Prideful

Prideful

Prideful - Audio Visual

Pride precedes destruction; an arrogant spirit before a fall. (Prov. 16:18)

As Brazilian jail cells go this one wasn’t too bad. There’s a fan on the table, and the twin beds each have a thin mattress and a pillow. There’s a toilet and a sink, and Hector’s there to stay. The tattooed anchor on his forearm symbolizes his personality — cast-iron. His broad chest stretches his shirt, and the slightest movement of his arm bulges his biceps. His face is as leathery in texture as it is in color. His glare could laser through an enemy. His smile’s an explosion of white teeth. But today, the glare’s gone and the smile’s forced. Hector isn’t on the street where he’s the boss; he’s in a jail where he’s a prisoner.

He’d killed a man, a “neighborhood punk” as Hector told it; a restless teenager who sold marijuana to kids on the street and made a nuisance of himself with his mouth. One night the drug dealer had used his mouth one time too many times, and Hector had decided to silence it. He’d left the crowded bar where the two of them had been arguing, gone home, grabbed a pistol out of a drawer, and walked back to the bar. Hector re-entered the bar and called the punk’s name. The drug dealer turned around – just in time to take a bullet to his chest.

Hector’s guilty. Period. His only hope is that the judge might agree that he’d done society a favor by getting rid of a neighborhood problem. He’d be sentenced within the month. So, it’s no surprise that he was at least open to the idea of becoming a Christ-follower, and the eyes of the murderer softened slightly at the thought that the one who knows him best loves him most. His heart appeared touched as he listened about heaven, a hope that no executioner could take away from him.

But as the conversation turned to conversion, Hector’s face began to harden. The head that had leaned forward with interest was now erect with caution. Hector didn’t like the statement that the first step in coming to God was an admission of guilt. He was uneasy with words like, “I’ve been wrong,” and “Forgive me.” Saying “I’m sorry” was out of character for him. He’d never backed down to anyone, and he wasn’t about to start now — even if the man was God.

“Don’t you want to go to heaven?” “Sure,” he grunted. “Well then, are you ready?” Earlier he might have boasted yes, but now he’d heard too many verses from the Bible. He knew better. He stared at the concrete floor for a long time, meditating on the question. Maybe his stony heart would crack. And, for a second, it seemed like burly Hector would, for the first time, admit his failures. But the eyes weren’t tear-filled; they were angry, instead. They weren’t the eyes of a repentant prodigal; they were the eyes of an angry prisoner.

“All right,” he shrugged. “I’ll become one of your Christians. But don’t expect me to change the way I live.” “But you don’t get to draw up the rules, Hector. It’s not a contract you negotiate before you sign. It’s a gift—an undeserved gift. But to receive it, you have to admit that you need it.” “OK, but don’t expect to see me at church on Sundays.” Hmmm.

How many hits to the head and blows to the heart does a guy need before he’ll ask for help? Hector’s prison is not just bricks and mortar; it’s pride. The fact is, he’s twice imprisoned: once because of murder, and the other because of stubbornness; once by his country, and once by himself.

The prison of pride. For most of us it isn’t as blatant as Hector’s, but the characteristics are the same. The upper lip is just as stiff. The chin is jutted upward, and the heart’s just as hard. The prison of pride is filled with self-made men and women determined to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, even if they land on their backside. It doesn’t matter what they did, or to whom they did it, or even where they’ll end up; it only matters that, like Frank Sinatra crooned, “I did it my way.”

And we’ve seen the prisoners, haven’t we? The addict who won’t admit his drug problem. The woman who refuses to talk to anyone about her fears. The businessman who adamantly rejects help, even when his dreams are falling apart. The truth is, maybe all we have to do to see the prisoner is simply look in the mirror.

“If 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)You know, the biggest word in Scripture just might be that two-letter one: “If.” Because confessing sins (admitting failure) is exactly what prisoners of pride refuse to do. You know the lingo, don’t you? Something like, “Well, I may not be perfect, but I’m better than Hitler and certainly nicer than Mussolini!” Or, “Me a sinner? Oh, sure, I get a little carried away every once in a while, but I’m a pretty good person.” And, “Listen, I’m just as good as the next guy. I pay my taxes. I coach the Little League team. I even make donations to the Red Cross. Why, God’s probably proud to have somebody like me on his team.”

Justification. Rationalization. Comparison. These are the tools of the jailbird. They sound good. They sound familiar. They even sound American. But in the kingdom, they sound hollow.

“Blessed are those who mourn….” (Matthew 5:4) To mourn for our sins is the natural outflow of a poverty of spirit, and that’s why the second beatitude about mourning should follow the first, i.e., “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” (Matthew 5:3) But that’s not always the case. Many of us deny our weaknesses. Many of us know we’re wrong, yet pretend we’re right. As a result, we never taste the exquisite sorrow of repentance. Perhaps of all the paths to joy, this one has got to be the strangest: true blessedness, Jesus says, begins with deep sadness.

In Frederick Bruner’s commentary on Matthew, he says “God helps those who cannot help themselves and he helps those who try to help others, but he does not in any beatitude help those who think they can help themselves—an often ungodly and antisocial conception.” p. 152

Joy through mourning? Freedom through surrender? Liberty through confession? Looking for an example? OK, here’s one. He was nitroglycerin in a bottle; if you bumped him the wrong way, he blew up. He made a living with his hands, and got into trouble with his mouth. In some ways, he had a lot in common with Hector. And if he’d had a tattoo, it would have been a big, black anchor on his forearm, too. If they’d had bumper stickers back then, his would have read, “I don’t get mad; I get even.”He was a man among men on the Galilean sea. His family called him Simon, but his master called him “Rocky.” You know him as Peter.

And though he might not have known everything about self-control, he knew one thing about being a fisherman: he knew better than to get caught in a storm. And this night, Peter knows he’s in trouble. The winds have roared down onto the Sea of Galilee like a hawk on a field mouse. Lightning zigzags across the pitch-black sky. The clouds reverberate with thunder. The rain taps, then pops, then slaps against the deck of the boat until everyone aboard is soaked and shaking. Ten-foot waves pick them up and slam them down again with bone-jarring force. These drenched men don’t look like a team of apostles who’re only a decade away from changing the world. They don’t look like an army that will march to the ends of the earth and re-route history. They don’t look like a band of pioneers who’ll soon turn the world upside down. No, they look more like a handful of shivering sailors who’re wondering if the next wave will be their last.

And you can be sure of one thing. The one with the widest eyes is the one with the biggest biceps—Peter. He’s seen these storms before. He’s seen the wreckage and bloated bodies float to shore. He knows what the fury of both wind and wave can do. And he knows that times like these are not times to make a name for yourself; they’re times to get some help. That’s why, when he sees Jesus walking on the water toward the boat, he’s the first to say, “Lord, if it’s you . . . tell me to come to you on the water.” (Matt. 14:28)

Now, some say this statement was simply a request for verification. Peter, they suggest, wants to prove that the one they see is really Jesus and not just anyone who might be on a stroll across a storm-tossed sea in the middle of the night, like a ghost. (I guess you can’t be too careful, you know)So, Peter consults his notes, removes his glasses, clears his throat, and asks a question any good lawyer would ask: “Ahem, Jesus, if you would kindly demonstrate your power and prove your divinity by calling me out on the water with you, I would be most appreciative.”

But I don’t buy that. I don’t think Peter is seeking clarification; I think he’s trying to save his neck because he’s aware of two facts: he’s going down, and Jesus is staying up. And it doesn’t take him too long to decide where he would rather be. Perhaps a better interpretation of his request would be, “Jeeeeeeeesus. If that’s you, then get me out of here!”

“Come on,” is the invitation. And Peter doesn’t have to be invited twice, because it’s not every day that you can walk on water through waves that are taller than you are. But when faced with the alternative of sure death or possible life, Peter knows which one he wants. And the first few steps go pretty well. But a few strides out onto the water, and he forgets to look to the One who got him there in the first place, and down he plunges.

And at this point we see the major difference between Hector and Peter—the difference between a man who hides his problems and the one who admits them. Hector’s more concerned about his image than about his neck. He would prefer to go under rather than let his friends hear him ask for help. He would rather go down “his way” than get out “God’s way.”Peter, on the other hand, knows better than to count the teeth in the mouth of a gift horse. He knows better than to bite the hand that can save him. His response may lack class but it gets him out of some deep water: “Help me!”And since Peter would rather swallow pride than water, a hand reaches down through the rain and the water and pulls him up.

I think the message is pretty clear. As long as Jesus is one of many options, he’s no option. As long as we can carry our burdens alone, we don’t need a burden-bearer. As long as our situation brings us no grief, we’ll receive no comfort. And as long as we can take him or leave him, well, we might as well leave him because he won’t be taken halfheartedly.

But when we mourn, when we get to the point of sorrowing for our sins, when we admit that we have no other option but to cast all of our cares on him, and when there’s truly no other name that we can call, then cast all your cares on him, for he’s waiting in the midst of the storm. I think that’s what Peter meant when, through inspiration of the Spirit, he later wrote, “Cast all your cares on him, because He cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7)

Grace,

Randy

Compassionate

Compassionate

Just then a lawyer stood up with a question to test Jesus. "Teacher, what do I need to do to get eternal life?"

He answered, "What's written in God's Law? How do you interpret it?"

He said, "That you love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence—and that you love your neighbor as well as you do yourself."

"Good answer!" said Jesus. "Do it and you'll live."

Looking for a loophole, he asked, "And just how would you define 'neighbor'?"

Jesus answered by telling a story. "There was once a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way he was attacked by robbers. They took his clothes, beat him up, and went off leaving him half-dead. Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side. Then a Levite religious man showed up; he also avoided the injured man.”

"A Samaritan traveling the road came on him. When he saw the man's condition, his heart went out to him. He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he lifted him onto his donkey, led him to an inn, and made him comfortable. In the morning he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, 'Take good care of him. If it costs any more, put it on my bill—I'll pay you on my way back.'

"What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbor to the man attacked by robbers?"

"The one who treated him kindly," the religion scholar responded.

Jesus said, "Go and do the same." (Luke 10:25-37)

Of course, this is the fairly well known story of the “Good Samaritan,” and Jesus tells it in response to a question from a smart aleck lawyer. And basically, the question was this: “What do I have to do to have eternal life?” Or, “What must I do to be saved?” And you can just picture Jesus kind of grinning a bit as he throws the question right back into the lawyer’s lap: "What’s written in God’s law? How do you interpret it?" Jesus asks the question, the man gives the answer and then Jesus responds by saying, “Good answer! Do it and you’ll live.” But the lawyer did what lawyers do: he looked for a loophole. So, wanting to justify himself, he says to Jesus, "And just how would you define ‘neighbor’?"

Why’d the lawyer ask that question? I mean, he’d measured himself against both of the commands and figured that he’d aced the first one. Of course, keeping the second one, well ….. that depended on how you defined “neighbor.” In other words, the lawyer was asking, “OK, who’s my neighbor, and how much is that gonna cost me?”

Aren’t we like that sometimes? Trying to reduce God’s commands down to something with which we can live? We’d like to believe that loving our neighbor means loving people who love us, or at least loving people who are lovable. So, in that context, loving our neighbor means doing nice things for people who’ll probably do nice things back. And that’s probably what the lawyer was thinking, too. But the lawyer’s original question was, “What do I have to do to get in?” However, Jesus’ answer to that question didn’t tell him what he had to do to get “in,” but described what a person who’s already “in” looks like. Oh, the lawyer knew the right answers alright, but he was totally unprepared for what compassion looks like in real life.

The 15 mile journey from Jericho to Jerusalem was infamous. It’s about an eight (8) hour walk climbing 3,750 vertical feet. That’s like a 5% grade! Not only was it a steep climb, but along its path were numerous places where highwaymen would lie in wait for their next, unsuspecting victim. In fact, this route was so treacherous that it was commonly referred to as the “Way of Blood.” And, since Jesus didn’t call it a parable, it would have been a very believable story to those who were listening, and it’s a primer on compassion, or grace.

Jesus starts the story by referring to the victim as “a man….” Today, we’d probably say, “Some guy….” The man, likely a Jewish male, had been robbed, wounded and left for dead. He needed help in the worst possible way. And as the unknown victim lay half-dead beside the road, three different men come across him. The first is introduced as a priest. However, when he saw the man, he crossed to the other side and continued on his journey.

Now some have offered excuses for the priest by suggesting that he didn’t want to touch the man because he might have been dead. And if that’d been true, that would have made the priest ceremonially unclean and unable to carry out his duties. But notice that it says that he “was on his way down the same road.” In other words, he was leaving church. And if anyone was going to reflect the character of God, shouldn’t it have been the priest? You’d think.

The second passerby was a Levite. In Jewish tradition, a Levite was a member of the tribe of Levi who performed certain religious duties for the Israelites, including taking on certain political responsibilities as well. Now, at least the Levite went over and looked at the poor guy, but he was just rubber-necking. You know the type, don’t you? He’s the one who slows down and cranes his neck while driving by an accident scene to see what happened and then says, “Whew, I’m glad that wasn’t me!”? And just like the preacher, he did nothing to help the victim.

In other words, both of these men saw the victim, but ignored his need. These were two religious professionals caught up in a lifeless religion. Oh, they were plenty pious at church and all, but their religion didn’t affect the way they lived. And it would have been shocking enough if Jesus had told his audience that the victim was helped by some ordinary Joe. But it was a jaw-dropper to hear that the guy was a Samaritan who’d come to the aid of a Jewish man who had been ignored by his countrymen – twice.

When Israel and Judah divided, the ancient city of Shechem became the religious center of the Northern Kingdom. However, in about 883 B.C., the political capital of the nation was transferred by King Omri to his newly-built city of Samaria where it remained until it fell to the Assyrians. The inhabitants were promptly deported to various parts of Assyria, and colonists were sent in to fill the void. As a result, a mixed people with a mixed religion were established. They were half-breeds, “dogs,” and were considered unclean and to be avoided at all costs if you were a practicing Jew. In other words, being called a “Samaritan” was not a compliment.

So, it would have been easy to conclude that the Samaritan would’ve simply finished the guy off instead of coming to his rescue. In those days, “good” and “Samaritan” were never used together in the same sentence; there was nothing “good” about a “Samaritan.” But the passage says that “when he saw the man’s condition, his heart went out to him.” The Greek word is splagchnizomai, which means “compassion.” It’s a word that refers to the intestines, or bowels. It’s that feeling that comes from the deepest part of you since, in those days, the bowels were thought to be the seat of love and pity; a “gut feeling,” so to speak.

So, the Samaritan saw the same pitiful man lying in agony beside the road, but his heart couldn’t let him pass by without helping. And that’s the way compassion should affect us. It stirs us; troubles us; keeps us awake at night until we do something. And when the Samaritan looked at that suffering man lying half-dead on the side of the road, something happened in his gut; something made it impossible for him to simply walk away and do nothing. He didn’t decide to help this guy on the basis of how worthy he was. Remember, this is a Samaritan helping a Jewish casualty, He helped him because of how needy he was.

Frankly, there’s no logical reason why the Samaritan should have rearranged his plans or spent his money to help the enemy. Of all the people who passed the injured man, the Samaritan had the least reason to help. He was despised by society, and a good deed wouldn’t do anything to change his social status. He helped because the victim needed assistance. But not only was the Samaritan’s compassion based upon the need, rather than the worth of the victim, it caused the Samaritan to feel something so deeply that it had to be expressed in action. He didn’t pass by on the other side feeling all compassionate and then say “Godspeed!” He moved toward the injured man instead, and acted in relation to his need.

You see, compassion is not something that just magically happens. It takes effort. But only by moving toward people can we express compassion. Frankly, expressing compassion can be inconvenient. And don’t forget: had the victim been conscious and aware of who was helping him, he would have despised the help and, had the sandal been on the other foot, wouldn’t have returned the favor. But Jesus, in just six simple verbs, details the Samaritan’s compassion-in-action: (1) he went to him; (2) he gave him first aid; (3) he bandaged his wounds; (4) he lifted him on his donkey; (5) he led him to an inn; and (6) he took care of him. In every one of these acts he demonstrated compassion by responding in a practical, timely and unselfish way. In fact, putting the injured man on his own donkey meant that the Samaritan had to walk to the inn … uphill.

It’s also important to note that the Samaritan took care of the injured man. Let’s face it, we can’t help everywhere, and we can’t help everyone. But we can help someone, somewhere by providing physical and/or spiritual aid to a hurting soul. We can’t do it all, but we can do our all for some. And you’ve got to give it to this Samaritan guy. He went the extra mile. He took this man to an inn and saw to it that the innkeeper would look out for the recovering victim during his absence. He also promised that he would return and reimburse the innkeeper for any additional expense that he incurred while caring for the guy. And, to top it all off, he left two days’ wages to take care of the man’s needs, and didn’t put a limit on how much he would be willing to spend to see the wounded man healed. There’s nothing more the Samaritan could have done to show his compassion.

At the conclusion of the story, Jesus asks the lawyer one last question: “What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbor to the man…?”  The lawyer almost chokes on his reply. In fact, he can’t even bring himself to say the word, “Samaritan,” so he responds by saying, “(t)he one who treated him kindly.” (Yeah, “that guy”) Then, for the second time, Jesus tells the lawyer to "Go and do the same.” Why does Jesus say that? Because Jesus knows that that slick lawyer won’t turn to him for salvation until he turns from his dependence on “doing” something to earn it.

Isn’t it funny how the initial question asked by the lawyer, “How would you define ‘neighbor’?” became, “What kind of neighbor am I?” And perhaps we can identify with the lawyer’s first question, “What must I do to get to heaven?” The answer has been, and remains, the same: stop trying to inherit eternal life by doing something. Instead, believe in Jesus and trust that he paid the penalty for our sins. The truth is that we’ve got to get over ourselves because it’s not about us. It’s about Jesus and what He did for us.

Compassion is grace with a face. It’s the misery that we make our own that we can comfort; the want we make our own that we can satisfy. It’s the sin we make our own from which we can save another; and the gauge by which we can measure the sincerity of our faith.

Grace,

Randy

Offensive

Offensive - Audio/Visual
Offensive

But he answered one of them, ‘Friend, I am not being unfair to you. Didn't you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the man who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don't I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?”(Matthew 20:13-15)

When I was five, I was drafted to play right field for the Cubs in the T-Shirt division of my local Little League. I wasn’t very good, unless you consider picking dandelions in the outfield the makings of a future hall-of-famer. But it really didn’t matter because the Cubs finished first that year. I was even given a trophy that said so. But later, when I was at my best friend’s house after the season was over, I saw that he had a first place trophy, too. Problem is that he was a Dodger. Yep. Turns out everyone got a first place trophy. It was a real kindergarten scandal.

I’ve since gotten over the ordeal, and it didn’t leave me with any permanent scars. But do you remember the time when you studied really hard for that math test? The one that you aced and everyone else bombed? But since the class did so poorly, the teacher gave a re-take and everyone wound up with the same grade as you. Or, maybe it was that time at work when you were assigned a team project. And you were the one who put in the long hours and carried the load. But when it was all finished, the whole team got the same praise and the same raise. Yeah, I know – it’s not fair. Well, if that’s happened to you, listen to this one. It’s a real doozy.

You see, there was this farmer who went to town early one morning to hire some workers to pick grapes in his vineyard. Now picking grapes in Palestine is hard work; temperatures during harvest can easily exceed 100°. Making matters worse, a grape harvest is a really hectic time of year since there’s a very narrow window of opportunity between bringing in the harvest and the on-set of bad weather. So, in his haste to get the job done quickly, the farmer went back into town at 9:00 a.m. and hired some more workers. He did the same thing at noon, and then again at 3:00 p.m. Finally, at 5:00 p.m., just an hour before quitting time, he hired even more workers! (It helps living close to town)

Anyway, at 6:00 p.m., the farmer tells his foreman to call it quits for the day and give everyone their pay, starting with the ones who were hired last. Now, this struck the workers as a bit odd since, usually, pay was handed out on a “first-come, first-served” basis. But, hey, who were they to complain? At least they weren’t getting stiffed. So, they watched curiously as the foreman began to hand out the paychecks.

Well, the guys who had worked only an hour were paid a denarius, i.e., a day’s wage, or about $92.00 in California these days. And that was an unbelievable wage back then. In fact, that was the same wage paid to a Roman soldier, and it was way more than a common day-laborer would ever expect to get paid, even for an entire day's work!

Now, I’m thinking that the other laborers watching this thing unfold probably didn't mind too much, either. Well, at least not yet. I mean, they were probably flabbergasted at the owner’s generosity – especially the guys who’d been working there since sunrise.  These guys likely ran a few calculations through their heads and thought, "Wow, if the guys who only worked an hour got a whole day’s pay, imagine how much I’m gonna make! I’ll be rich!" But when they got to the cashier, they got the same amount in their check: a measly $92.00. Suffice it to say, the boys were steamed and one of them let the farmer have it.

But the farmer graciously responded by calling him “friend.” He then asked him three questions. (A very Jewish way of carrying on a conversation in those days) The first was, “Didn’t you agree to work for $92.00 a day?” Yep. Strike one. The next was, “Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money?” Uh-huh. Strike two. And the last, “Are you envious because I’m generous?” Uhhh. Caught looking. Strike three; you’re out. And we’re left thinking, “Hey, that’s just like that Little League story.” Or, “That sounds a lot like everyone getting an “A” on a test when I studied the hardest.” Or, “Reminds me of that raise where everyone got the same increase, even though I was the one who put in all the hard work.” It bothers us. A lot.

It bothers us because when you’re talking about a Little League game, or a grade on a test, or even the workers in the parable, there’s certain rules that apply: one team really does score more runs than the other; one person really does get more questions right than someone else; and one person really does work longer and harder and deserves more pay. But Jesus isn’t talking about earthly rules, or standards; he’s talking about heavenly matters because that’s how he starts the parable, “For the kingdom of heaven is like….” And therein lies the problem.

The problem is that even when Jesus tells us point-blank what he’s talking about, sometimes we’re too stuck in our own little world to actually get it. Maybe that’s why Jesus ends the parable with the question: “Or are you envious because I’m generous?” Perhaps the real problem’s not so much with God’s generosity, or even his fairness, but with his grace because it exposes our selfishness in making the kingdom of God all about us.

Just look at the context of the parable itself. Minutes earlier, Peter had said, “We’ve given up everything to follow you. What will we get?” (Matt. 19:27) And then, no sooner had Jesus finished his story than James’ and John’s mommy comes up to Jesus and says, "In your Kingdom, please let my two sons sit in places of honor next to you, one on your right and the other on your left." (Matt. 20:21) It’s no wonder that three verses later Matthew says that the other disciples (which would have included Matthew, too) were “indignant.” Maybe that’s why Jesus concludes his discussion by observing that, “those who are last now will be first then, and those who are first will be last.” (Vs. 16) And that offends us.

I know that sounds absurd, because we love grace, don’t we? I mean, how could grace possibly be offensive? We sing about grace and call it amazing. We say grace and then eat our meals. We even quote scripture that by grace we’ve been saved. And that’s all well and good, so long as grace remains just a nice word we use in church.

But what if someone hurts you, or offends you. How do you respond? Do you offer grace and forgiveness, or do you find it absurd that God would actually expect you to let them off the hook? I mean, they hurt you, didn’t they? They don’t deserve grace. Or, what if God blesses someone financially while you’re teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. Are you grateful for their success, or are you bitter that it’s not your own? You see, when we actually encounter pure, unadulterated grace, we sometimes find it offensive. In fact, we hardly have a category for it. Here’s what I mean.

In the early evening of November 13, 2004, a car-load of bored teenagers decided to find some excitement by breaking into a parked car and stealing stuff, including a credit card. From there, they went to a video store and charged $400.00 worth of DVD’s and video games. They then headed to a grocery store where they bought a 20-pound frozen turkey and then sped off down the highway. About this same time, a 44 year old woman was headed home after having attended her niece’s music recital. When asked about it later, Victoria Ruvolo said that she didn’t remember a car approaching her from the east; didn’t remember a teenage boy hanging out the window; and certainly didn’t remember the 20-pound frozen turkey that came crashing through her windshield.

The turkey struck her directly in the face, breaking every bone it encountered and left Victoria with absolutely no memory of the event. After 8 hours of surgery, titanium plates in her face, an eye reattached by synthetic film, a wired jaw, and a tracheotomy, Victoria began the excruciating process of rehabilitation. Later, friends and family would explain to Victoria that an 18-year-old boy named Ryan Cushing had thrown the 20-pound frozen turkey through the windshield of her car for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

After nine agonizing months spent in recovery, Victoria finally had the chance to meet Ryan, face-to-face, in the courtroom. She watched intently as Ryan accepted a plea bargain and then receive the sentence for his crimes: 6-months in jail, five years’ probation, some counseling, and a few hours of community service.

What? You’re kidding me, right? That’s unbelievable! Is that what our justice system has come to? I mean, who thinks that 6-months in jail even begins to come close to paying for permanently destroying someone else’s face? Well, Victoria Ruvolo does because she had previously asked the court to be lenient on the defendant. And after the sentencing, Ryan crossed the courtroom, hugged Victoria and then bawled like a baby. “I forgive you,” she said. “I want your life to be the best it can be.” Now that’s grace!

But that’s also offensive and an outrage, isn’t it? Aren’t we just a little disturbed that Ryan’s sentence was only six months in jail, probation, some counseling and a wee bit of community service? Where’s the justice in that? But that’s what happens when we encounter grace unleashed – we hardly know what to do with it.

You see, the problem’s not with grace; the problem’s with our hearts.

And Jesus reminds us that we’re foolish if grace offends us, because we’re wholly reliant upon it. Even the first workers in the parable were completely dependent upon the owner to give them a job. If he didn’t hire them, they didn’t work. And if they didn’t work, their family didn’t eat. Worse yet, they had no qualifications – nada, nothing, zero, zilch. But he offered to pay them more than they deserved. In other words, even the ones who worked all day, the ones who we think are the most deserving, were still only there because of the owner’s grace.

The same’s true for me and the Cubbies. We thought we were the best team in the league. But the truth is, by competitive standards, we were horrible. In fact, as far as I know, not a single one of us made it to the Majors. I mean, we had a hard enough time running the bases in the right direction, much less getting the ball to first base. The only reason any of us got a trophy was because of grace. And no matter how religious or spiritual we think we are, we are what we are because of grace. We are utterly, totally dependent upon grace.

So, be captivated by God’s grace – he pursued you even when you turned your back on him. Be in awe of God’s grace – he forgave you even though you had nothing to offer. And be saved by God’s grace – he loved you so much that he gave his only son to pay for your sins.

Grace,

Randy

Dis-appointment

Dis-appointment - Audio/Visual

Dis-appointment

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

Dis changes everything. With dis, "obey" becomes "disobey,” and “respect" is changed to "disrespect." What was an "ability" becomes a "disability," and "grace" is transformed into "disgrace." All because of dis. You'd be hard-pressed to find a more potent trio of letters, and pressed harder still to find a better example of their power than the word “appointment.” Most of us like appointments. Even the organizationally challenged like appointments. Appointments create a sense of predictability in an unpredictable world. We know we don’t actually control our future, but our calendars give us the illusion that we do. A disappointment, on the other hand, reminds us that we don't.

A disappointment is a missed appointment. What we hoped would happen, didn't. We wanted health; we got disease. We wanted retirement; we got reassignment. Dismissal instead of promotion. So what do we do with our disappointments? We could do what Miss Haversham did. Remember her in Charles Dickens's Great Expectations? Jilted by her fiancé just prior to the wedding, her appointment became a missed appointment and a disappointment. She didn’t respond well. She closed all the blinds in the house, stopped every clock, left the wedding cake on the table to gather cobwebs, and continued to wear her wedding dress until it hung in yellow decay around her shrunken form. Her wounded heart consumed her life. We can follow the same course. Or we can follow the example of the apostle Paul.

His goal was to be a missionary in Spain. But rather than send Paul to Spain, God sent him to prison, instead. Sitting in a Roman jail, Paul could have made the same choice as Miss Haversham, but he didn't. Instead he said, "As long as I'm here, I might as well write a few letters." Hence our Bible has the letters to Philemon, the Philippians, the Colossians, and the Ephesians. No doubt Paul would have done a great work in Spain, but would it have compared with the work of those four letters?

You've sat where Paul sat. You were hotter than a firecracker on the trail to Spain, or college, or marriage, or independence. But then came the layoff, or the pregnancy, or the sick parent. And you ended up in prison. So long, Spain. Hello, Rome. So long, appointment. Hello, disappointment. Hello, pain. And how did you handle it? Better yet, how are you handling it? Could you use some help? Six words in the fifth verse of the Twenty-third Psalm may help: "You anoint my head with oil." Huh? What does a verse on oil have to do with the hurts that come from the disappointments of life? A little lesson in animal husbandry might help.

In ancient Israel shepherds used oil for three purposes: to repel insects, to prevent conflicts and to heal wounds. Bugs bug people, but they can kill sheep. Flies, mosquitoes and gnats can turn the summer into a time of torture for the livestock. Consider nose flies, for example. If they succeed in depositing their eggs into the soft membrane of the sheep's nose, the eggs become wormlike larvae, which drive the sheep insane. One shepherd explains: "For relief from this agonizing annoyance sheep will deliberately beat their heads against trees, rocks, posts, or brush. . . . In extreme cases of intense infestation, a sheep may even kill itself in a frenzied endeavor to gain respite from the aggravation."

In other words, when a swarm of nose flies appears, sheep panic. They run. They hide. They toss their heads up and down for hours. They forget to eat. They aren't able to sleep. Ewes stop milking, and lambs stop growing. The entire flock can be disrupted, even destroyed by the presence of a few flies. For this reason, the shepherd anoints the sheep. He covers their heads with an oil-like repellent. The fragrance keeps the insects at bay and the flock at peace. At peace, that is, until mating season.

Most of the year, sheep are calm, passive animals. But during mating season, everything changes. The rams put the "ram" in rambunctious. They strut around the pasture and flex their necks, trying to win the attention of the new gal on the block. When a ram catches her eye, he tosses his head back and says, "I want ewe, baby." About that time her boyfriend shows up and tells her to go someplace safe. "Ewe better move, baby. This could get ugly." The two rams lower their heads and POW! – an old-fashioned head butt breaks out. To prevent injury in these circumstances, the shepherd anoints the rams. He smears a slippery, greasy substance over the nose and head. This lubricant causes them to glance off rather than crash into each other. They still tend to get hurt, however. And these wounds are the third reason the shepherd anoints the sheep.

Most of the wounds the shepherd treats are simply the result of living in a pasture. Thorns prick, or rocks cut, or a sheep rubs its head too hard against a tree. Sheep get hurt. As a result, the shepherd regularly, often daily, inspects the sheep, searching for cuts and abrasions because he doesn't want the cut to worsen. He doesn't want today's wound to become tomorrow's infection. And neither does God.

Just like sheep, we have wounds, but ours are wounds of the heart that come from disappointment after disappointment. If we're not careful, these wounds lead to bitterness. “Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, being jealous of one another.” (Gal. 5:26) And so just like sheep, we need to be treated. "He made us, and we belong to him; we are his people, the sheep he tends." (Ps. 100:3) You see, sheep aren't the only ones who need preventive care, and sheep aren't the only ones who need a healing touch.

We also get irritated with each other, butt heads, and then get wounded. Many of our disappointments in life begin as simple irritations. The large portions of our problems are not lion-sized attacks, but rather the day-to-day swarm of frustrations and mishaps and heartaches. You don't get invited to the dinner party; you don't make the team; you don't get the scholarship; your boss doesn't notice your hard work; your husband doesn’t notice your new dress; your neighbor doesn’t notice the mess in his yard. You find yourself more irritable, more gloomy, more … well, hurt. Like the sheep, you don’t sleep well, you don’t eat well. You may even hit your head against a wall a few times. Or you may hit your head against a person. It's amazing how hardheaded we can be with each other.

Some of our deepest hurts come from butting heads with people. Like the sheep, the rest of our wounds come just from living in the pasture of our world. The sheep have to face wounds from thorns and thistles. We have to face aging, loss and illness. Some of us face betrayal and injustice. Live long enough in this world and most of us will face deep, deep hurts of some kind or another. So we, like the sheep, get wounded. And we, like the sheep, have a shepherd. Remember the words of the Psalm? "We belong to him; we are his people, the sheep he tends." (Ps. 100:3)

He will do for you what the shepherd does for the sheep. He will tend to you. If the Gospels teach us anything, they teach us that Jesus is a Good Shepherd. "I am the good shepherd," Jesus announces. "The good shepherd gives his life for the sheep." (John 10:11) Didn't Jesus spread the oil of prevention on his disciples? He prayed for them. He equipped them before he sent them out. He revealed to them the secrets of the parables. He interrupted their arguments and calmed their fears. Because he was a good shepherd, he protected them against disappointments. But not only did Jesus prevent wounds, he healed them. He touched the eyes of the blind man. He touched the disease of the leper. He touched the body of the dead girl. He touched the searching heart of Nicodemus. He touched the open heart of Zacchaeus. He touched the broken heart of Mary Magdalene. He touched the confused heart of Cleopas. He touched the stubborn heart of Paul, and the repentant heart of Peter. Jesus tends to his sheep. And he will tend to you. If you’ll let him. But how?

First, go to him. David would trust his wounds to no other person than God. He said, "You anoint my head with oil." Not, "your prophets," "your teachers," or "your counselors." Others may guide us to God. Others may help us understand God. But no one does the work of God, for only God can heal. God "heals the brokenhearted." (Ps. 147:3) You've likely shared your disappointments with your neighbor, your relatives or your friends. But have you taken them to God? James says, "Anyone who is having troubles should pray." (James 5:13) Before you go anywhere else with your disappointments, go to God.

But maybe you don't want to trouble God with your hurts. After all, he's got famines and pestilence and wars; he won't care about my little struggles, you think. Why don't you let him decide that? He cared enough about a wedding to provide the wine. He cared enough about Peter's tax payment to give him a coin. He cared enough about the woman at the well to give her answers. "He cares about you." (1 Pet. 5:7) Your first step is to go to the right person. Go to God.

Your second step is to assume the right posture. Bow before God. In order to be anointed, the sheep must stand still, lower their heads, and let the shepherd do his work. Peter urges us to "be humble under God's powerful hand so he will lift you up when the right time comes." (1 Pet. 5:6) When we come to God, we make requests; we don't make demands. We come with high hopes and a humble heart. We state what we want, but we pray for what’s right. And if God gives us the prison of Rome instead of the mission of Spain, we accept it because we know "God will always give what is right to his people who cry to him night and day, and he will not be slow to answer them." (Luke 18:7)

We go to him. We bow before him, and we trust in him. The sheep doesn't understand why the oil repels the flies. The sheep doesn't understand how the oil heals the wounds. In fact, all the sheep know is that something happens in the presence of the shepherd. And that's all we need to know as well. "LORD, I give myself to you; my God, I trust you." (Ps. 25:1-2). So, go ahead. Go to the Shepherd.

Grace,

Randy

Hands

Hands - Audio/Visual
Hands

Those who think they can do it on their own end up obsessed with measuring their own moral muscle but never get around to exercising it in real life. Those who trust God’s action in them find that God’s Spirit is in them—living and breathing God! Obsession with self in these matters is a dead end; attention to God leads us out into the open, into a spacious, free life. Focusing on the self is the opposite of focusing on God. Anyone completely absorbed in self ignores God, ends up thinking more about self than God. That person ignores who God is and what he is doing. And God isn’t pleased at being ignored.

But if God himself has taken up residence in your life, you can hardly be thinking more of yourself than of him. Anyone, of course, who has not welcomed this invisible but clearly present God, the Spirit of Christ, won’t know what we’re talking about. But for you who welcome him, in whom he dwells — even though you still experience all the limitations of sin — you yourself experience life on God’s terms. It stands to reason, doesn’t it, that if the alive-and-present God who raised Jesus from the dead moves into your life, he’ll do the same thing in you that he did in Jesus, bringing you alive to himself? When God lives and breathes in you (and he does, as surely as he did in Jesus), you are delivered from that dead life. With his Spirit living in you, your body will be as alive as Christ’s!

So don’t you see that we don’t owe this old do-it-yourself life one red cent? There’s nothing in it for us, nothing at all. The best thing to do is give it a decent burial and get on with your new life. God’s Spirit beckons. There are things to do and places to go! (Romans 8:5-14 -MSG)

I was so proud of the new work gloves I’d just purchased. My old set was worn and had a few holes – completely defenseless from the bite that yard work can take out of your hands. So, I went to the local hardware store and shopped until I found just the right pair. I must have examined half a dozen; probably tried on just as many. After all, what good are gloves if you don't like them, and they don't fit? And then I found them – with the help of the clerk who did me a favor. She reached under the counter and produced a set still in its packaging. “Just what I was looking for,” I thought. And at that, I cheerfully paid the price, walked out the door and drove the short ride home to test them out.

So there I was – standing in my yard with my brand-new gloves like a kid in the outfield with his brand new mitt. I plunged my hands into the smooth, leather-grained cowhide and . . . nothing. My hands stopped mid-way into the gloves. Seems I couldn’t get my fingers into the fingers. The five entryways were all stitched closed. Mistake at the factory? Probably. Oversight of the store? Perhaps – maybe that’s why the clerk found them under the counter. Who knows. But one thing was certain: my fingers wouldn’t fill the glove. A closed fist could, but an extended hand wouldn’t. “No problem,” I thought to myself, “I’ll just make do,” because who has the time to go back to the hardware store to return work gloves when there’s lots of work to be done?

So, I fisted my way into the palm and parked it there, my fingers folded, the glove fingers flopping in the wind. Not exactly what I had in mind, but, hey, when it comes to looks and utility, I couldn’t complain because my fingers were safe. Rose thorns were no longer a threat. Function, however, was a bit of problem. Have you ever tried to pick up a shovel with your fingers folded inside a glove? It’s not easy. Neither is mowing the lawn, or trimming the roses. Your hands feel like horse hoofs. And forget grabbing some shears, or those little plastic whips you use for the weed-whacker. Simply put, I had things to do. I wanted extended fingers, stretched and strong, because I had leaves to rake, a lawn to mow, edges to trim and weeds to pull. Same’s true for God; he’s got things to do, too.

Babies need hugs. Children need good-night tucks in bed. AIDS orphans need homes. Stressed-out executives need hope. God has work to do. And he uses our hands to do it. What the hand is to the glove, the Spirit is to the Christian. "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him." (Rev. 3:20) God gets into us. At times, imperceptibly. Other times, disruptively. God gets his fingers into our lives, inch by inch, reclaiming the territory that is rightfully his own.

Take your tongue, for example. He claims it for his message. And your feet? He requisitions them for his purpose. Your mind? He made it, and intends to use it for his glory. And what about your eyes, face and hands? Through them he will weep, smile and touch. As a glove responds to the strength of the hand, so you will respond to the leading of Christ to the point where, like the Apostle Paul, you can eventually say, "I myself no longer live, but Christ lives in me." (Gal. 2:20) But the process isn’t always immediate; sometimes it takes a while.

Receiving the unseen is not easy. Most Christians find the cross of Christ easier to accept than the Spirit of Christ. Good Friday makes a whole lot more sense than Pentecost. Christ, our substitute; Jesus taking our place. The Savior paying for our sins. These are astounding, yet embraceable, concepts. They fall in the area of transaction and substitution – familiar territory for most of us. But Holy Spirit discussions lead us into the realm of the supernatural and the unseen, subjects about which we quickly grow quiet and cautious, fearing what we can't see or explain.

So try considering the Spirit's work from another angle. Think about what Jesus did in Galilee as being similar to what the Holy Spirit does in us. Jesus dwelt among the people, teaching, comforting and convicting. The Holy Spirit dwells within us, teaching, comforting and convicting. The New Testament word for this promise is oikeo, which means to "live, or dwell." And Oikeo comes from the Greek noun oikos, which means "house." In other words, the Holy Spirit indwells the believer in the same way a homeowner indwells a house. “Those who trust God's action in them find that God's Spirit is in them – living and breathing God! But if God himself has taken up residence in your life, you can hardly be thinking more of yourself than of him. Anyone, of course, who has not welcomed this invisible but clearly present God, the Spirit of Christ, won't know what we're talking about. But for you who welcome him, in whom he dwells – even though you still experience all the limitations of sin – you yourself experience life on God's terms.” (Rom. 8:5, 9-10)

Did you see the phrases of permanence in that passage? “God's Spirit is in them;” “God himself has taken up residence in your life;” and you are the person “in whom he dwells.” To Timothy, Paul urged, "You have been trusted with a wonderful treasure. Guard it with the help of the Holy Spirit, who lives within you." (2 Tim. 1:14) And later on, could the apostle's words have been any clearer than when he said, "Don't you realize that all of you together are the temple of God and that the Spirit of God lives in you?" (1 Cor. 3:16) All believers have God in their heart. But not all believers have given their whole heart to God. Remember, the question is not, “How can I have more of the Spirit?” But rather, “How can the Spirit have more of me?” A palm and a few fingers just won’t do.

C. S. Lewis put it this way: “Christ says, ‘Give me All. I don't want so much of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want You. I have not come to torment your natural self, but to kill it. No half-measures are any good. I don't want to cut off a branch here and a branch there, I want to have the whole tree down. . . . Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent as well as the desires you think wicked – the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours.’"

So, take an inventory. As you look around your life, do you see any resistant pockets? Any stitched-up fingers? Go down the list. Your tongue, for example. Do you stretch the truth? Puff up the facts? How about your language? Is your speech a sewer of profanities and foul talk? And grudges? Do you harbor resentments like boats at the dock? And while we’re at it, are you unproductive and lazy? Do you live off the system, assuming that the church or the country should take care of you? Sorry if you find these questions a little too personal, but don’t blame me; blame Paul – he wrote the checklist.

“So put away all falsehood and tell your neighbor the truth because we belong to each other. And don't sin by letting anger gain control over you. Don't let the sun go down while you are still angry, for anger gives a mighty foothold to the Devil. If you are a thief, stop stealing. Begin using your hands for honest work, and then give generously to others in need. Don't use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them. And do not bring sorrow to God's Holy Spirit by the way you live. Remember, he is the one who has identified you as his own, guaranteeing that you will be saved on the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words and slander, as well as all types of malicious behavior.”
(Eph. 4:25-31)

Do your actions interrupt the flow of the Spirit in your life? Harbored sin interferes with Spirit circulation. Confessed sin, however, repairs the heart and restores the power. But it could take time, so don't give up. Don't let stumbles stop you. Come and keep coming. Ask and keep asking. "Your heavenly Father [will] give the Holy Spirit to those who ask and continue to ask Him!" (Luke 11:13)

Reminds me of a fly I encountered in an airplane one time. On a flight some time ago, a fly was buzzing around the cabin. “That’s odd,” I thought. “A fly flying inside a flying plane. Why would a fly fly during a flight? Does he think he’s helping the plane? Doing his part to keep the aircraft airborne?” Why did the fly in the plane fly in the plane? Why didn’t the fly just light for a moment and enjoy the flight? Maybe he thought the airplane needed him. And just like that, he flew to the front of the plane.

Moments later, however, he returned, this time looking far less confident than before. Fear flickered in his tiny, bug eyes. "I don't think I can keep it up,” he said. "Keep what up?" "The plane! I don't think I can keep the plane up. I'm flying as furiously as I can. But my wings are getting tired. I don't know how long I can do this." “But don't you know it's not up to you? Look. You’re surrounded by strength, and held aloft by a power that isn’t your own. So, stop flying. It's not up to you to get this plane home." Insulted, he buzzed off.

Granted, I don’t make a habit of speaking to flies, although I have had a few choice words for them at home lately. But we all fly furiously back and forth, ever busy, always thinking that the success of this journey is up to us. And we fear letting up, don’t we? Well then, stop for a moment and look out the window. God's wings sustain you. His engines empower you. You can flap like a fly and not accelerate this flight. It's your job to rest and receive.

Accept his power. You be the glove and let him get his hand deep down into your life. Surrender to his plan. And then keep at it. Unceasingly seek God's Spirit. Accept. Surrender. Keep at it. “A-S-K.” Ask. Seek. Knock. A-S-K. "Your Heavenly Father will give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!" (Luke 11:13)

So, let God put his Spirit deep into the fingers of the glove that’s your life. Then, you’ll truly be able to experience the hand-in-glove relationship that he died to give you.

Grace,

Randy