Is God Still Good When He Says "No"?

 

Is God Still Good When He Says “No”?

Is God Still Good When He Says "No"? - Audio/Visual 

To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:7-9)

Picture you and me and a few others flying across the country in a chartered airplane not named Boeing. All of a sudden, the engine bursts into flames and the pilot rushes out of the cockpit. "We're going to crash!" "We've got to bail out!" Good thing he knows where the parachutes are because we don't. He passes them out, gives us a few pointers and we stand in line as he throws the door open.

The first passenger steps up to the door and shouts over the wind, "Could I make a request?" "Sure, what is it?" "Any way I could get a pink parachute?" The pilot shakes his head in disbelief. "Isn't it enough that I gave you a parachute at all?" And so, the first passenger jumps. The second steps to the door. "I'm wondering if there’s any way you could ensure that I won't get nauseated during the fall?" "No, but I can ensure that you will have a parachute for the fall." And out goes the next. "Please, Captain," says another, "I’m afraid of heights. Would you remove my fear?" "No," he replies, "but I'll give you a parachute." Yet another pleads for a different strategy, "Couldn't you change your plans? Let's crash with the plane. We might survive." The pilot smiles and says, "You don't know what you’re asking," and gently shoves the guy out the door with his parachute securely strapped to his back.

One passenger wants Rodeo Drive, another wants Xanax, and another wants to wait until the plane is closer to the ground. "You people don't understand," the pilot shouts as he saves us, one by one. "I've given you a parachute; that’s enough." Only one item is necessary for the jump, and he provides it. He gives us the strategic tool that we need. The gift is adequate. But are we content? No. We’re restless, anxious, even demanding. Too crazy to be possible? Maybe in a plane with a pilot and parachutes, but on earth with people and grace? God hears thousands of appeals per millisecond.

Some are legitimate. We, too, ask God to remove the fear, or change the plans. He usually answers with a gentle shove that leaves us airborne and suspended by his grace. There are times, however, when the one thing you want is the one thing you never get. You're not being picky or demanding; you're only obeying his command to "ask God for everything you need." (Phil. 4:6) All you want is an open door, or an extra day, or an answered prayer. And so, you pray and wait. No answer. You pray and wait some more. No answer. You pray and wait again. But what if God says no? What if the request is delayed, or even denied? When God says no to you, how will you respond? If God says, "I've given you my grace, and that’s enough," will you be content?

Content. A state of heart in which you would be at peace if God gave you nothing more than he has already. What if God's only gift to us was his grace to save us? Would we be content? But she begs him to save the life of her child. He pleads with him to keep his business afloat. You implore him to remove the cancer from your body. What if his answer is, "My grace is enough?" Would you be content?

From heaven's perspective, grace is enough. If God did nothing more than save us from hell, could anyone complain? Given eternal life, can we really grumble at an aching body? Having been given heavenly riches, can we complain about earthly poverty? But God hasn’t left us with "just salvation." If you have eyes to read the paper, or hands to hold a Starbucks, he’s already given you grace upon grace.

The vast majority of us have been saved, and then blessed even more. But there are times when God, having given us his grace, hears our appeals anyway and says, "My grace is sufficient for you." Is he being unfair? Is God still a good God when he says no? Is God good all the time, and all the time God good? Paul wrestled with that question. He knew the angst of unanswered prayer. At the top of his prayer list was an unidentified request that dominated his thoughts. He even gave the appeal a code name: "a thorn in my flesh." (2 Cor. 12:7) Perhaps the pain was too intimate to put on paper. Maybe the request was made so often he reverted to shorthand. "I'm here to talk about that thorn-thing again, God." Or could it be that by leaving the appeal generic, Paul's prayer could be our own? Don't we all have a thorn in the flesh?

Somewhere on life's path our flesh is pierced by a person or a problem. Our stride becomes a limp, our pace is slowed to a halt, and we try to walk again only to wince at each effort. Finally, we plead with God for help. And such was the case with Paul. His was a “thorn.” You don't get thorns unless you're on the move, and Paul never stopped. Thessalonica, Jerusalem, Athens and Corinth – if he wasn't preaching, he was in prison because of his preaching. But his walk was hampered by this “thorn.” The barb pierced through the sole of his sandal and into the soul of his heart and soon became a matter of intense prayer. "I begged the Lord three times to take this problem away from me." (2 Cor. 12:8)

This was no casual request, either; no P.S. at the end of a letter. It was the first plea of the first sentence. "Dear God, I need some help!" Nor was this some superficial prickle. It was a "stabbing pain," at least as rendered in the Phillips translation of this same verse. Every step he took sent a shudder up his leg. Three different times he limped over to the side of the road and prayed. His request was clear, and so was God's response. "My grace is sufficient." (2 Cor. 12:9) So what “thorn” is he talking about? No one knows for sure, but here’s some possibilities. The first could have been sexual temptation.

Paul battling the flesh? Maybe. After all, Paul was a single man, probably the result of a divorce after he met Jesus on the road to Damascus. As a former member of the Sanhedrin, he was likely married before, and probably to one of the pretty people. He describes the temptress like a guy who knew her firsthand. "I want to do the things that are good, but I do not do them. I do not do the good things I want to do, but I do the bad things I do not want to do." (Rom. 7:18-19) Is Paul asking God to finally deliver him from the hunger of an appetite he’d sated before he came to Christ? Perhaps.

But maybe the problem was not his flesh but foes, not temptation but opposition. The passage hints at it. "This problem was a messenger from Satan." (2 Cor. 12:7) Paul had his share of opponents. There were those who questioned his apostleship (2 Cor. 12:12), and there were some who undermined his message of grace. (Gal. 1:7) By the way, when Paul wrote that this "messenger of Satan" was sent "to beat me," he wasn't exaggerating. Look at Paul’s scars. He received 39 lashes five times; was beaten with rods on three others; nearly stoned to death; and shipwrecked more than once. (2 Cor. 11:21-28)

Some, on the other hand, think the thorn was his abrasive nature. Whatever he learned at the feet of Gamaliel, he must have been dozing off the day they discussed the topic of tact. Because before he knew grace, Saul killed Christians. And after he knew grace, he grilled Christians. Example? "When Peter came to Antioch, I challenged him to his face, because he was wrong." (Gal. 2:11) Written like a true diplomat. In Paul's view, you were either on God's side or Satan's side, and should you slide from the first to the second, he didn't keep it a secret. "Hymenaeus and Alexander have done that, and I have given them to Satan so they will learn not to speak against God." (1 Tim. 1:20) Everyone within range of his tongue and pen knew how he felt, and maybe knew when to duck.

However, a case can be made that the thorn was not temptation, opposition or public relation skills. It could have been related to his body, instead. Remember his words at the end of one of his letters? "See what large letters I use to write this myself." (Gal. 6:11) Maybe his eyes were bad. Could be he never got over that trip to Damascus. God got his attention with a light so bright that Paul was left blind for three days. Maybe he never fully recovered. His clear vision of the cross may have come at the cost of a clear vision of anything else. He wrote of the Galatians that "you would have taken out your eyes and given them to me if that were possible." (Gal. 4:15) In Paul's profession, poor eyesight could be an occupational hazard. It's hard to travel if you can't see the trail, and it’s hard to stitch a tent if you can’t see the needle. It’s not any easier to write epistles if you can't see the page. Poor vision leads to strained eyes, which leads to headaches, which leads to late nights and long prayers for relief. It's hard to impress the crowd if you're making eye contact with a tree, instead. Which leads to a final possibility.

We assume that Paul was a dynamic speaker, but those who heard him apparently disagreed. "His speaking is nothing," he overheard them say in Corinth (2 Cor. 10:10), and Paul didn't seem to argue with them. In fact, earlier he’d said, "When I came to you, I was weak and fearful and trembling. My teaching and preaching were not with words of human wisdom that persuade people but with proof of the power that the Spirit gives." (1 Cor. 2:3-4) Translation? I was so scared that I stuttered, so nervous that I forgot my point, and the fact that you heard anything at all is testimony to God. So, let's tally this up. Tempted often. Beaten regularly. Opinionated. Dim-sighted. Thick-tongued. Is this really the apostle Paul? No wonder some questioned if he were actually an apostle. And it’s no wonder why he prayed.

Are any of these requests inappropriate? Would he have been a better apostle with no temptation, no enemies, a calm demeanor, good eyes and a glib tongue? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. Had God removed temptation, Paul may have never embraced God's grace. Only the hungry value a meal, and Paul was starving. The self-given title on his door read, "Paul, Chief of Sinners." No pen ever articulated grace like Paul's. That may be because no person ever appreciated grace like Paul. And had God stilled the whips, Paul may have never known love. "If I were burned alive for preaching the Gospel but didn't love others, it would be of no value whatsoever." (1 Cor. 13:3) Persecution distills motives. In the end, Paul's motives were distilled into one force, "the love of Christ controls us." (2 Cor. 5:14)

Had God made him meek and mild, who would have faced the legalists, confronted the hedonists and challenged the judgmentalists? Maybe the reason the letter of Galatians is in your Bible is because Paul couldn't stomach a diluted grace. Attribute the letters to Corinth to Paul's intolerance of a sloppy faith. Paul's honesty may not have made him friends, but it made a lot of disciples.

And Paul's eyes. If God had healed his eyesight, would Paul have had such insights? While everyone else was watching the world, Paul was seeing visions too great for words. (2 Cor. 12:3-4) And public speaking? Nothing intoxicates like the approval of the crowd. God may have just been keeping his apostle sober and humble. Whatever the affliction, it was there for a purpose. And Paul knew it. It was “to keep me from becoming conceited.” The God who despises pride did whatever was necessary to keep Paul from becoming proud. In this case, he simply told him, "My grace is sufficient." (See, 2 Cor. 12)

Maybe he’s saying the same thing to you. Have you ever wondered why God doesn't remove temptation from your life? If he did, you might lean on your own strength instead of his grace. A few stumbles might be what you need to convince you that his grace is sufficient for your sin. Ever wonder why God doesn't remove the enemies in your life? Perhaps it’s because he wants you to love like he loves. Anyone can love a friend, but only a few can love an enemy. So what if you aren't everyone's hero? His grace is sufficient for your self-image. Wonder why God doesn't alter your personality? Maybe you, like Paul, are a little rough around the edges and say things you later regret or do things you later question. Why doesn't God make you more like him? He is. He's just not finished with you yet. And until he is, his grace is sufficient to overcome your flaws.

Wonder why God doesn't heal you? He has. If you’re in Christ, you have a perfected soul and a perfected body. His plan is to give you the soul now and the body when you get home. He may choose to heal parts of your body before heaven. But if he doesn't, don't you still have reason to be grateful? If he never gave you more than eternal life, could you ask for anything more than that? His grace is sufficient for gratitude. Ever wonder why God won't give you a skill? If only God had made you a singer, or a runner, or a missionary. But there you are, tone-deaf and slow of foot and mind. Don't despair. God's grace is still sufficient to finish what he began.

And until he's finished, let Paul remind you that the power is in the message, not the messenger. His grace is sufficient to speak clearly, even when you don't. For all we don't know about thorns, we can be sure of this: God would prefer we have an occasional limp than a perpetual strut. And if it takes a thorn for him to make his point, he loves us enough to refrain from grabbing the tweezers and plucking it out. God has every right to say “No” to us. And we have every reason to say “Thank you” to him.

Grace,

Randy

Forget About Amnesty

 

Forget About Amnesty

Forget About Amnesty - Audio/Visual 

It happens so regularly that it’s predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God’s commands, but it’s pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge. I’ve tried everything and nothing helps. I’m at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn’t that the real question? The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. (Romans 7:21-25 – MSG)

Charles Robertson should have turned himself in. Not that he’d have been acquitted or anything because he’d just robbed a bank. But at least he wouldn't have been the laughingstock of Virginia Beach. Cash-strapped Robertson, 19, went to Jefferson State Bank on a Wednesday afternoon, filled out a loan application and left. Apparently, he changed his mind about the loan and opted for a quicker underwriting process because he returned a few hours later with a pistol, a bag and a note demanding money. The teller complied and all of a sudden Robertson was holding a sack of cash. Figuring the police were soon on their way, he dashed out the front door. He was halfway to the car when he realized that he'd left the demand note. Fearing that it could be used as evidence against him, he ran back into the bank and snatched it from the teller.

Now holding the note and the money, he ran a block to his parked car. That's when he realized he'd left the keys on the counter at the bank when he'd returned for the note. Panic set in. So, Robertson ducked into the restroom of a fast-food restaurant, dislodged a ceiling tile and there he hid the money and the .25 caliber handgun he had used in the heist. Scampering through alleys and creeping behind cars, he finally reached his apartment where his roommate, who knew nothing about the robbery, greeted him with those ill-fated words, "I need my car." See, Robertson's getaway vehicle was a “loaner.” But rather than confess to the crime and admit that he’d bungled, Robertson shoveled yet another spade of dirt deeper into the hole: "Uhhhhh … your car was stolen," he lied. But then it got worse because while Robertson watched, his roommate called the police to report the stolen vehicle.

About twenty minutes later an officer spotted the "stolen" car about a block from the bank. Word was already on the police radio that the robber had forgotten his keys, so the officer put two and two together and tried the keys in the car. They worked. At that, detectives went to the address of the person who'd reported the missing car and there they found Robertson. He confessed, was charged with robbery and was put in jail. No bail. No loan. No kidding. Some days it's hard to do anything right.

It's even harder to do anything wrong right, and Mr. Robertson isn’t alone. We've all done the same. Maybe we didn't take money, but we've taken advantage, or taken control or taken leave of our senses. And then, like the thief, we've taken off; dashing down alleys of deceit and hiding behind buildings of work to be done, or deadlines to meet. Though we try to act normally, anyone who looks closely at us can see we’re on the lam: eyes darting and hands fidgeting, we chatter nervously. Committed to the cover-up, we scheme and squirm, changing the topic and then changing direction. We don't want anyone to know the truth, especially God.

But from the beginning God has always desired honesty. He's never demanded perfection, but he has expected truthfulness. Nehemiah knew the value of honesty. Upon hearing of the crumbled walls in Jerusalem, did he fault God? Did he blame heaven? Hardly. Read his prayer: "I confess the sins we Israelites have done against you. My father's family and I have sinned against you. We have been wicked toward you and have not obeyed the commands, rules and laws you gave your servant Moses."  (Neh. 1:6-7) Here’s the second most powerful man in the kingdom, the king’s cupbearer no less, turning himself in and accepting responsibility for the downfall of God’s people. Why? Because before there can be honest worship, there has to be an honest heart.

Confession does for the soul what preparing the land does for a field. Before a farmer sows the seed, he or she works the acreage, removing the rocks and pulling the stumps. They know that seed grows better if the land is prepared. Confession is the act of inviting God to walk the acreage of our hearts because God's seed grows better if the soil of the heart is cleared. And so, the Father and the Son walk the field together, digging and pulling, preparing the heart for seed and then for fruit. Confession invites the Father to work the soil of the soul. Confession seeks pardon from God, not amnesty.

Pardon presumes guilt; amnesty, derived from the same Greek word as amnesia, "forgets" the alleged offense without imputing guilt. Confession admits wrong and seeks forgiveness; amnesty denies wrong and claims innocence. Many mouth a prayer for forgiveness while, in reality, are claiming amnesty. Consequently, our worship is cold, and our faith is weak. We’re much better at keeping God out than we are at inviting God in. Sunday mornings are full of preparing the body for worship, preparing the hair for worship, preparing the clothes for worship . . . but preparing the soul? It’s like going to church on the run. Just like we spend our lives – on the run. But grace means you don’t have to run anymore; it's finally safe to turn ourselves in. That’s what Peter did.

Remember Peter? Flash-the-sword-and-deny-the-Lord Peter? The apostle who boasted one minute and bolted the next? He snoozed when he should have prayed. He denied when he should have defended. He cursed when he should have comforted. He ran when he should have stayed. We remember Peter as the one who turned and fled, but do we remember Peter as the one who returned and confessed? I think we should because how did the New Testament writers know of his sin? For instance, who told them of his betrayal? And how did they know the details? Who told them of the girl at the gate and the soldiers surrounding the fire? How did Matthew know it was Peter's accent that made him a suspect? How did Luke learn of Jesus’ stare after the rooster crowed? And, for that matter, who told all four about the noisy bird and the flowing tears? The Holy Spirit? Maybe. But isn’t it also possible that each learned of Peter’s betrayal as a result of an honest confession from the man himself?

Like the bank robber, Peter bungled it and ran. But unlike the robber, Peter stopped and thought. Somewhere in the Jerusalem shadows he quit running, fell to his knees, buried his face in his hands and gave up. But not only did he give up, he opened up. He went back to the room where Jesus had broken the bread and shared the wine. There he was every burly bit of him filling the door frame. "Guys, I've got to get something off my chest." And that's when they learned of the fire and the girl and the look from Jesus. That's when they hear of the cursing mouth and the crowing rooster. Maybe that's how they heard the story. Peter had turned himself in. But how can we be so sure? Well, two reasons.

The first is that he couldn’t stay away. When word came the tomb was empty, who was first out the room? Peter. When word came that Jesus was on the shore, who was first out of the boat? Peter. He was on the run again, only now he was running in the right direction. Here’s a good rule of thumb: those who keep secrets from God keep their distance from God, and those who are honest with God draw near to God. That isn’t novel. It happens between people. If you loan me your car and I wreck it, will I look forward to seeing you again? No. And it’s no coincidence that the result of the very first sin was to duck into the hedges. Adam and Eve ate the fruit, heard God in the garden and crept behind the bushes.

The second is that he couldn't stay silent. Only fifty days after denying Christ, Peter is preaching Jesus. Peter cursed his Lord at Passover, but he proclaimed his Lord at Pentecost. This isn’t the action of a fugitive. So, what took him from traitor to orator? He let God deal with the secrets of his life. "If we confess our sins, he will forgive our sins, because we can trust God to do what is right. He will cleanse us of all the wrongs we have done." (1 John 1:9) The fugitive lives in fear, but the penitent lives in peace.

Jesus has never demanded that we be perfect, only that we be honest. But honesty is a stubborn virtue for most of us. "Me, a thief?" we ask with the revolver in one hand and the bag of cash in the other. It wasn't easy for Peter either because he considered himself the MVA – most valuable apostle. Wasn't he a first round draft pick? Wasn't he one of the chosen three? Didn't he confess Christ while the others were silent? Peter never thought he needed help until he lifted his eyes from the fire and saw the eyes of Jesus. "While Peter was still speaking, a rooster crowed. Then the Lord turned and looked straight at Peter." (Luke 22:60-61)

Jesus and Peter were not the only two in the midnight street that night, but they might as well have been. Accusers surround Jesus, but he doesn't respond. The night air is full of taunts, but Jesus doesn't hear them. But let one follower slip when he should have stood, and the Master's head pops up and his eyes search through the shadows and the disciple knows. "The Lord looks down from heaven and sees every person. From his throne he watches all who live on earth. He made their hearts and understands everything they do." (Ps. 33:13-15) And you know when God knows. You know when he’s looking. Your heart tells you. Your Bible tells you. Your mirror tells you. The longer you run, the more complicated life gets. But the sooner you confess, the lighter your load becomes.

David knew this when he wrote, “When I kept things to myself, I felt weak deep inside me. I moaned all day long. Day and night you punished me. My strength was gone as in the summer heat. Then I confessed my sins to you and didn't hide my guilt. I said, ‘I will confess my sins to the LORD,’ and you forgave my guilt.” (Ps. 32:3-5) So, are you keeping any secrets from God? Any parts of your life off-limits? Any part of your past or present that you hope you and God will never discuss? Learn a lesson from the robber: the longer you run, the worse it gets. And learn a lesson from Peter: the sooner you speak to Jesus, the more you'll speak for Jesus. Once you're in the grip of God’s grace, you're free to be honest. So, surrender before things get worse. You'll be glad you did. Honest to God, you will.

Grace,

Randy