.” (Heb. 9:12) The Son of God became the Lamb of God; the cross became the altar; and we were “made holy through the sacrifice Christ made in his body once and for all time.” (Heb. 10:10) What needed to be paid was paid. What had to be done was done. Innocent blood was required. Innocent blood was offered – once and for all time. But if once and for all time, does it need to be offered yet again? No, it doesn’t.

You are positionally sanctified. Just as the achievements of my team were credited to me, so the achievement of Jesus’ blood is credited to us. And just as my skills improved through the influence of a teacher, your life can improve the longer and closer you walk with Jesus. The work for us is complete, but the progressive work in us is ongoing. So, if his work for us is seen in the blood that was shed, what might the water – that also flowed from his side – represent? (John 19:34) I think it’s his work in us. Remember the words of Jesus to the Samaritan woman? “The water I give will become a spring of water gushing up inside that person, giving eternal life.” (John 4:14) Jesus offers not a singular drink of water, but a perpetual artesian well. And the well isn’t a hole in your backyard, but the Holy Spirit of God in your heart. “If anyone believes in me, rivers of living water will flow out from that person’s heart, as the Scripture says.” Jesus was talking about the Holy Spirit. The Spirit had not yet been given, because Jesus had not yet been raised to glory. But later, those who believed in Jesus would receive the Spirit. (John 7:38–39)

Water is a picture of the Spirit of Jesus working within us. He’s not working to save us, mind you; that work’s already been done. He’s working to change us. Here’s how Paul described the process. “Do the good things that result from being saved, obeying God with deep reverence, shrinking back from all that might displease him. For God is at work within you, helping you want to obey him, and then helping you do what he wants.” (Phil. 2:12–13) As a result of “being saved” (the work of the blood), what do we do? We obey God “with deep reverence,” and shrink back “from all that might displease him.” Practically put, we love our neighbor and refrain from gossip; we refuse to cheat on spouses and do our best to love people who are tough to love. Do we do this in order to be saved? No. These are “the good things that result from being saved.”

A similar dynamic occurs in marriage. For instance, are a bride and groom ever more married than they are on that first day? The vows are made and the certificate is signed — could they be any more married than that? Perhaps. Because imagine them fifty years later. Six kids later. A bunch of jobs and a cluster of victories later. After half a century of marriage, they finish each other’s sentences and order each other’s food. Wouldn’t they have to be more married on their fiftieth anniversary than on their wedding day? Maybe. But on the other hand, how could they be? The marriage certificate hasn’t matured like some kind of savings bond. But the relationship has. And that’s the difference. Technically, they’re no more united than they were when they left the altar. But relationally, they’re completely different. Marriage is both a done deal and a daily development; something you did and something you do.

The same is true of our walk with God. Can you be more saved than you were the first day of your salvation? No. But can a person grow in salvation? Absolutely. It, like marriage, is a done deal and a daily development. The blood is God’s sacrifice for us. The water is God’s Spirit within us. And we need both. John is very concerned that we know that, too. Because it’s not enough to know what came forth; John wants us to know how they came forth: “At once blood and water came out.” (John 19:34) John doesn’t emphasize one over the other; it’s both. But we do sometimes, don’t we? Some accept the blood but forget the water – we want to be saved, but don’t want to be changed. Others accept the water, but forget the blood – they’re busy for Christ, but they’re never at peace in Christ. What about you?

Do you tend to lean one way or the other? Do you feel so saved that you never serve? Are you so happy with your team’s score that you don’t even bother to get out of the golf cart? If that’s you, then let me ask a question: Why does God have you on the course? Why didn’t he just beam you up the moment he saved you? The fact is, you and I are here for a reason, and that reason is to glorify God in our service. Or, is your tendency just the opposite? Perhaps you always serve for fear of not being saved. Perhaps you don’t trust your team. You’re worried that a secret card exists on which your score is actually being recorded – and it’s not very good. Is that you? If so, then know this: the blood of Jesus is enough to save you. Engrave in your heart the announcement of John the Baptist – Jesus is “the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” (John 1:29). The blood of Christ does not cover your sins, conceal your sins, postpone your sins, or even diminish your sins. It takes away your sins, once and for all time.

Jesus allows your mistakes to be lost in his perfection. And as the four of us golfers stood in the clubhouse that day to receive some sort of recognition, the only ones who knew the poverty of my game were my teammates, and they didn’t tell. And when you and I stand in heaven to receive our prize, only one could know all of our sins, but he won’t embarrass you — he’s already forgiven and forgotten them. So enjoy the game; your prize is secure. But while you’re on the course, why don’t you ask the Teacher for some help with your swing because he can improve your game.

Grace,

Randy