by jphilo | Oct 6, 2014 | Church Newsletter Columns
How long, O LORD, will I call for help, And You will not hear?
I cry out to You, “Violence!” Yet You do not save.
Habakkuk 1:2
I do not like to wait. To be perfectly clear, I am not to blame for this character flaw. Part of the blame I attribute to my mother, who is equally impatient. Some of it rests with the managers who schedules too few checkers at the stores where I wait in line. A teeny-tiny bit of blame belongs whoever programs red lights to be way too long at intersections. And a little of it belongs to modern technology, which has trained me to expect instant gratification with every computer click.
But most of the blame, the way I see it, belongs to God. After all, the moment I recently became aware of a difficult matter dear to my heart, I did what Christians are supposed to do. I started to pray a really good prayer. It was full of sentiments about accepting God’s will, whatever that might be. Packed with praise for God’s sovereignty and the goodness of His ways. Filled with snippets of Bible verses acknowledging all of the above. Stating my intent to wait upon the Lord until, in His perfect timing, He answered my prayer as He saw fit. Ending with big, fat, juicy, emotional “amen.”
About five seconds later, things started to fall apart. Not because I was impatient or anything. But because God did not immediately respond to my perfectly constructed, perfectly Christian prayer as expected. Instead, His answer was to wait. Which as has been mentioned before, is not something I do well. And I’m in good company. The Bible is full of impatient people who, while they couldn’t blame store managers or traffic light programmers or computers for their character flaws, they did occasionally blame God. And maybe their mothers. Though there’s not so much biblical evidence on that front, so let’s not go there.
However, the Bible is full of stories of people who blamed God for making them wait. Who did the people blame while they wandered for 40 years in the wilderness? God. Who did Jonah blame for his 3 day stay in the belly of a whale? God. Who did Elijah blame for the need to hide in a cave for days on end? God. Who did Habakuk want to blame when the kingdom of Judah was about to fall? God.
But Jesus, who laid aside His heavenly powers and come to earth, didn’t blame God when He waited and walked among us for 33 years. He didn’t blame God for hours of agony on the cross or for lying dead in a tomb for 3 days. Instead of blaming God for making Him wait, Jesus trusted His Father as He waited. The waiting was hell, but Jesus trusted God’s promise of the glory waiting for Him–and for us–on the other side.
When waiting is hell for you and me, we can do better than blaming God or store managers or technology, for our impatience. Instead, we can lean into Jesus. We can ask Him to show us how to wait and how to trust our faithful Father. With Jesus holding us up, we can look beyond the wait to what’s waiting on the other side–glory, wholeness, restoration, and rejoicing in the presence of God. An eternity worth waiting for, don’t you think?
Photo Credit: Stuart Miles at www.freedigitalphotos.com
by jphilo | Sep 8, 2014 | Church Newsletter Columns
Can a man be profitable to God?
Surely he who is wise is profitable to himself.
Is it any pleasure to the Almighty if you are in the right,
or is it gain to him if you make your ways blameless?
Job 22:2–3
Our adorable grandson came for a visit not long ago. At twenty months, he is obsessed with tools. His toy hammer, drill, screw driver, pliars, wrench, and measuring tape are cherished possessions. Much of his day is spent pounding, sawing, tightening, and measuring whatever is in his reach. At Papoo and Grammy’s house that meant the radiator covers, and the screws holding them in place, were exactly the right height for him.
He went straight to work, fixing the radiator cover’s loose screws. Nodding when he was done. “Work.” He patted the radiator cover and smiled at me. “Hard!” Then he toddled off to find another project, his efforts a fine imitation of the weekend remodeling his daddy and Papoo tackle together at the old farm house where he lives.
We didn’t tell our sweet boy that our radiator covers required no fixing. We were so delighted by his presence in our home and pleased with his desire to help that we kept pointing out hinges to pound, rivets to tighten, and doorways to measure. Now, when people ask about our grandson, we describe a hard-working little handyman and his tool obsession. If they don’t ask, we whip out some pictures and tell them anyway.
A few weeks after this pint-sized visitor left our home in tip top shape, Job 22 led me to ponder the questions asked in verses 2 and 3. Does God need me or my works? Does he gain anything when we are in the right or try to be blameless?
For a few minutes I thought about our mighty and holy God, creator of all things, powerful beyond measure, the sovereign Lord who knows the end from the beginning, the God who provides for our every need.
The answer to the questions in Job became clear and humbling. God does not need me or my efforts. He doesn’t need my books, my blog posts, or my speaking gigs. In the wake of my attempts to be righteous and blameless, his Son died on the cross to make right what I did wrong. That realization led to one more question. If God doesn’t need my measly efforts, why in the world does he give me work to do?
The answer came as I thought about our grandson’s visit. His hard work did not profit me. In fact, his presence required extra effort. Thinking of things he could fix next. Time wasted finding the toy tools he misplaced. Projects interrupted to give hugs when he grew frustrated and to kiss boo-boos when he got hurt.
I did not need my grandson or his efforts. And yet, his delight in imitating the work of his father and the joy we found in his presence created memories I will cherish all my life. God describes love for us in similar language in Zephaniah 3:17:
The Lord your God is in your midst, A victorious warrior.
He will exult over you with joy, He will be quiet in His love,
He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy.
So why does God give me and you and all his children work to do if our best efforts mean more work for him? Because he delights in us. Because he delights in our feeble attempts to be like him. He delights in our presence. Because he’s our daddy, and he loves us.
Photo Credit: Kookai_nak at www.freedigitalphotos.net
by jphilo | Aug 4, 2014 | Church Newsletter Columns
For momentary, light affliction is producing for us
an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison,
while we look not at the things which are seen,
but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal,
but the things which are not seen are eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:17–18
The past month’s news has been a parade of one horrible event after another. An ebola epidemic in west Africa. Refugee children flocking into the country only to learn they aren’t welcome. Israel and Gaza at war. A passenger plane shot down by a missile.
The parade is never-ending. Sometimes, I can’t stand to listen anymore and turn off the news. I don’t even want to exist in this ocean of sorrow. I don’t want a job where parents of kids with special needs email with problems I can’t solve. I don’t want to live in a country where people hold up signs and scream obscenities at innocent children. I don’t want live in a world, which the Bible says, will end with death and destruction on a massive scale.
“Lord, take me home now,” I beg. “Bring me into your presence so Jesus and I can spend our days together. So we can sit by the swimming pool and sip fruity drinks decorated with tiny umbrellas, eat bon bons, and discuss the latest Sue Grafton mystery novel.”
So far, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit have not come to consenus concerning the granting of my heartfelt and perhaps misguided and selfish request. More likely, thanks to some prayer intervention by Jesus, God the Father has directed the Holy Spirit to perform more internal heart reconstruction inside me so I’m ready when the time comes for me to go home.
God alone knows when that day is. He alone knows when my earthly work and yours is done. He alone knows when the eyes of our hearts are prepared to appreciate the glory waiting in heaven. In light of the reality of our God who holds our return tickets home close to his chest, how do we keep the actions of broken people in a broken world from breaking our hearts and destroying our faith? I know only one way to survive and even thrive in this world of sorrow.
By looking to Jesus. Jesus, who left his glorious home in heaven to live among us. Compassionate Jesus, who loved and welcomed children with special needs. Innocent Jesus, who listened as people shouted obscenities at him. Jesus the Lamb, who died on the cross to redeem broken people living in a broken world. Risen Jesus, who ascended into heaven and sits on the throne. King Jesus, whose reign will end death and destruction forever.
To survive and thrive when the parade of bad news never ends, we must not be consumed by the sorrows of this earth. Instead, we must see them through the lens of hope. Hope in the unseen eternity yet to come. Hope in Christ, who entered into our temporary light afflictions to produce an eternal weight of glory on our behalf.
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.
Photo Credit: papaija2008 at www.freedigitalphotos.net
by jphilo | Jun 30, 2014 | Church Newsletter Columns
A thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.
I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.
John 10:10
A couple weeks ago, I attended my high school fortieth class reunion…
…Okay, right there was where you were interrupt and say, “No way! Your fortieth class reunion? Can’t be!” But you didn’t interrupt, and neither did my former classmates. Partly because they knew it really has been forty years since we received our diplomas. And partly because we were all shaking our puzzled heads and asking these questions instead:
How did it happen?
Where did the last forty years go?
How can we be this old?
Those of you close to my age are reading those questions and nodding in agreement. The rest of you young whippersnappers, you’ll be nodding too when you’ve lived long enough to realize that life on this earth is short.
Short and exceedingly precious.
Short and easily squandered.
Short and inexorably inching forward.
God gives each person one short earthly life. In that span of years is time enough for God to show Christ to us. Time enough to accept the bountiful gift of His Son and live in light of eternity. Or time enough to reject his bounty and live as though this dark world is all there is. Whichever choice a person makes, one day after decades have slipped away in plain sight, we will all shake our puzzled heads and ask the same questions:
How did it happen?
Where did the years go?
How can I be this old?
The response of those who chose the gift of abundant life purchased by Christ will be, “This is just the beginning. The best is yet to come.” But, the response of those who rejected his gift will ask, “Is this it? Is really all there is?”
Abundant life for some.
Abundant despair for others.
Abundant opportunity for believers to share Christ with those lost in the darkness.
For those who choose abundant life, each day is a gift from God. A day in which God uses his children to show Christ to those who have not yet accepted his bounty or to those who previously rejected him. A day in which God uses his men and women to be all things to all people, so he might save some. A day in which we realize:
Each of our days is exceedingly precious.
Each of our days can be easily squandered.
Each of our days inches inexorably forward.
And at the end of each of those days, our questions should ever be the same…How did I use this gift of abundance today? Lord, how would you have me use it tomorrow?
by jphilo | Jun 2, 2014 | Church Newsletter Columns
And he said to the people of Israel,
“When your children ask their fathers in times to come,
‘What do these stones mean?’
then you shall let your children know,
‘Israel passed over this Jordan on dry ground.’ “
Joshua 4:21–22
Our family spent part of Memorial Day weekend decorating graves at cemetery where my dad and his side of the family are buried. In years past, Mom took Dad’s two elderly aunts and helped them complete the task. Mom would drive from headstone to headstone while the aunts told family stories stretching back to the Civil War. Now, the aunts are gone. Now someone in my generation does the driving while Mom sits quietly trying to pass along the stories.
But every year, her memories grow more fragmented. Every year, I wish I’d paid more attention and rolled my eyes less when Mom and the aunts told their stories over and over and over. Every year, my siblings and I try to piece the remaining fragments of Mom’s stories into a patchwork of remembrance. Every year, our resolve to pass along that patchwork to our children and grandchildren becomes more pressing.
Because our family history matters.
Because old stories matter.
Because that history and those stories are the substance that holds families together.
God knows the importance of shared memories. He created us for remembering. Not only that, he instructs his children to pass on their memories of family and faith and of God at work to new generations.
In Joshua, he commanded the Israelites stack stones of remembrance beside the Jordan River. The commemorative stones weren’t erected as an altar, but as a conversation starter by which stories of God’s faithfulness could be be passed on to future generations.
In the book of John, the author says he wrote the story of Jesus “so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” (John 20:31)
In 2 Peter, the apostle explains why he continually repeats what Jesus did and said while he was on the earth. The reason, Peter says, is simple: “…so that after my departure you may be able at any time to recall these things.”
God made us to remember. He made us to remember by sharing our stories with one another, especially with our children and their children. By sharing the stories of our lives.
The stories of the lives of loved ones who came before us.
The stories of God at work among our ancestors and among us.
The stories orchestrated by God to bind us together as individual families, extended families, and families of faith.
So this summer, take advantage of the long hours of evening to share stories. Unplug the computer, turn off the tablets, and ditch your phones. Pull out the photo albums. Gather your starry-eyed youngsters and your eye-rolling teens around the table or a campfire. Tell your family stories. Tell stories about God at work in your family’s history. Take time to pass down your faith, one story at a time, so those who love you will find their faith strenghtened and will remember your legacy of love long after you’re gone.
Photo Source: lkunl at www.freedigitalphotos.net
by jphilo | May 20, 2014 | Church Newsletter Columns, Top Ten Tuesday
10. Since childhood, my sympathies have been with the tortoise and not the hare. And who won that race?
9. Running hurts.
8. Being naturally sensitive to the emotions of others, I wouldn’t want to start running and be so exceptionally fast that I left everyone else eating my dust. I just don’t want to be that kind of person.
7. Running hurts.
6. If I ran instead of walking, I wouldn’t have enough time to think through the day and then listen to audio books. What good is life without story time every day?
5. Running hurts.
4. Running makes a person sweat. Sweating is gross. If A equals B and B equals C, that means running is gross.
3. Running hurts.
2. I’m committed to water conservation practices. Sweaty runners take extra showers, and I just can’t go there.
1. Running hurts, and life is way too short for self-inflicted pain.
Those of you who prefer walking to running, now it your chance to be heard. Leave a comment about why you walk instead of run.
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