Exit Strategy

 

Exit Strategy

Exit Strategy - Audio/Visual 

Those who are wise will find a time and a way to do what is right, for there is a time and a way for everything, even when a person is in trouble. Indeed, how can people avoid what they don’t know is going to happen? None of us can hold back our spirit from departing. None of us has the power to prevent the day of our death. There is no escaping that obligation. (Eccl. 8:6-8)

Carl McCunn, an affable man with a love of the outdoors, moved to Alaska in the late 1970’s. He took a trucking job on the Trans-Alaska Pipeline where he made good money and concocted an adventure that still bewilders the 49^th state. At the age of thirty-five, he embarked on a five-month photographic expedition in the wilds of Alaska. Friends described how seriously he prepared for the quest, devoting a year to plan-making and detail-checking. He solicited advice and purchased supplies. And then, in March, 1981, he hired a bush pilot to drop him at a remote lake near the Coleen River, some seventy miles northeast of Fort Yukon. He took two rifles, a shotgun, fourteen hundred pounds of provisions, and five hundred rolls of film. He set up his tent and set about his season of isolation, blissfully unaware of an overlooked detail that would cost him dearly. You see, he’d made no arrangements to be picked up, and overlooking that particular detail would ultimately cost him his life.

His unbelievable blunder didn't dawn on him until August. We know that because of a hundred-page loose-leaf diary the Alaska state troopers found near Carl’s body the following February. In an understatement the size of Mt. Denali, McCunn wrote: "I think I should have used more foresight about arranging for my departure." As the days shortened and the air chilled, he began searching the ground for food and the skies for rescue. He was running low on ammunition. Hiking out was impossible. He had no solution but to hope someone in the city would notice his absence. By the end of September, the snow was piling up, the lake was frozen, and his supplies were nearly gone. His body fat began to metabolize, making it more difficult to stay warm. Temperatures hovered around zero, and frostbite began to attack his fingers and toes. By late November, McCunn was out of food, strength and optimism. One of his final diary entries reads, "This is sure a slow and agonizing way to die."

Isolated with no rescue. Trapped with no exit. Nothing to do but wait for the end. Chilling. Literally. And puzzling. Why no exit strategy? Didn't he know that every trip comes to an end? It's not like his excursion would last forever, and ours won't, either. Hearts will feel a final pulse. Lungs will empty a final breath. Unless Christ returns before our appointed time, we will die. As Fred Kuehner said in his book, Fundamentals of Faith, "Death is the most democratic institution on earth. . . . It allows no discrimination, tolerates no exceptions. The mortality rate of mankind is the same the world over: one death per person." Or, as the psalmist frankly observed, "No one can live forever; all will die. No one can escape the power of the grave." (Psalm 89:48)

Young and old, good and bad, rich and poor. Neither gender is spared; no class is exempt. "None of us has the power to prevent the day of our death." (Ecclesiastes 8:8) The geniuses, the rich, the poor – no one outruns it, and no one outsmarts it. Julius Caesar died. Elvis died – we think. John Kennedy died. Princess Diana died. We all die. Nearly two people a second, more than 6,000 an hour, more than 155,000 every day, about 57 million a year. None of us will escape death.

The finest surgeon might enhance your life but can't eliminate your death. The Hebrew writer was particularly blunt: "People are destined to die once." (Hebrews 9:27) Exercise all you want. Eat nothing but health food. Pop fistfuls of vitamins. Stay out of the sun. Stay away from alcohol. Stay off drugs. Run a marathon. Train with a triathlete. Do your best to stay alive and, still, you will die. Death seems like such a dead end – no pun intended. That’s until we read Jesus' resurrection story. "He is not here. He has risen from the dead as he said he would." (Matthew 28:6)

It was Sunday morning after the Friday execution. Jesus' final breath had sucked the air out of the universe. As his body seemed to be moldering in the grave, no one was placing bets on a resurrection. His enemies were quite satisfied with the job they’d done. The spear to his side guaranteed his demise. His tongue was silenced. His last deed was done. They raised a toast to a dead Jesus. Their only concern was those annoying disciples. So, the religious leaders made a request of Pilate: "Give the order for the tomb to be made secure until the third day. Otherwise, his disciples may come and steal the body and tell the people that he has been raised from the dead." (Matthew 27:64)

But their concern wasn’t really necessary. The disciples were in full meltdown. When Jesus was arrested, "all the disciples forsook him and fled." (Matthew 26:56) Peter followed from a distance, but soon caved in and cursed Christ. John watched Jesus die, but we have no record that he ever gave any thought to seeing him again. The other followers didn't even linger; they cowered in Jerusalem's cupboards and corners for fear of the cross that bore their names, just like their teacher’s.

No one dreamed of a Sunday morning miracle. Peter didn't ask John, "What will you say when you see Jesus?" Mary didn't ponder, “What will he look like?” They didn't encourage each other with quotes of his promised return, but they could have. At least four times Jesus had said words like these: "The Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of men, and they will kill him. And after he is killed, he will rise the third day." (Mark 9:31) You'd think someone would have mentioned this prophecy and maybe done the math. "Hmm, he died yesterday. Today is the second day. He promised to rise on the third day. Tomorrow is the third day . . . Friends, I think we'd better wake up early tomorrow." But Saturday saw no such plans. On Saturday the Enemy had won, courage was gone, and hope had “caught the last train to the coast.” (American Pie, Don McLean.) They planned to embalm Jesus, not talk to him.

“When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus' body. Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb and they asked each other, ‘Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?’” (Mark 16:1-3) Do you see an Easter parade here? A victory march? Hardly. More like a funeral procession. It may have been Sunday morning, but their world was stuck on Saturday. So, it was left to the angel to lead them into Sunday. “There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men. The angel said to the women, ‘Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay.’" (Matt. 28:2-6)

God shook up the cemetery. Trees swayed, and the ground trembled. Boulders bounced, and the women struggled to maintain their balance. They looked in the direction of the tomb only to see the guards – scared stiff, paralyzed and sprawled on the ground. Hard to miss the irony here: the guards of the dead appear dead, while the dead one appears to be living. And the angel sat on the dislodged tombstone. He did not stand in defiance, or crouch in alertness. He sat. Again, the irony. The very rock intended to mark the resting place of a dead Christ became the resting place of his living angel. And then the announcement. "He has risen." Three words in English, but just one in Greek: Egerthe.

So much rests on the validity of that one word. If it’s false, then the whole of Christianity folds like a cheap suit. But, if it’s true, then God's story has turned your final chapter into an exit strategy. If the angel was correct, then you can believe this: Jesus descended into the coldest cell of death's prison and just when the demons began to dance, Jesus pressed pierced hands against the inner walls of the cavern and shook the cemetery. The ground rumbled, the tombstones tumbled and out he marched, the cadaver turned king; the mask of death in one hand and the keys of heaven in the other. Egerthe. He has risen! Not risen from sleep. Not risen from confusion. Not risen from a stupor or a nap. Not spiritually raised from the dead; physically raised from the once-dead.

The women and disciples didn't see a phantom or experience some gushy sentiment. They saw Jesus in the flesh. "It is I myself!" he assured them. (Luke 24:39) The Emmaus-bound disciples thought Jesus was a fellow pilgrim. His feet touched the ground. His hands touched the bread. Mary mistook him for a gardener. Thomas studied his wounds. The disciples ate fish that he’d cooked, and bread that he’d baked. The resurrected Christ did physical deeds in a physical body. "I am not a ghost," he explained. (Luke 24:39) "Handle me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see I have." (vs. 39)

The bodily resurrection means everything. If Jesus lives on only in spirit and deed, then he’s but one of a thousand dead heroes. But if he lives on in flesh and bone, he is the King who pressed his heel against death’s head. And what he did with his own grave he promises to do with yours: empty it. Death is not the final chapter in your story. In death you will step into the arms of the One who declared, "I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die." (John 11:25-26)

Winston Churchill believed. According to Churchill’s instructions, two buglers were positioned high in the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. At the conclusion of the service, the first one played taps – the signal of a day completed. Immediately thereafter, and with the sounds of the first song still ringing in the air, the second bugler played reveille – the song of a day begun. Appropriate. Death is not a pit but a passageway, not a crisis but a corner turned. Dominion of the grim reaper? No. It’s the territory of the Soul Keeper, who will someday announce, "Your dead will live, your corpses will get to their feet. All you dead and buried, wake up! Sing! Your dew is morning dew catching the first rays of sun, the earth bursting with life, giving birth to the dead." (Isaiah 26:19) Now that’s an exit strategy.

Grace,

Randy

How's It Working Out for You?

 

How’s It Working Out for You?

How's That Working Out for You? - Audio/Visual 

Later, Jesus appeared again to the disciples beside the Sea of Galilee. This is how it happened. Several of the disciples were there — Simon Peter, Thomas (nicknamed the Twin), Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two other disciples. Simon Peter said, “I’m going fishing.” “We’ll come, too,” they all said. So, they went out in the boat, but they caught nothing all night. At dawn Jesus was standing on the beach, but the disciples couldn’t see who he was. He called out, “Fellows, have you caught any fish?” “No,” they replied. Then he said, “Throw out your net on the right-hand side of the boat, and you’ll get some!” So, they did, and they couldn’t haul in the net because there were so many fish in it.

Then the disciple Jesus loved said to Peter, “It’s the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his tunic (for he had stripped for work), jumped into the water, and headed to shore. The others stayed with the boat and pulled the loaded net to the shore, for they were only about a hundred yards from shore. When they got there, they found breakfast waiting for them—fish cooking over a charcoal fire, and some bread. (John 21:1-9)

The last chapter of John opens on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. Seven disciples were all in a boat, and Jesus was on the beach watching them fish. They weren’t in Jerusalem anymore. They were a little over seventy-six miles away. What’s significant about the location is that this was where Jesus had first met Peter only three years earlier. But by the last chapter of John, Peter’s no longer traveling with Jesus. Peter wasn’t helping Jesus feed the five thousand. Peter wasn’t helping Jesus heal people. Peter had gone back to the only job he knew. Catching fish. Why? What was Peter’s motivation?

When we fall out with Jesus, it opens a door for the enemy to blast us with misinformation. Maybe we make a big promise, tell God what we’re going to do, tell our friends what we’re going to do, or somehow set ourselves up as being someone God can depend on. But at the end of the day, we fail and fall flat on our faces and make a huge mistake and do things we never thought we’d do. That was Peter. By going fishing, Peter was saying that he was done. Finished. He had had his chance at following Christ, but he’d blown it and denied him three times, instead. Like Peter, we’ve all done the same.

Whenever we fall down, it lessens our confidence in God. The Enemy comes in to attack and says things like, “You’ve let God and yourself down. Don’t even bother going back to God. Certainly, don’t pray about it. God’s fed up with you. He won’t listen. You’ve blown it for the very last time.” And we believe those lies. The next thing we know, we find ourselves going back to the place from which we’ve come.

But rather than saying, “I’m going fishing,” like Peter, we whisper, “I’m going back to drinking. I mean, I can’t turn to God. What else do I have?” Or “I’m going back to that old relationship. I know it’s toxic, but God doesn’t love me. Where else can I go?” Or maybe, “I’m going back to those poor thoughts. I can’t ever seem to get a handle on the problem anyway, and God’s tired of hearing my excuses by now. So, I’ll just dwell on those harmful thoughts like I always do.”

In other words, going back to those old friends, that old environment, that place where everyone knows your name; back to all the harmful stuff you used to do. Running to your favorite coping mechanism because that’s where you’ve always gone for fulfillment and satisfaction. That’s where you’ve always gone to feel better. And even though you never find fulfillment or satisfaction there, and even though you always feel worse than when you arrived, at least it’s familiar territory. In other words, “I’m going back to what I know.”

When Jesus showed up early in the morning by the shores of Galilee, the disciples had been fishing all night and had come up empty. Led by Peter, they’d gone back to what was comfortable. But at the end of a night of returning to their old ways all they had was a long night of nothing. Sound familiar? Our culture constantly tells us what we need to do to feel better: party harder; seek happiness in the wrong places; walk treacherous paths. Many of us have gone down that road only to find out it’s still not fulfilling in the end. But Jesus called out to them, “Have you caught any fish?”

Unfortunately, that phrase, as it’s translated, misses the impact of what Jesus was really saying. The phrase is actually a negative. It’s a hypothetical question. The emphasis is placed on what isn’t there. It actually reads in the Greek, “Not any food, have you?” The modern equivalent might be, “How’s that working out for you?” Jesus already knew they hadn’t caught any fish — that returning to their old ways was fruitless. So, he offered a solution. Jesus called out, “Throw your net out on the right side of the boat, and you’ll get some.”

Now, to an experienced Galilean fisherman, this advice sounded elementary. I mean, fishermen are fishermen the world over, and if a fisherman isn’t catching fish, then he or she’s going to have some sort of excuse. The bait was wrong; the visibility was bad; too much cloud cover; the moon was too bright; the fish horoscope was bad. There’s always an excuse, even for the ones that get away.

So, you can picture these guys on the boat all night. They haven’t caught a single thing. They’ve undoubtedly tried the right side, the left side, the front side, the back side, even the underside. They’d already cast their nets everywhere. In fact, you can almost hear the sarcasm coming from the boat. “Oh, the right side! Why didn’t we think of that?” as they all facepalm the speaker in mockery.

Who knows their motivation for following the stranger’s instruction? Maybe they were desperate enough to try what sounded obvious. They listened to the voice, threw their net on the right side, and — boom! Greatest catch ever. They couldn’t haul the net in because of all the fish.

Stay on that point for a moment, because maybe you’ve been fishing for a long time and have a whole night of nothing to show for it. Jesus stands before you and his message is, “I know where the fish are.” “I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know exactly where you can get it.” In other words, Jesus is saying that if you’re looking for friendship, he knows where you can find a friend. If you’re looking for acceptance, he knows where you can find it unconditionally. If you’re looking for meaning in life, he knows where to search. If you’re looking for healing, he knows where to go for help. If you’re looking for significance, he knows where you’ll find your greatest self. If you’re looking for security, he knows where you can be safe. If you’re looking for satisfaction, he knows where to find fulfillment. And right now, he’s asking you the same question he asked Peter and the six other disciples that morning.

Jesus is looking at your familiar patterns of living and asking, “How’s that working out for you?” He’s not asking for any information from you. It’s a hypothetical. He already knows how it’s working out. Instead, he’s giving you the opportunity to form the words in your heart and mind that affirm the reality of what’s really going on in your life. And once we affirm that reality, then God is able to restore us. But as long as we deny our situation and continue to think that what we’re doing is great, fun and satisfying and that we’re running the show, then we’re still under the power of the deceiver with nothing but empty nets to show for it.

However, the moment we speak the truth and answer Jesus (“Actually, Lord, I’ve got nothing.” Or “Actually, Jesus, I feel miserable.” Maybe, “Actually, Savior, what I’m doing isn’t helping at all.”), that’s when Jesus says to us, “Put your net over there.” He says, “I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know exactly where you’ll find it. You’ll find what you’re looking for when you follow me.”

I love what happens next in the story. When the disciples’ net was full of fish, John was the first to recognize that it was Jesus on the shore. But Peter, always the impulsive one, takes the time to put on his sleeveless tee because he’d stripped for work, jumps into the water and then swims to shore. The other disciples followed in the boat, towing the net of fish — it was so full they couldn’t heft it into the boat. So why did Peter want to get to shore ahead of all the others? Maybe it was because he was still the hard-driving disciple trying to work his way back into the graces of Jesus. Peter was still following his old patterns. It’s like he was announcing to Jesus, “See those guys still in the boat? They’re not swimming to you, but I am! I’m still your guy, Jesus! You can count on me!”

I wonder what Jesus was thinking. Maybe something like, “Man, Peter, do you still not get it? I couldn’t count on you. You told me you’d die for me, but you denied me. Three times. What I’m trying to help you understand is that I couldn’t count on you. But here’s the good news: you can always count on me! Now, here’s some breakfast and then go feed my sheep.”

So, hypothetically speaking, how’s it working out for you?

Grace,

Randy

It's Time to Change Your Wardrobe

 

It’s Time to Change Your Wardrobe

It's Time to Change Your Wardrobe - Audio/Visual 

The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him. (Psalm 100:8-13)

In 2006, Tennessee enacted legislation that gave convicted drunk drivers a new wardrobe – a blazing orange vest. Offenders were required to wear it in public on three different days for eight hours at a time while picking up litter from the side of the highway. Stenciled on the back in four-inch-tall letters were the words, "I AM A DRUNK DRIVER." No doubt they deserved to be punished, and given their threat to public safety they probably deserved three days of public humiliation. So, I don't really question the strategy of the state. But I wonder why we do the same to ourselves. Have you noticed?

We dress ourselves in our mistakes and put on our robes of poor choices. We step into our closets, sort through our regrets and rebellion and, for some odd reason, vest up. “I disappointed my parents.” “I wasted my youth.” “I neglected my kids.” Sometimes we cover the vest with a blouse or blazer of good behavior thinking that we’ll feel better about ourselves if we do some work for God.

Welcome to the vest system. It’s hard to hide it. It’s harder still to discard it. Overcome bad deeds with good ones, or offset bad choices with godly ones and stupid moves with righteous ones. But the vest-removal process is flawed because no one knows what work to do or how long to do it. Shouldn't the Bible, of all books, give us that information? It doesn't. Instead, the Bible tells us how God's story redeems our story. Jesus' death on the cross is not a secondary theme in Scripture; it’s the core of God’s Word. The crucial accomplishment of Christ occurred on the cross.

And just so we wouldn’t miss the message, God encased the climax of his story in high drama. The garden: Jesus crying out, the disciples running out and the soldiers bursting in. The trials: early morning mockery and deceit. Jews scoffing. Pilate washing. The soldiers: weaving thorns, slashing whips and pounding nails. Jesus: bloodied and beaten; more crimson than clean. Every sinew on fire with pain. And God: He ebonized the sky and shook the earth. He split the rocks and ripped the temple curtain. He un-tombed the entombed and unveiled the Holy of Holies. But first he heard the cry of his Son: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46)

“Forsaken.” Visceral. Painful. The word connotes abandonment, desertion, helplessness, loneliness, being cast out and completely forgotten. Jesus forsaken? Wait. Doesn’t Scripture declare, "I have not seen the righteous forsaken," and doesn’t it assure us that "the LORD. . . does not forsake His saints" (Psalm 37:25, 28)? Yes, it does, but in that hour Jesus was anything but righteous. This was the moment in which "God put the wrong on him who never did anything wrong." (2 Cor. 5:21) "GOD. . . piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong, on him, on him. He was beaten, he was tortured, but he didn't say a word." (Isaiah 53:6-7)

In other words, God dressed Christ in vests. Our vests. Each and every one. I cheated my friends. I lied to my wife. I abused my children. I cursed God. As if Jesus deserved them, he wore them. Our sins, our vests, were put on Christ. “The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” (Isaiah 53:6) “He bore the sins of many.” (Isaiah 53:12) Paul proclaimed that God made Christ “to be sin” (2 Cor. 5:21) and became “a curse for us.” (Gal. 3:13) Peter agreed: “(Jesus) himself bore our sins in his body on the cross.” (1 Pet. 2:24) This is the monumental offer of God. So, what does God say to us who want to work and offset our guilt? Simple: the work’s already been done. My son wore your sin on himself, and I punished it there. “For Christ suffered once for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God.” (1 Pet. 3:18)

On August 16, 1987, Northwest Airlines Flight 255 crashed after taking off from the Detroit airport killing 155 people. The lone survivor was a little four-year-old, Cecelia, from Tempe, Arizona. Rescuers found her in such good condition that they wondered if she’d actually been on the flight – perhaps she’d been riding in one of the cars into which the airplane had eventually crashed. But, no, her name was on the manifest. And although the exact nature of events may never be known, Cecelia’s survival may have been due to her mother’s quick response. Initial reports from the scene indicated that, as the plane was falling, Paula Cichan unbuckled her own seat belt, got down on her knees in front of her daughter, and wrapped her arms and body around the girl. She separated her from the force of the fall and Cecelia survived. Paula, her husband, Michael, and Cecelia’s brother, David, did not.

God did the same for us. He wrapped himself around us and felt the full force of the fall. He took the unrelaxed punishment of the guilty. He died, not like a sinner, but as a sinner – in our place. Our sins became Christ’s, and his righteousness became ours. Thus, his sacrifice is sufficient, alone. Our merits don't enhance it, and our stumbles don't diminish it. The sacrifice of Christ is a total and unceasing and accomplished work. "It is finished," Jesus announced. (John 19:30) His prayer of abandonment was followed by a cry of accomplishment. Not "It’s just begun," or "It’s been initiated," or "It’s a work in progress." No, Jesus said, "It’s finished." So, you can remove your vest. Toss the thing in a trash can and set it on fire if you want because you don’t have to wear it again. Ever.

Does better news exist? Actually, yes. There’s more. We not only remove our vest; we put on his. He is "our righteousness." (1 Corinthians 1:30) God does not simply remove our failures; he dresses us up in the goodness of Christ. "For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ." (Galatians 3:27) Think about that for a moment. When you make God's story your own, he covers you in Christ. You wear him like a vest. Old labels no longer apply – only labels that would be appropriately worn by Jesus Christ himself.

So, can you think of a few phrases to put on the back of your new vest? How about “Royal Priest” (1 Peter 2:9); “Complete” (Col. 2:10); “Free from Condemnation” (Rom. 8:1); “Secure” (John 10:28); “Established and Anointed” (2 Cor. 1:21); “God's Co-worker” (2 Cor. 6:1); “God's Temple (1 Cor. 3:16-17); “God's Workmanship.” (Eph. 2:10) So how do you like your outfit now? "Now you're dressed in a new wardrobe. Every item of your new way of life is custom-made by the Creator with his label on it. All the old fashions are now obsolete." (Col. 3:10 MSG) Don't mess with your old sin-clothes any longer, because "(a)s far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us." (Psalm 103:12) How far is the east from the west? It gets further and further by the moment.

Travel west and you can make laps around the globe and never go east. Journey east and, if you want to, maintain an easterly course indefinitely. Not so with the other two directions. If you go north or south, you'll eventually reach the North or South Pole and change directions. But east and west have no turning points. And neither does God. When he sends your sins to the east and you to the west, you can be sure of this: he doesn't see you in your sins. His forgiveness is irreversible. "He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities." (Psalm 103:10)

Headline this truth: when God sees you, he sees his Son, not your sin. God "blots out your transgressions" and "remembers your sins no more." (Isaiah 43:25) No probation. No exception. No reversals. He did his due diligence. He saw your secret deeds and heard your unsaid thoughts. The lies, the lusts, the longings – he knows them all. God assessed your life from beginning to end, from worst moment to best, and made his decision: "I want that child in my kingdom." You cannot convince him otherwise. Don’t believe me? All you need to do is look at his city gates for proof.

In the last pages of the Bible, John describes the entrance to the New Jerusalem: “She had a great and high wall with twelve gates . . . and names written on them, which are the names of the twelve tribes of the children of Israel. . . . Now the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and on them were the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.” (Rev. 21:12, 14) God engraved the names of the sons of Jacob on his gateposts. That’s interesting because they were more criminal than Christian. Their rap sheets include stories of mass murder (Genesis 34), incest (38:13-18), and brotherly betrayal (37:17-28), just to name a few. They behaved more like the last call crowd than a Valhalla of faith. Yet God carved their names on the New Jerusalem gates.

And the names on the foundations? Peter – the apostle who saved his own skin instead of his Savior's. James and John – who jockeyed for VIP posts in heaven. Thomas, the dubious – who insisted on a personal audience with the resurrected Jesus before he’d believe. These were the disciples who told the children to leave Jesus alone (Luke 18:15), who told Jesus to leave the hungry on their own (Matthew 14:15) and chose to leave Jesus alone to face his crucifixion. (Matthew 26:36-45) Yet all their names appear on the foundations. Matthew's does. Peter's does. Bartholomew's does. And yours?

It may not be engraved in the gate, but it’s written in the Book of the Lamb. Not in pencil so that it can be erased, but with blood that will not be removed. No need to keep God happy; he’s satisfied. No need to pay the price; Jesus already did. All of it. So, lose your vest because you look so much better wearing his. It’s time to change your wardrobe.

Grace,

Randy