Go Ahead, Unpack Your Bags

 

Go Ahead, Unpack Your Bags

Go Ahead, Unpack Your Bags - Audio/Visual 

So, Joshua told the Israelites, “Come and listen to what the Lord your God says. Today you will know that the living God is among you. He will surely drive out the Canaanites, Hittites, Hivites, Perizzites, Girgashites, Amorites, and Jebusites ahead of you. Look, the Ark of the Covenant, which belongs to the Lord of the whole earth, will lead you across the Jordan River! (Joshua 3:9-11)

Jimmy Wayne never knew his dad, and his mom spent more time in prison than out. When he was twelve years old, Jimmy’s mom was released from jail and took up with a troublemaker. They loaded Jimmy into the backseat of an Olds Delta 88, and for a year the car was Jimmy’s home. They drove from city to city to avoid the police. And after hundreds of miles and months of drifting they dumped Jimmy in the parking lot of a Pensacola, Florida, bus station and drove off. He was thirteen years old. He had no home. No food. No future. No nothing.

One day while wandering through a neighborhood, he spotted an older man who was at work in a wood shop in his garage. It was 1985. He approached the elderly gentleman and asked if the man had any work he could do. The carpenter sized the boy up, assessed he was homeless, and decided to give Jimmy a chance. The man introduced himself as Russell, and he called for his wife, Bea, to come out to the garage. They showed Jimmy the lawn mower and how to operate it, and for several weeks Jimmy cut the couple's grass and survived on the twenty dollars they paid him each week. After a time, Bea asked Jimmy where he lived. At first he lied; afraid she wouldn't let a homeless boy continue working around the house. But finally, she convinced him to tell her the truth. And when he did, the couple took him in. They gave him his own bedroom, bathroom and place at the dinner table.

The home was like heaven to Jimmy. He took a hot bath and ate hot meals. He even sat with the family in the living room and watched television in the evening. Still, in spite of their kindness, Jimmy refused to unpack his bag. He'd been turned away so many times that he'd learned to be wary. So, for four days his plastic bag sat on the floor, full of clothes, ready to be snatched up when Bea and Russell had changed their minds. He was in the house but not in the house. He was under the roof but not under the promise. He was with the family but wasn’t really family. Russell eventually convinced Jimmy to unpack and move in. It took several days, a dozen or so meals, and more than one heart-to-heart conversation, but Russell eventually persuaded Jimmy to trust them for his care.

Our Father is still working to convince us to trust him, too. Maybe you question your place in God's family. You fear his impending rejection. You wrestle with doubt-laced questions like, “Am I really in God's family? What if God changes his mind? Reverses his acceptance? Lord knows, he has every reason to.” We press forward only to fall back. We renew our resolve only to stumble again. We wonder, “Will God turn me out?” Boyfriends do. Employers do. Coaches kick players off the team all the time. Teachers expel students from school. Parents give birth to children and abandon them at bus stations. How do we know God won't do the same? What if he changes his mind about us? After all, he’s holy and pure, and we’re anything but holy, much less pure. Is it safe to unpack our bags?

God answered this question at the cross. When Jesus died, the heavenly vote was forever cast in your favor and mine. He declared for all to hear, "This child is my child. My covenant will never change." The saved believe that. They trust God's hold on them more than their hold on God. They place their trust in the finished work of Christ. They deeply believe that they are "delivered . . . from the power of darkness and conveyed . . . into the kingdom of the Son." (Col. 1:13) They know that Jesus was serious when he said, "[My children] shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand." (John 10:28) They point to Calvary as prima facie evidence of God's commitment to them. The followers of Joshua did something similar.

They didn’t look to a hill, but to a river. Not to Calvary, but to the Jordan. The miraculous crossing convinced them that God was in their presence. As their leader had promised, "By this [crossing] you shall know that the living God is among you." (Josh. 3:10) During most months of the year, the Jordan is maybe thirty or forty yards wide, perhaps six feet deep. But Joshua received his orders during the harvest season. (v. 15) During that time of the year, the Jordan swells to almost a mile in width, turbulent with the melted snow water pouring down from Mount Hermon. Crossing the swollen current was no small task – especially with an estimated 2,000,000 people. "Go over this Jordan, you and all this people," God said. (Josh. 1:2) God wanted every man, woman, child and infant across the river. Not just the hearty and healthy, but the old and feeble. The sick and disabled. No one would be left behind.

Joshua might have swallowed pretty hard at God’s command. Two million people crossing a mile-wide river? But he set the process in motion. "Joshua rose early in the morning; and they set out from Acacia Grove and came to the Jordan, he and all the children of Israel, and lodged there before they crossed over." (Josh. 3:1) The people pitched their tents on the eastern edge of the river. For three days they waited, watching the copper-colored waters and yeasty waves carry debris and trunks of trees. For three nights they slept, or tried to sleep, listening to the endless rush of water in the dark. Three days. Plenty of time to ask millions of questions. How will we get across? Will we use a boat? Will someone build a bridge? Will everyone really go? What about the frail? What about the children? Most of all how can a nation of people cross a flooded, bridgeless, boat-less river? On the third day the answer came.

Officers went through the camp, and they commanded the people, saying, "When you see the ark of the covenant of the LORD your God, and the priests, the Levites, bearing it, then you shall set out from your place and go after it." (Josh. 3:2-3) The ark of the covenant was a rectangular box, commissioned by God, which contained a trio of Hebrew artifacts: unspoiled manna, Aaron's walking stick that budded, and the precious stone tablets that had felt the engraving finger of God. A heavy golden plate, called the mercy seat, served as a lid to the chest. Two gold cherubim with outstretched wings faced each other and looked down on the golden lid. The dwelling place of God was between the angels. And when God said, "Follow the ark," he was saying, "Follow me." You see, God led the way. Not soldiers. Not Joshua. Not engineers and their plans, or Special Forces and their equipment. When it came time to pass through the impassable waters, God's plan was simple: trust me. And the people did.

At the close of those three days, there was a stirring in the Hebrew camp. A chosen band of priests, robed in white, walked toward the river. They carried the ark with acacia poles that ran through corner rings on the ark and rested on their shoulders. People stepped out of their tents and watched in hushed silence as the priests inched their way down the terraced bank toward the Jordan. The only sound was the rush of the water. It showed no sign of stopping. When they were thirty feet from the riverbank, the Jordan was still a rushing torrent. Twenty feet. Ten feet. Five feet. Still fast and furious. Even when the priests were a single step from the water, the flow didn’t slow. Surely the men must have paused. Should they even continue? The white-capped flood would knock them over and take the ark with it. Then they remembered what Joshua had said: "When you have come to the edge of the water of the Jordan, you shall stand in the Jordan." (v. 8) And scripture doesn’t bother concealing their fear: "As those who bore the ark came to the Jordan, and the feet of the priests who bore the ark dipped in the edge of the water . . . ." (v. 15)

The priests "dipped" their feet into the edge of the water. They did not run, plunge or dive into the river. They placed, ever so carefully, the tips of their big toes in the river. It was the smallest of steps, but with God the smallest step of faith can activate the mightiest of miracles. And as they touched the water, the flow stopped as if someone had shut off the water main. "The waters which came down from upstream stood still and rose in a heap very far away at Adam, the city that is beside Zaretan." (v. 16) Zaretan was thirty miles upriver. Thirty miles. In my imagination I had always envisioned a wall of water forming to the side of the ark and the priests. Not so.

God began his work upriver. He wanted a wide path through which two million people could cross en masse. And cross they did. "All Israel crossed over on dry ground, until all the people had crossed completely over the Jordan." (Josh. 3:17) "All Israel crossed over on dry ground." Men. Women. Old. Young. Feeble. Forceful. Believers and doubters. The faithful and the murmurers. "All Israel crossed over on dry ground." Might as well have been concrete. No wagon wheels got stuck. No feet got damp. As the people stood on the western shore, they had no mud on their sandals, no water on their robes, and, most of all, no fear in their hearts. God did for them what they couldn’t do themselves. Imagine the Israelites as they stood on the western banks of the Jordan. Don’t you think they were brimming with confidence? Weren’t they standing there in awe of God? If God could turn a raging river into a red carpet, then "Watch out, Jericho. Here we come!" As Joshua had told them, "By this [crossing] you shall know that the living God is among you." (3:10) The Hebrews knew they couldn't lose. The bicycle race was downhill with the wind at their backs. They had every right to celebrate. And so do we.

For Joshua's people, assurance came as they stood on dry land looking back at the Jordan. For us, assurance comes as we stand on the finished work of Christ and look back at the cross. The river we couldn’t cross? Jesus crossed it. The tide we couldn’t face? He faced it. For us. All of us. The young, the old. The courageous, the timid. Our deliverance is complete. Like the Hebrews, we have been dramatically delivered. But are we deeply convinced? Remember, the Hebrews could have entered Canaan four decades earlier. The prior generation had experienced a miracle every bit as grand – they had crossed the Red Sea. (Ex. 14:21-22) So both crossings involved large bodies of water and passage over dry ground. The difference between the first crossing and the second? Joshua's generation paid attention. The Jordan River crossing convinced them that God was with them.

So, let the cross convince you. Be settled about God's faithfulness. In one of the psalms the writer describes a person of faith with these words: "He is settled in his mind that Jehovah will take care of him." (Ps. 112:7) Life has many unanswered questions, but God's ability to save you needn't be one of them. Let that issue be settled once and for all because look at you, there’s no sin on your record, no guilt attached to your name. So, let there be no doubt in your heart. If God "did not spare his own Son but gave him for us all" (Rom. 8:32), will he not also give you all you need? Join the chorus of the confident and declare, "I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God's love . . . [I]ndeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord." (vv. 38-39)

Rest in your redemption. The past has passed. The future is bright. God's Word is sure. His work is finished. You are a co-heir with Jesus, a full-fledged member of God’s family. The Jordan is behind you. Canaan is before you. A new season awaits you. Jimmy Wayne found a new season. He took his place in the family. He went on to get an education. He found a career as a country music singer and songwriter. His 2008 hit song, Do You Believe Me Now, reached No. 1 on the County Western charts. His best days began when he unpacked his bags. Yours will too.

Grace,

Randy

God Has a Place for You

 

God Has a Place for You

God Has a Place for You - Audio/Visual 

Then Joshua secretly sent out two spies from the Israelite camp at Acacia Grove. He instructed them, “Scout out the land on the other side of the Jordan River, especially around Jericho.” So, the two men set out and came to the house of a prostitute named Rahab and stayed there that night. (Joshua 2:1)

There are some kids in Cateura, on the outskirts of Asuncion, Paraguay, who are making music with their trash. They're turning washtubs into timpani, and drainpipes into trumpets. Other orchestras fine-tune their polished maple cellos, or burnished brass tubas. Not this band. They play Beethoven sonatas with plastic buckets. On their side of Asuncion, trash is the only harvestable crop. Garbage pickers sort and sell refuse for pennies a pound. Many of them have met the same fate as the trash they pick – they’ve been tossed out and discarded. But now, thanks to two men, they’re making music.

Favio Chavez is an environmental technician who envisioned a music school as a welcome reprieve for the kids. Don Cola Gomez is a trash worker and carpenter. He had never seen, heard or even held a violin in his life. Yet when someone described the instrument, this untutored craftsman took a paint can and an oven tray into his tiny workshop and made a violin. Thanks to this Stradivarius, the junk pile gets a mulligan, and so do the kids who live among it.

You see, God makes music out of riffraff, and heaven's orchestra is composed of some of the most unlikely musicians. Peter, first-chair trumpet, cursed the name of the Christ who saved him. Paul plays the violin, but there was a day when he played the religious thug. And the guy on the harp? That's David. King David. Womanizing David. Conniving David. Repentant David. Oh, and pay particular attention to the woman on the flugelhorn. Her name is Rahab. Her story occupies the second chapter of Joshua.

The time had come for the Hebrew people to enter the Promised Land. Jericho, a formidable town that sat just north of the Dead Sea, was their first challenge. Canaanites indwelled the city. To call the people barbaric would be like calling the North Pole a little chilly. These people turned temple worship into orgies. They burned babies alive. The people of Jericho had no regard for human life, or respect for God. It was into this city that the two spies of Joshua crept. And it was in this city that the spies met Rahab, the prostitute.

A lot could be said about Rahab without having to mention her profession. She was a Canaanite. She provided cover for the spies of Joshua. She came to believe in the God of Abraham long before she ever met the children of Abraham. She was spared from the utter destruction of her city. She was grafted into the Hebrew culture. She married a contemporary of Joshua. She bore a son named Boaz, had a great-grandson named Jesse, a great-great-grandson named David, and a descendant named Jesus. Yes, Rahab's name appears on the family tree of the Son of God. Her resume didn’t have to mention her profession. Yet in five of the eight appearances of her name in Scripture, she’s presented as a "harlot." Five. Wouldn't one have been enough? And couldn't that one be a little euphemized like, "Rahab, the best hostess in Jericho," or "Rahab, the pretty working girl,” or “Rahab, the escort to the stars”?

It's bad enough that the name Rahab sounds like "rehab." So, disguise her career choice. Veil it. Mask it. Put a little concealer on this biblical blemish. Just drop the reference to the brothel, why don’t you? But the Bible doesn't do that. Just the opposite; it points a hot, red light on it.

It's even attached to her name in the book of Hebrews’ “Hall of Fame.” The list includes Abel, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses . . . and then, all of a sudden, "the harlot Rahab." (11:31) No asterisk, no footnote, no apology. Her history of harlotry is part of her testimony. Her story begins like this: "And it was told the king of Jericho, saying, 'Behold, men have come here tonight from the children of Israel to search out the country.' So, the king of Jericho sent orders to Rahab…." (Josh. 2:2-3)

The king could see the multitude of Hebrews camped on Jordan's eastern banks. As Rahab would later disclose, the people of Jericho were terrified. Word on the street was that God had his hand on these newcomers and woe to anyone who got in their way. When the king heard that the spies were hiding at Rahab's house, he sent soldiers to fetch them. So, I'm seeing half a dozen men or more squeeze down the narrow cobble-stoned path in Jericho’s red-light district. It's late at night. The torch-lit taverns are open, and the patrons are a few sheets to the wind. They yell obscenities at the king's men, but the soldiers don't react. The guards keep walking until they stand at the wooden door of a stone building that abuts the famous Jericho walls. The lantern is unlit, leaving the soldiers to wonder if anyone is even home.

The captain pounds on the door. Soon, there’s shuffling inside. Rahab answers. Her makeup is layered, and her eyes are shadowed. Her low-cut robe reveals the fringe of a lacy secret that even Victoria’s can’t keep. Her voice is husky from one cigarette too many. She positions one hand on her hip and holds a dirty martini with the other. "Sorry, boys, we're booked for the night." "We aren't here for that," the captain snaps. "We're here for the Hebrews." "Hebrews?" She cocks her head. "I thought you were here for a good time" as she winks an eyelid, heavy with mascara, at a young soldier. He blushes, but the captain stays focused. "We came for the spies. Where are they?" She steps out onto the porch, looks to the right and then to the left, and then lowers her voice to a whisper. "You just missed them. They snuck out before the gates were shut. If you get a move on, you can catch them." At that, the king's men turn and run.

As they disappear around the corner, Rahab hurries up the brothel stairs to the roof where the two spies have been hiding. She tells them the coast is clear. "The whole city is talking about you and your armies. Everyone is freaking out. The king can't sleep, and the people can't eat. They're popping Xanax like Tic-Tacs. The last ounce of courage left on the morning train." Her words must have stunned the spies. They never expected to find cowards in Jericho. And, what’s more, they never expected to find faith in a brothel. But they did. Read what Jericho's shady lady said to them: “I know that the LORD has given you the land . . . [W]e have heard how the LORD dried up the water of the Red Sea . . . and what you did to the two kings . . . who were on the other side of the Jordan . . . [T]he LORD your God, He is God in heaven above and on earth beneath.” (vv. 9-11)

Well, what do you know? Rahab found God. Or, maybe better stated, God found Rahab. He spotted a tender heart in this hard city and reached out to save her. He would have saved the entire city, but no one else made the request. Then again, Rahab had an advantage over most of the other residents. She had nothing to lose. She was on the bottom rung of the ladder. She'd already lost her reputation, her social standing and her chance for advancement. Ever been there? Maybe you’re still there. You may not be selling your body, but you've sold your allegiance, affection, attention or talents. You've sold out. We all have.

Lest we think God's Promised Land is promised to a chosen few, he positions Rahab’s story in the front of the book of Joshua. In fact, the narrator gives her an entire chapter. She gets more ink than do the priests, the spies, or even Joshua's right-hand man, combined.

If quantity and chronology mean anything in theology, then Rahab's headline position announces this fact: God has a place for the Rahab’s of the world. As evidence, consider Rahab's New Testament counterpart, the Samaritan woman.

By the time Jesus met her, she was on a first-century version of a downward spiral. Five ex-husbands and half a dozen kids, each looking like a different daddy. Decades of loose living had left her tattooed and tabooed and living with a boyfriend who thought a wedding was a waste of time. Gossipers wagged their tongues about her because how else do you explain her midday appearance at the water well? Other women filled their buckets at sunrise, but this woman opted for lunchtime, apparently preferring the heat of the noonday sun over the heat of their scorn. Were it not for the appearance of a stranger, her story would have been lost in the Samaritan sands of time. But he entered her life with a promise of endless water and a quenched thirst.

He wasn't put off by her past. Just the opposite. He offered to make music out of her garbage. She accepted his offer. We know that because of what happened next. “Many Samaritans from the village believed in Jesus because the woman had said, ’He told me everything I ever did!’ When they came out to see him, they begged him to stay in their village. So, he stayed for two days, long enough for many more to hear his message and believe. Then they said to the woman, ‘Now we believe, not just because of what you told us, but because we have heard him ourselves. Now we know that he is indeed the Savior of the world.’" (John 4:39-42) The woman on the margin became the woman with the message. No one else gave her a chance. Jesus gave her the chance of a lifetime. He came for people like her. People like you. Like me.

And that’s the work of God. And what a work he did in the life of Rahab. The Hebrew spies, as it turned out, were actually missionaries. They thought they were on a reconnaissance trip. They weren't. God didn’t need a scouting report. His plan was to collapse the city walls like a stack of pancakes. He didn't send the men to collect data; he sent the spies to reach Rahab. They told her to "bind this line of scarlet cord in the window" so that they could identify her house when the Hebrews attacked. (Josh. 2:18) Without hesitation she bound the scarlet cord in the window. The spies escaped and Rahab prepared. She told her family to get ready. She kept an eye out for the coming army. She checked the cord to make sure it was tied securely and dangling from the window – probably a thousand times or more. And when the Hebrews came and the walls fell, when everyone else perished, Rahab and her family were saved. "By faith the harlot Rahab did not perish." (Heb. 11:31) Her profession of faith mattered more than her profession as a harlot.

Maybe your past is as checkered as Rahab’s. Maybe your peers don't share your faith. Maybe your pedigree is one of violence; your ancestry one of rebellion. If so, then Rahab’s your model. We don't drop scarlet cords from our windows, but we trust the crimson thread of Christ's blood. We don't prepare for the coming of the Hebrews, but we do live with an eye toward the second coming of our Joshua – Jesus Christ. Ultimately we will all see what the people of Asuncion are discovering today. Our mess will become music, and God will have a heaven full of rescued Rahab’s in his symphony. And whatever instrument we’re playing, we’ll all know "Amazing Grace" by heart.

Grace,

Randy