Preaching to the Choir

They Were Me

2009-03-21T07:18:00.000-07:00

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I was reading in scripture last week and came across a familiar verse, Matthew 15:8, and it reminded me of a song I had written quite a few years ago. Even though I had not thought of that song in ages, the words and music came flooding back to me, and it sounded fresh and relevant to my mind's ears. Here are the lyrics:

They Were Me

I read their stories in the Book You wrote:
Teachers of the Law and Pharisees.
"These people honor Me with their lips,
but their hearts--their hearts are far from Me."

And I hated them,
'cause they shoulda knew.
Oh, I hated them
for what they did to You.
I hated them
with my self-righteous ire,
never knowing they were me--
they were me.

Hebrew children in the wilderness--
You showed mercy to them while they were slaves.
Moses led them to the Promised Land,
but they rebelled against You all the way.

And I hated them
For their idolatry
Oh, I hated them
'cause they did not believe.
I hated them
with what I thought was holy fire,
never knowing they were me--
they were me.

Jesus, for Your mercy now I plead,
like the Psalmist in his darkest day:
"Please create a clean heart within me,
please don't take Your Holy Spirit away."

I hated them,
because they brought You shame.
Oh, I hated them,
and then I did the same.
I looked down on them
from my point of pride,
until You showed me they were me--
they were me.

Regarding Parables

2009-03-09T06:11:00.000-07:00

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(It would be helpful if, before you read the sermon that follows, you take a moment to read Matthew 13:1-17.)

Most of the time, when we gather to hear a sermon, what we receive generally falls into one of two categories. Either we receive instruction about how to make the principles of the gospel practical in our day-to-day lives, or we are given some kind of teaching designed to help us understand some of the more obscure points of doctrine or theology. On a good day we get both.

What our preachers and teachers do for us is take the tough, hard-to-swallow pieces of our religion, grind them up for us and spit them back out in little, easy-to-digest portions that we can more readily handle as our own spiritual food. (I know this doesn't sound too flattering or appealing.)

Think of a nest full of baby birds. The mother bird flies down to the earth and nabs a worm, partially digests it, and then flies back to the nest, where she regurgitates it into the throats of her children, and they receive the nourishment they need.

Don't get stalled by the analogy. The point is, when we hear a sermon, we are usually getting something that has been designed to help us understand the finer points of religion, something that has been carefully prepared to increase the understanding of all who hear.

That is not how Jesus preached.

Jesus told stories.

Those stories, called parables, were not designed to increase the understanding of all who heard them. In fact, they were especially designed to keep those outside the kingdom of God--those who had not been blessed with ears to hear--in the dark.

Here's an example of something like Jesus would say: "Church is like a nest full of baby birds, whose mother brought back into the nest food to feed them." And he would leave it at that. Then, later, when He had His chosen disciples alone with Him, He would explain the parable: "Most of the time, when we gather to hear a sermon, what we receive generally falls into one of two categories...."

And with many such parables He spoke the word to them as they were able to hear it. But without a parable He did not speak to them. And when they were alone, He explained all things to His disciples. (Mark 4:33-34)

All these things Jesus spoke to the multitude in parables; and without a parable He did not speak to them, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, saying: "I will open My mouth in parables; I will utter things kept secret from the foundation of the world." (Matthew 13:34-35)

The parable we read in our New Testament reading this morning is possibly the most famous of the parables--today we call it the Parable of the Sower. Almost everybody has heard it, and almost everybody kind of understands it, because Jesus' explanation to His disciples has been recorded for our generation to read.

But when Jesus first preached it, He didn't explain it to the people who listened. He just told the story, said "He who has ears to hear, let him hear," and sent the crowds on their way.

Later the disciples asked Him, "Why do You teach like that? Why do You speak to them in parables?"

He answered and said to them, "Because it has been given to you to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it has not been given. For whoever has, to him more will be given, and he will have abundance; but whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken away from him. Therefore I speak to them in parables, because seeing they do not see, and hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand. And in them the prophecy of Isaiah is fulfilled, which says: ‘Hearing you will hear and shall not understand, and seeing you will see and not perceive.'" (Matthew 13:11-14)

An important thing to note here is God's sovereign choosing by virtue of His grace. There was nothing special about the disciples' natural abilities that made them fit to understand Jesus' words; it was a gift from God. "It has been given to you to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it has not been given."

"But blessed are your eyes for they see, and your ears for they hear; for assuredly, I say to you that many prophets and righteous men desired to see what you see, and did not see it, and to hear what you hear, and did not hear it." (Matthew 13:16-17)

Let's read on and hear the Parable of the Sower explained:

"Therefore hear the parable of the sower: When anyone hears the word of the kingdom, and does not understand it, then the wicked one comes and snatches away what was sown in his heart. This is he who received seed by the wayside. But he who received the seed on stony places, this is he who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet he has no root in himself, but endures only for a while. For when tribulation or persecution arises because of the word, immediately he stumbles. Now he who received seed among the thorns is he who hears the word, and the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word, and he becomes unfruitful. But he who received seed on the good ground is he who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and produces: some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty." (Matthew 13:1-23)

Makes sense when it's explained, doesn't it? Not so easy when the explanation wasn't attached, though, especially to those who hadn't heard it taught in Sunday School and church their whole lives long. Still, though--even though they may not have understood it all, Jesus' story caused reactions in them. Some were confused and turned away. Some were angered and said, "Who does this Man think that He is, anyway?" And a few, presumably, had been gifted by God with ears to hear, and left that place that day knowing they had heard something significant, and mulled it over in their minds and prayed for understanding, and found favor with God.

Let's read on, and see some more examples of Jesus teaching in parables:

Another parable He put forth to them, saying: "The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field; but while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat and went his way. But when the grain had sprouted and produced a crop, then the tares also appeared. So the servants of the owner came and said to him, 'Sir, did you not sow good seed in your field? How then does it have tares?' He said to them, 'An enemy has done this.' The servants said to him, 'Do you want us then to go and gather them up?' But he said, 'No, lest while you gather up the tares you also uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest, and at the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, "First gather together the tares and bind them in bundles to burn them, but gather the wheat into my barn."'"

Another parable He put forth to them, saying: "The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and sowed in his field, which indeed is the least of all the seeds; but when it is grown it is greater than the herbs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and nest in its branches."

Another parable He spoke to them: "The kingdom of heaven is like leaven, which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal till it was all leavened."

All these things Jesus spoke to the multitude in parables; and without a parable He did not speak to them, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, saying: "I will open My mouth in parables; I will utter things kept secret from the foundation of the world." (Matthew 13:24-35)

If, at this point, you are starting to worry that you just don't get it, understand that without Jesus' explanations, the disciples didn't get it either.

Then Jesus sent the multitude away and went into the house. And His disciples came to Him, saying, "Explain to us the parable of the tares of the field." He answered and said to them: "He who sows the good seed is the Son of Man. The field is the world, the good seeds are the sons of the kingdom, but the tares are the sons of the wicked one. The enemy who sowed them is the devil, the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are the angels. Therefore as the tares are gathered and burned in the fire, so it will be at the end of this age. The Son of Man will send out His angels, and they will gather out of His kingdom all things that offend, and those who practice lawlessness, and will cast them into the furnace of fire. There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father. He who has ears to hear, let him hear!

"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and hid; and for joy over it he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.

"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking beautiful pearls, who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had and bought it.

"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a dragnet that was cast into the sea and gathered some of every kind, which, when it was full, they drew to shore; and they sat down and gathered the good into vessels, but threw the bad away. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come forth, separate the wicked from among the just, and cast them into the furnace of fire. There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth."

Jesus said to them, "Have you understood all these things?"

They said to Him, "Yes, Lord."

Then He said to them, "Therefore every scribe instructed concerning the kingdom of heaven is like a householder who brings out of his treasure things new and old." (Matthew13:36-52)

When Jesus asked the disciples, "Have you understood all these things," and they replied, "Yes, Lord," I think they may have been telling Him a lie. Or, to be a bit more charitable, perhaps it was wishful thinking.

Because we see just two chapters later, Peter saying to the Lord about another of His sayings, "Explain this parable to us," and Jesus replying, "Are you also still without understanding?" (Matthew 15:15-16)

And another chapter after that, we find Jesus again lamenting to the disciples, "O you of little faith, do you not yet understand? How is it you do not understand?" (Matthew 16:8-11)

The point here is this: If you still feel like you're hopelessly dense and you don't totally get what Jesus is trying to say to you ... you've got powerful friends in the disciples. Follow their example. Whatever comes your way, just stay with Jesus. Ask Him to explain your confusing circumstances to you. A total explanation may or may not ever come that will satisfy all your questions, but confused or clear, you will find yourself right where you need to be ... with Him.

"It has been given to you to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are your eyes for they see, and your ears for they hear." Jesus said those words to His disciples even though their minds were still murky with confusion; Jesus says those same words today to those whose ears have been opened to His word in faith, by the gracious gift of the God the Father through the Holy Spirit.

What I'm Reading

2009-02-02T14:45:00.001-08:00

I recently finished my second Malcolm Muggeridge book, Conversion: The Spiritual Journey of a Twentieth-Century Pilgrim. I'm not going to give any in-depth analysis here; I just want to say that it was a beautiful book.

Muggeridge tells his life story, from youth to near-death, mostly in the third person but in a style that doesn't seem the least bit pretentious. He gives enough detail that the reader has a sense of the momentous events in the author's momentous life, but the story isn't nearly so much a historical narrative as it is a spiritual confession.

Just one sample excerpt, from the last chapter:

The hardest thing of all to explain is that death's nearness in some mysterious way makes what is being left behind--I mean our earth itself, its shapes and smells and colours and creatures, all that one has known and loved and lived with--the more entrancing; as the end of a bright June day somehow encapsulates all the beauty of the daylight hours now drawing to a close; or as the last notes of a Beethoven symphony manage to convey the splendour of the whole piece. Checking out of St Theresa of Avila's second-class hotel, as the revolving doors take one into the street outside, one casts a backward look at the old place, overcome with affection for it, almost to the point of tears.
So, like a prisoner awaiting his release, like a schoolboy when the end of term is near, like a migrant bird ready to fly south, like a patient in a hospital anxiously scanning the doctor's face to see whether a discharge may be expected, I long to be gone. Extricating myself from the flesh I have too long inhabited, hearing the key turn in the lock of Time so that the great doors of Eternity swing open, disengaging my tired mind from its interminable conundrums and my tired ego from its wearisome insistencies. Such is the prospect of death.

A triumphant story of a very real human being; someone so hard to find--an honest man. Well worth the read.

When Jesus Called

2009-02-01T12:14:00.000-08:00

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Today's lesson deals with the call of Jesus to follow Him, and how several people responded to that call. I'm not necessarily talking about the salvation of their souls (though that may possibly be implied as well); I'm just talking today about the legacy of the lives of these ten or so people who came face to face with Jesus Christ and heard the words coming from His own lips: "Follow Me."

First of all, let's look at the four famous fishermen--two sets of brothers--Andrew and Peter, James and John:

"And Jesus, walking by the Sea of Galilee, saw two brothers, Simon called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea; for they were fishermen. Then He said to them, 'Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men.' They immediately left their nets and followed Him. Going on from there, He saw two other brothers, James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother, in the boat with Zebedee their father, mending their nets. He called them, and immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed Him" (Matthew 4:18-22).

We know from other passages that these men already knew Jesus, at least a little bit. They had heard Him speak; they had been to His house. But this represented a significant moment in their lives; Jesus says the words, "Follow Me." And they did. Later on in the book of Luke, a similar scene is recorded. Some think it refers to the same point in time--I think it refers to another moment, shortly after the first call from the Lord:

"So it was, as the multitude pressed about Him to hear the word of God, that He stood by the Lake of Gennesaret, and saw two boats standing by the lake; but the fishermen had gone from them and were washing their nets. Then He got into one of the boats, which was Simon’s, and asked him to put out a little from the land. And He sat down and taught the multitudes from the boat. When He had stopped speaking, He said to Simon, 'Launch out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.' But Simon answered and said to Him, 'Master, we have toiled all night and caught nothing; nevertheless at Your word I will let down the net.' And when they had done this, they caught a great number of fish, and their net was breaking. So they signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both the boats, so that they began to sink.
When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, 'Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!' For he and all who were with him were astonished at the catch of fish which they had taken; and so also were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. And Jesus said to Simon, 'Do not be afraid. From now on you will catch men.' So when they had brought their boats to land, they forsook all and followed Him" (Luke 5:1-11).

Here we see Jesus giving them what was, to them, incontrovertible evidence that He was, if not the very Messiah of God, at least a very holy Man. "Don't be afraid," said Jesus, for they were afraid. And their response was to leave behind the greatest catch they had ever made--to forsake everything their lives had stood for up until that moment--and follow Him. From then on, as history records, there was no turning back for Peter and Andrew, for James and John.

Next let's look at Levi the tax collector, later to be known as Matthew. We've already looked at this section in our first reading for the day, but let's listen to the parallel passage from Luke:

"After these things He went out and saw a tax collector named Levi, sitting at the tax office. And He said to him, 'Follow Me.' So he left all, rose up, and followed Him.

"Then Levi gave Him a great feast in his own house. And there were a great number of tax collectors and others who sat down with them. And their scribes and the Pharisees complained against His disciples, saying, 'Why do You eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?' Jesus answered and said to them, 'Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance'" (Luke 5:27-32).

Again we see the call of Jesus: "Follow Me." And again we see the response: "He left all ... and followed Him. Levi left behind the riches of a comfortable way of living, left behind the scorn of His fellow countrymen, who hated the tax collectors ... and took on the life of a traveling student and preacher, and earned the scorn of the government he had formerly served.

One more--and chronologically speaking, this may be the first recorded instance of Jesus using the words, "Follow Me," from the gospel of John:

"The following day Jesus wanted to go to Galilee, and He found Philip and said to him, 'Follow Me.' Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, 'We have found Him of whom Moses in the law, and also the prophets, wrote--Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.' And Nathanael said to him, 'Can anything good come out of Nazareth?' Philip said to him, 'Come and see'" (John 1:43-46).

In this passage we don't have a record of Philip forsaking everything and following Jesus, but what we do have is significant in its own right. The first thing Philip does after Jesus' call is to go and find his friend, and tell him, "We've found Jesus! Come and see!"

So what is the legacy of their obedience? Jesus called; they followed.

They gave up everything they owned to follow Him--their careers, their families, their way of life, their comforts. And in return, they received intimate relationship with the living God. They received purpose and fulfillment that transcended the duties of mere fishermen and family men. Centuries later, the world still knows the names of Peter and Andrew, James and John, Philip and Matthew. But worldly fame was not their legacy; the fact that we still know their names is not worthy to be compared with the fact that God knows their names: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are Mine," prophesied Isaiah (Isaiah 43:1).

To be sure, part of their legacy was also that they suffered scorn and abuse; they suffered martyrs' deaths. But they live on, not only in our memories, but much more importantly in the presence of the Lord, where they will rule and reign with Him throughout all eternity.

When Jesus said, "Follow Me," in the pages of scripture, you might almost expect that everyone He called would be compelled to follow--compelled by His presence, compelled by the Holy Spirit--something. But we find that that was not the case:

"Now it happened as they journeyed on the road, that someone said to Him, 'Lord, I will follow You wherever You go.' And Jesus said to him, 'Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.' Then He said to another, 'Follow Me.' But he said, 'Lord, let me first go and bury my father.' Jesus said to him, 'Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and preach the kingdom of God.' And another also said, 'Lord, I will follow You, but let me first go and bid them farewell who are at my house.' But Jesus said to him, 'No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God'" (Luke 9:57-62).

The Scripture doesn't say definitively that these three people did not follow Jesus. It's just that something was standing in their way. Perfectly natural things, really. For the first, apparently, it was the desire for personal comforts, for the second, a dying parent, for the third, "Just let me say goodbye." No record that they didn't ultimately follow Jesus--they were certainly on the right track--but who were they?

One young man in particular serves as our best example this morning: the nameless inquirer known as the "rich young ruler." Let's read his story again:

"Now as He was going out on the road, one came running, knelt before Him, and asked Him, 'Good Teacher, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?' So Jesus said to him, 'Why do you call Me good? No one is good but One, that is, God. You know the commandments: "Do not commit adultery," "Do not murder," "Do not steal," "Do not bear false witness," "Do not defraud," "Honor your father and your mother."’ And he answered and said to Him, 'Teacher, all these things I have kept from my youth.' Then Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, 'One thing you lack: Go your way, sell whatever you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, take up the cross, and follow Me.' But he was sad at this word, and went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions" (Mark 10:17-22).

What was the legacy of these four would-be followers of Christ? Most likely they continued on with their pursuits in this life, perfectly natural pursuits, nothing inherently dishonorable: Comfort. Family. Wealth and prosperity.

But who were they? Did they ever find a purpose that transcended the sum of their lives, their comforts, their possessions? History does not recall the events of those lives; history does not so much as record their names. Now, this is a small thing, for many, many humble believers have lived and died without history taking so much as a glance ... but what if God does not regard their names? What if God included them among the nameless masses who will hear those terrifying words, "Depart from Me, for I never knew you?" (Matthew 7:23).

When the rich young men sorrowfully went on his way, Jesus, who loved him, turned back to His disciples:

"Then Jesus looked around and said to His disciples, 'How hard it is for those who have riches to enter the kingdom of God!' And the disciples were astonished at His words. But Jesus answered again and said to them, 'Children, how hard it is for those who trust in riches to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God'" (Mark 10:23-25).

Hear this, America! "How hard it is for those who have riches to enter the kingdom of God!" Hear this, Americans! "How hard it is for those who trust in riches to enter the kingdom of God!"

"And they were greatly astonished, saying among themselves, 'Who then can be saved?' But Jesus looked at them and said, 'With men it is impossible, but not with God; for with God all things are possible'" (Mark 10:26-27).

It's not hopeless, saints. For us it is impossible to save ourselves from our riches, just as it is impossible to save ourselves from our sins. But not with God. Cast all your hope upon His mercy and His grace, you rich people.

"Then Peter began to say to Him, 'See, we have left all and followed You.' So Jesus answered and said, 'Assuredly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or lands, for My sake and the gospel’s, who shall not receive a hundredfold now in this time--houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions--and in the age to come, eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last first'" (Mark 10:28-31).

Jesus has one further "Follow Me" directed to us all:

"And it happened, as He was alone praying, that His disciples joined Him, and He asked them, saying, 'Who do the crowds say that I am?' So they answered and said, 'John the Baptist, but some say Elijah; and others say that one of the old prophets has risen again.' He said to them, 'But who do you say that I am?' Peter answered and said, 'The Christ of God.' And He strictly warned and commanded them to tell this to no one, saying, 'The Son of Man must suffer many things, and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised the third day.' Then He said to them all, 'If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it. For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and is himself destroyed or lost? For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words, of him the Son of Man will be ashamed when He comes in His own glory, and in His Father’s, and of the holy angels'" (Luke 9:18-26).

I tell you truly, there have probably been many times in my life where I felt the Spirit of God urging me, "Follow Me," and I replied with something like, "Can't I just go and say goodbye first?" That is, when I bothered to reply at all. I can't tell you how many times I have deliberately ignored the call of Christ to follow Him instead of my own vain pursuits. And that knowledge causes me to tremble now.

I can't change what is past. But I can, by God's grace, change what I will do today.

I don't know what it will mean for you to forsake everything, if you hear Jesus calling you to follow Him today. I don't know what it will mean for you to pick up your cross daily. That will be between you and Jesus.

But I do urge you, as much as it lies within your power, to be willing to pick up that cross. Be willing to lay down your lives, to deny yourselves.

May the legacy of our lives be that we were counted among those who resolved to store up treasure in Heaven, rather than trinkets here on earth. May we be those who laid down our lives here, in order that we might find them forever. May our names be inscribed upon the palms of God's hands; may they be written in the Lamb's Book of Life.

To Him be the glory forever. Amen.

Free Offer: Bella and the Prince of Spices

2009-01-30T14:28:00.000-08:00

Paper-copy reprints are now available for my short story, "Bella and the Prince of Spices." These little pamphlets contain only the text for the story itself, not the sermon that accompanies it (which you can find several posts below this one). The story is available absolutely free of cost or obligation; all you have to do is send me an email with your mailing address.

Hide and Seek

2009-01-25T11:45:00.000-08:00

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It seems like from the beginning of the time of the human race, God has been playing an elaborate game of hide-and-seek with the people He calls. "Seek My face," He commands, and our hearts reply because of His own grace, "Your face, Lord, I will seek." And God, instead of then bursting out of the darkness into our lives, laughing and saying, "Here I am!" continues to remain hidden, mostly: Hidden from our experience, hidden from our every-day, hidden from our mundane.

If you look at the world that surrounds us, it would be easier sometimes to believe that there is no God than that we have a loving Father who tenderly watches over our every waking moment and guards us while we sleep. Wars and rumours of wars. Famines and earthquakes. Abortions and infanticides. Ethnic cleansings. Tsunamis. Crime. Neglect. Disease. Sudden and surprising heartbreak. Spousal abuse, child abuse, poverty and starvation. Is this the creation of a loving Father? But still the call goes out from God, like a whisper of breath in our ears, in the midst of the noise and clamor of our warring world: "Seek My face." And in the midst of our sin and confusion, we are surprised and somehow delighted to find our own hearts responding, "Your face, O Lord, I will seek."

In Old Testament times, people were afraid to look upon God, and rightly so.

We already read this morning about Jacob and his face-to-face encounter with the Lord, how he was blessed by God but walked away from that encounter with a permanent limp.

Moses the lawgiver, who had been chosen by God to deliver His people Israel out of their bondage to Egypt, later found it necessary to plead with the Lord for the sake of His people, that His presence would always go with them:

"So the Lord said to Moses, 'I will also do this thing that you have spoken; for you have found grace in My sight, and I know you by name.' And [Moses] said, 'Please, show me Your glory.' Then [God] said, 'I will make all My goodness pass before you, and I will proclaim the name of the Lord before you. I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.' But He said, 'You cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me, and live.' And the Lord said, 'Here is a place by Me, and you shall stand on the rock. So it shall be, while My glory passes by, that I will put you in the cleft of the rock, and will cover you with My hand while I pass by. Then I will take away My hand, and you shall see My back; but My face shall not be seen'" (Exodus 33:17-23).

The warrior judge Gideon had an encounter with the Angel of the Lord:

"Now Gideon perceived that He was the Angel of the Lord. So Gideon said, 'Alas, O Lord God! For I have seen the Angel of the Lord face to face.' Then the Lord said to him, 'Peace be with you; do not fear, you shall not die'" (Judges 6:21-23).

"You shall not die," God said. But Gideon feared that he would!

The prophet Isaiah had a vision of the Lord when he was called to testify to His people:

"In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lifted up, and the train of His robe filled the temple. Above it stood seraphim; each one had six wings: with two he covered his face, with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. And one cried to another and said: 'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory!' And the posts of the door were shaken by the voice of him who cried out, and the house was filled with smoke. So I said: 'Woe is me, for I am undone! Because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts.' Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a live coal which he had taken with the tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth with it, and said: 'Behold, this has touched your lips; your iniquity is taken away, and your sin purged'" (Isaiah 6:1-7).

So we see that before Jesus came, people were terrified of seeing the face of the Lord. Even though there were some who sought God, they undoubtedly trembled to think what would happen to them if they ever found Him.

And in our own experience, we find it still to be true. How can we know someone so utterly unknowable? How can our eyes see that which is invisible? And we also harbor the illusion that if we can't see God, maybe that means that He can't quite see us. That if we would presume to seek God's face, then that would reveal us to Him, in all of our wretchedness, our sin and despair. "Woe is us, for we are undone! Because we are men of unclean lips, and we dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips."

Still the Holy Spirit says through the words of King David: "Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice! Have mercy also upon me, and answer me. When You said, 'Seek My face,' my heart said to You, 'Your face, Lord, I will seek.' Do not hide Your face from me" (Psalm 27:7-9).

When the time came that God had ordained before the foundation of the world, He put on a face that we could see. It was a face that would cause us no fear; a face that spoke words of compassion and mercy and comfort to sinners; it was a face that little children loved. Jesus was loved by the sinners and children ... but despised by the religious leaders of His day, the Pharisees, and held in contempt by the governing society of the day, the Romans. But there for a little while God wore a human face and taught us about His kingdom and healed our sick and promised us a home … and then He was gone, so fast that even those who loved Him the most questioned who He even was.

Until the Resurrection. Then the game began all over again. Hide and seek! The risen Jesus would pop into rooms unannounced, and then disappear just like a magic trick. He would walk for miles with disciples, talking about the Bible, and wearing a face they did not recognize, until He revealed Himself and then disappeared again all in the same instant.

Hide and seek.

Where does that leave us now--us seekers of a God who remains hidden and unknowable to the people whose hearts are fixed on this world?

I submit to you that God, having once put on a human face like ours in order to make us sons and daughters and brothers and sisters, now wants us to put on spiritual faces like His, in order to show Whose we are.

Imagine this: an old window pane, the glass thick and wavy, so that you really can't see too clearly to the other side, but it's enough to let some light into the house. You see a figure on the other side, coming closer, but you can't really tell who it is, and the features are all muddled together with your own reflection on the glass. And as the face on the other side comes closer, it gradually becomes clearer, and your own reflected features seem to blend in with the other, to melt away, until the other face is quite close and quite clear.

It's kind of like that with us and our seeking of God: "For now we see through a glass, darkly," says the Old King James version of the Bible in 1 Corinthians 13:12. "For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."

We read that verse in our New Testament reading for today, and the Apostle Paul (in the new translations) calls that wavy pane of glass a mirror: "For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known."

A mirror! Was it then our own faces we were looking at the whole time, when we thought we were looking for the face of God?

No, not at all … the whisper of the Holy Spirit still says to our hearts, "Seek My face." And our hearts do reply, "Your face, Lord, will I seek."

Paul uses the image of a mirror one more time in scripture, in 2 Corinthians 3:18. "But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord."

Being transformed into the same image! When we behold the face of the Lord, we are transformed--slowly, it is true, but as certain as the Lord's own promise. For Jesus Himself said these words: "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened: (Matthew 7:7-8).

"Seek My face," says the Lord. "He who seeks, finds," says the Lord. He who beholds the glory of the Lord will be transformed into the same image.

What is it the world sees when they look at us? Do they see Jesus, or do they see something that looks a lot more like the Pharisees? Are we judgmental and critical and unforgiving, or are we merciful, gracious and kind? I'm just askin'.

The metaphor of a mirror is used one more time in the New Testament, and it bears looking at:

"Therefore lay aside all filthiness and overflow of wickedness, and receive with meekness the implanted word, which is able to save your souls. But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man observing his natural face in a mirror; for he observes himself, goes away, and immediately forgets what kind of man he was. But he who looks into the perfect law of liberty and continues in it, and is not a forgetful hearer but a doer of the work, this one will be blessed in what he does" (James 1:21-25).

It's like a Christian who goes to church on Sunday morning, and for a moment the mirror is held up to his face, and he says, "Oh, yes! That's who I am." Then as soon as he's gone from the church it's hard to tell that he's a Christian at all, because he's forgotten what kind of man he is.

James says, "He who looks into the perfect law of liberty and continues" will be blessed.

As Paul said in 2 Corinthians 3:18, when we behold in our spiritual mirrors the glory of the Lord, we are being transformed--not that we our transforming ourselves, for as Paul concludes, it is "by the Spirit of the Lord." It's God's work to transform us; it's God's work to recast our own images into His glorious likeness. But we can do our part by sitting before the mirror and gazing; we do our part by seeking His face.

How do we behold God? The same old answers: In prayer and meditation. In the pages His Holy Book. In loving service to our fellow travelers along this mystifying way. These are our mirrors. By continuing to behold Him, by continuing to seek His face … He changes us into something that looks like Him.

It almost sounds too simple to be true … but can't the same thing be said for our very salvation? Simply believe in Jesus and confess your sins, and you will be forgiven.

"Seek My face," says the Lord. And in the very act of seeking, we will be changed. "Being confident of this very thing: that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ" (Philippians 1:6).

The Treasure of the Lord's Prayer

2009-01-18T13:30:00.000-08:00

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When I was a child, my mother used to come in and sit at my bedside every evening to hear my prayers before she turned out the lights. In our family, we didn't say the "God bless Mommy, and God bless Daddy" kind of prayers; we recited "Now I Lay Me." It might not have been very deep or searching or theological, but it was something--something to remind us little children that there was a God in Heaven watching over us at night.

Now I lay me down to sleep;
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.

When my sisters and I grew a little older, we graduated from "Now I Lay Me" to The Lord's Prayer. We'd recite it every night with the same passion and intensity that we'd recited our earlier prayers--that is to say, virtually none.

By the time I got to the age where my Mom quit listening to my bedtime prayers, I had it down to the point where I could say the whole thing in about one-and-a-half seconds.

OurFathew'art'n'He'n-ha'db'name-kingd'mcome-w'b'done-da'ybread,f'rgiv's'r'debts-kingd'm-pow'r-glory-f'rever. Amen!

I say that to my shame now, but that's really how I did it. I didn't honor God with such "praying," but at least my mother tried to remind me, night by night, that He was there.

Now that I am old and careening relentlessly toward the end of this mortal life, I wish fervently that I were more of a praying man. But I still have a hard time getting it. Sometimes I try to pray and find that I just can't think of anything to say, and then my thoughts start to wander, and I soon realize that my noble, feeble attempt at prayer has turned into something shameful and disgusting. Other times I find that my mind is suddenly filled with a thousand different things to pray for, each of them seemingly weighty and important, and I am so overcome with the enormity of the task that I am stunned into silence and I give up without trying. Other times I'm going through the list of the same old things that I always pray for: family, friends, blah-te-blah-te-blah, and I wonder if there's any point. Does God even listen to such a half-hearted, bland attempt at communication with Him?

Maybe you don't have those problems. If you don't, then I am truly glad for you, and I most humbly and earnestly ask that you would pray for me. Maybe some of you are appalled to hear your pastor make such a bleak confession. But we haven't gotten where we've gotten by pretending, have we? And if my weakness can somehow serve to encourage some of you who may have thought you were alone with this problem, then most gladly will I boast in my weakness!

Should we pray? Absolutely! 1 Peter 4:7 says, "Be serious and watchful in your prayers." 1 Thessalonians 5:17 says, "Pray without ceasing." Numerous times we are exhorted to pray in the pages of scripture, and, perhaps most tellingly, there are also numerous times in scripture where we see Jesus Himself withdrawing to a solitary place for prayer.

But even such a notable advocate for prayer as the Apostle Paul admitted, "we do not know what we should pray for as we ought" (Romans 8:26), and that we need God's help, the intercession of the Holy Spirit.

So ... what should we pray for? What do we pray about? Jesus Himself warned us not to pray like the heathen, who imagine that they will be heard because of their many words, and so multiply words upon pointless words. "For your Father knows the things you have need of before you ask Him" (Matthew 6:8).

Even the disciples, who had daily face-to-face contact with the very Messiah of God, did not have some kind of innate ability to understand and articulate prayer. "Lord," they said, "teach us to pray" (John 11:1).

So Jesus, who loved them, gave them a treasure from the treasure-house of the wisdom of God. Jesus, who probably knew that one day soon while He would be praying in Gethsemane, sweating as it were great drops of blood, the disciples would be falling asleep--nevertheless He gave them this priceless jewel out of the storehouse of God's riches: the model prayer, the perfect prayer, what we know today as the Lord's Prayer.

Malcolm Muggeridge called the Lord's Prayer "a brief masterpiece of words." And so it is. But you need to embrace those words, understand them, make them your own, not just recite them like a trained parrot, or like a bored ten-year-old boy at bedtime.

Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be Your name

Our prayer begins with a declaration of praise to our God. Holy is Your name! Your name is to be revered, respected, honor, and feared; and not Your name only, but Your character, Your essence, Your very self--though clouded in mystery, You have declared Yourself to be holy. Holiness is a hard concept for 21st-century Americans to grasp, but we would do well to entertain the idea often--as often as we begin our prayers. "My Father in Heaven ... holy is Your name."

Your kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven

When Jesus prayed that agonizing prayer in the garden of Gethsemane, the triumphant conclusion to His plea was this: "Not My will, but Yours, be done" (Luke 22:42). How many of us realize that every time we pray the Lord's prayer, we are uttering the same words as the Savior? Your will be done. Your will be done, insofar as it touches my life. Your will be done for my family and friends. And it focuses us on what is truly important: the coming of the kingdom of God, for our life, our family, our friends, our world. "May Your kingdom come ... may Your will be done, on earth, as it is in Heaven."

Give us this day our daily bread

Muggeridge says about this line: "As to what we are to look for on our own behalf--and this is particularly beautiful--it is the least of earthly favours; no more than that we should be given this day our daily bread." That's it; not fame or fortune, not prosperity or success, not peace or health, but just our daily bread. We have already prayed for His will to be done; what more need we ask about ourselves? "God, You know what I need for this day; I pray that You give me what I need to make it through."

Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors

We have spoken often before about this subject: Forgive me my debts, my trespasses, my sins--and in honor of that forgiveness, I freely forgive others whatever they may have otherwise owed me. But it bears mentioning again: the terrifying caveat that Jesus places after the conclusion of His prayer: "For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses" (Matthew 6:14-15). Have you ever heard another Christian say about some perceived injustice, "I just can't forgive that"? My brothers and sisters, this is something that we just cannot do! "Forgive us our sins, just as we also forgive everyone who is indebted to us."

Do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one

Jesus knows we all suffer temptation. We don't all suffer the same temptations, but we are all tempted to sin, whatever our particular leaning toward sin might be. And He allows us to pray for help. "Lord, You know where I am weak; please don't lead me toward that temptation today. Please deliver me from the evil one, whether that means the devil with all of his tricks, or the evil one I see staring back at me in the mirror every morning. Please, God of all power, all holiness, deliver me."

For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever

And so we return in faith to a declaration of the majesty of God. "Yours is the kingdom, O God; help me to seek and serve that kingdom. Yours is the power, O God--the power to deliver and provide and redeem. Yours is the glory forever, O God. Along with my daily bread, I ask that You would allow me to feed upon this crumb: that I may understand somehow, that I may remember somehow, that Yours is the glory forever. Amen."

So pray. Pray without ceasing, pray about everything. But when you come up against that silent brick wall of your own inability to pray--as most of us do, sooner or later--don't forget that Jesus gave us a model prayer, perfectly adaptable to our present need, perfectly prayable in accordance with the will of God. A brief masterpiece of words; a treasure from the treasure-house of the wisdom of God.

Bella and the Prince of Spices

2009-01-11T10:42:00.000-08:00

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Once upon a time, there was a slender young girl named Bella. She was very poor, and all she had to eat was a daily portion of watery, tasteless gruel. Day after day, she would sit at the table with her bowl before her, dreaming of nothing so much as a spoonful of sugar to sweeten the taste of her meal.

"Oh, for a bit of sweetness," she sighed. "If I only had a pinch of sugar, how happy I would be." She said this to herself every day, not remembering to be thankful for the gruel's nourishment, only resenting its blandness.

One day, there came a knock at her door: rap, rap, rap! Scurrying to answer it, she found a smiling, whiskered man there, clad in a beggar's rags.

"Yes?" Bella asked politely.

The man stepped into her small room with a grin and a bow. "I am the Prince of Spices! I have come in answer to your prayers!"

The Prince of Spices? Bella had never heard of such a thing! He certainly didn't look like a prince, and she said so.

"Ah, but appearances may deceive!" he winked. "Your Ladyship's wish?" And with that he reached into the folds of his rags, and produced a little paper packet filled with a brownish powder. "Where is your porridge?" he asked. She pointed to the table, and the Prince of Spices opened the packet, drew out just a pinch of the powder, and stirred it into the gruel.

"There!" he cried triumphantly. "Taste and see!"

So Bella took up her spoon, and lifted it to her lips. The Prince of Spices had not deceived her! Her formerly bland meal was now transformed. A smile broke upon her face, rosy spots of color appeared on her gray cheeks, and her feet trembled with a new sensation: a wish to dance. The Prince of Spices took her hand, and they danced a merry jig about her meager room, which somehow seemed a bit larger.

After a few whirling, breathless moments, the Prince of Spices released her hand, and gave her the little paper packet. "Here; this is for you," he smiled. "If you use just a bit of it each day, there is enough to last you for many days. In fact," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I am not entirely certain that it will ever run out." Then he kissed the little girl on her rosy cheek, and said, "I will come again when it's all gone." And he turned and disappeared through her door.

Bella was confused for a moment, but then remembered the little paper pouch she held in her hand. Sweetness for many days! She was a happy, happy girl.

Time passed. Each day Bella took just a pinch of the sugar from her packet and stirred it into her porridge, and each day the blandness of her meal was transformed into a delightful something that she could truly enjoy, at least for a little while. But a curious thing was happening, too. There came a day when Bella found that the sweetener didn't seem to make her gruel quite as sweet as it had before. For several days she noted this strange new event, and the realization filled her with dread. Whether the sugar was losing its sweetness, or her own palate was changing, she did not stop to consider. Her only thought was for the blandness, the tedium, of her daily meal returning to torment her with its faint memory of pleasure, and how to hold onto the quickly-vanishing sweetness.

Nearly desperate, she opened her packet to examine its contents. As her strange visitor had said, it was still almost full; in fact, she couldn't tell that she had used even a bit. Acting on a sudden impulse, Bella poured half of what remained into her bowl. She trembled, fearing that she had done something terrible, but nothing sinister happened, so she tentatively dipped her spoon into the pasty mass and drew it to her lips. Ah! This was what she had been longing for. Sweetness, glorious sweetness, the sweetness she had missed. She was ecstatic.

She only felt vaguely uncomfortable that she had disobeyed the instructions the Prince of Spices had given her, but she quieted that dim voice of warning by applying herself with even more zeal to her eating.

The next day Bella poured out the rest of her packet, and sorrowfully consumed what she feared would be the last of her pleasurable meals. Morning came, and she peered sadly into the little pouch, hoping that there might be a little sweetness left, but of course it was empty. So she sniffed back a tear or two, and as bravely as she could tried to face the prospect of her bleak old gruel, with nothing to sweeten it. But the sadness of her situation seemed to her like a great gray cloud enveloping her, suffocating her, and she burst into tears.

While she was thus sobbing, there came the sound of shuffling feet to her door, and the tap of a stick against its sill. Quickly wiping her eyes, she called out, "Come in."

A small silver-haired man entered, leaning upon a staff, his beard long and tangled. Smoke from his pipe curled about his head like a wreath.

"Who are you?" Bella asked uncertainly.

"I am the Prince of Spices," he replied, and Bella had to admit there was something familiar about his voice.

"But you don't look the same," she said tentatively.

"Oh, I am the same, my love," he assured her. "It is you who have changed."

"Have you come to bring me more sugar?" she asked, hope trembling in her voice.

"Oh, no, my darling. I have many more spices than just sweet. I have spices for tart, and spices for tang. I have spices for bitter as well as sweet. There is so much more for you to experience than just sugar! I have mugwort and cumin--basil and dill. I have hyssop and juniper and ramson. I have--"

"More sweetness, please," Bella interrupted.

The old man fixed her with his gaze. "There is much you must taste before you leave this house," he said. "There is salt and senna, sesame and skullcap--"

Bella repeated, "I would like more sweetness, please."

The old man frowned, murmuring almost to himself, "Of course you would. How could it be other?" He thumped his staff on the wooden floor of Bella's room, which seemed to have grown quite small. Indeed, the Prince of Spices seemed to fill the whole room, though Bella could not see him clearly. "Are you quite certain?" he asked.

"Yes," Bella replied somewhat sullenly, forgetting to add please.

"As you wish," he said, and once more became cheerful and small. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a packet similar to the girl's empty one. "This contains the same stuff you have grown accustomed to, though you may not find it as sweet as at first."

She grabbed the small paper pouch greedily, saying, "Thank you," but feeling no real gratitude that amounted to anything.

He kissed her flushed cheek tenderly and said, "We will meet again," and then he was gone.

Over the next few days, Bella tried to be satisfied with her old sweetness, but was soon using two pinches instead of one, and sometimes three or four. The little packet of brownish sugar was quickly exhausted of all its contents.

For three long days Bella had nothing to eat except her old runny, tasteless gruel. She cursed herself for her carelessness, for her gluttony, for her impetuosity. Sometimes she wept softly, but mostly she just moped. She longed for the days when she was satisfied with just a pinch of sugar. She even began to long for the earlier days, before she knew what sweetness truly tasted like, when sugar had been only a rumor, an imagination--or at least she thought she did.

Then one day she heard the brisk click of heels upon the pavement outside her room. She threw open the door without waiting for a knock, and found, standing there, a handsome middle-aged man in crisp military dress, with moustaches neatly trimmed.

"Are you--are you the Prince of Spices?" she asked doubtfully.

"Ah, my sweetheart--you have recognized me!" he beamed, and she smiled a feeble smile in return. "I am sorry you have had to suffer these past few days, but they were necessary for you. They have been long days for me, too--but look how you've grown!"

And indeed Bella seemed to have grown. She was taller and rounder, and her cheeks seemed to have lost some of their childlike pudginess.

The Prince of Spices continued, "You are ready now, I think, to taste some of the other adventures I have for your tongue."

Bella was not at all certain of this, but she said meekly, "Yes, sir--if you will help me."

"Oh, sweet child, you have nothing to fear! Just eat what I set before you, and you will find that it is good! It is all good! Taste and see!"

And with that, the Prince retrieved a small clear vial of some ground-up green seeds from a satchel he carried at his side, and sprinkled a bit over her gruel.

Bella took her spoon in her hand, and tried a small mouthful. It was bitter, so bitter that she nearly spat it out, but she feared offending her friend, so she smiled bravely and swallowed, feeling it burn as it passed down her throat. After the bitterness had left her mouth, though, there remained on her tongue a sweetness that surpassed any of the sweetness of her former pleasure. And she found to her delight that she could see the Prince of Spices more clearly. His eyes were the same eyes as the beggar who had first come to her door--the same eyes as the wizened old man with the staff. And pouring from those eyes that beheld her like liquid light was what could only be, could unmistakenly be, love.

"There, now. That wasn't too bad, was it?" He produced another small vial, this one containing a darkish substance as crimson as blood, and added a dash to her porridge. "This will temper the bitterness somewhat, but not the sweetness that remains." He pressed the two vials into her hand, and kissed her.

"You don't have to leave now, do you?" she asked.

"It seems that way for now, my fairest one," the Prince replied. "But whenever you have eaten of this blend, you will always remember the way that I have looked at you. I promise." And he kissed her again, and was gone.

Through the next span of days, Bella ate what the Prince had left her, and her tired old gruel was always transformed into something magical. That isn't to say that she always ate it without hesitation, or that sometimes she didn't secretly wish for a pinch of the old sugar instead, but after eating--no matter how bitter--she always remembered the love in her Prince's eyes.
In no time at all, it seemed, the bitter herbs were gone. Bella waited expectantly for the Prince of Spices to reappear. And so he did.

This time he came in the guise of a farmer, with dried mud on his boots and two days' worth of stubble on his chin. But there was no doubt about his eyes.

"You've come!" she cried, trying in vain to conceal her joy.

"My darling!" he replied, gazing at her with what seemed like amazement. "Look at you now!"

And Bella was changed. No longer a little girl, but a young lady of great beauty, in the full flower of womanhood.

"Have you come to take me from this place?" she asked, with a note of pleading in her voice.

"Not now," he laughed, and the merriness of his laughter banished whatever sorrow she might have felt at his reply. "I heard you were out of spices."

Suddenly somber, she whispered, "Then you've come to bring more bitterness."

"Oh, no," he said soothingly. "I do not always come bearing pain. Just sometimes." And he poured out upon her porridge a smooth, milky substance, and said, "Taste and see."

So Bella tasted and swallowed, and was immediately filled with a warm, contented sensation, so thoroughly enveloping her that, before she knew it, she was fast asleep. When she awoke, she was alone, though she imagined she could still feel the press of the Prince's lips against her cheek. Upon her table was a little packet with words written upon it: Use this until I return.

Over the course of the next days, months, and years, the Prince of Spices visited her often. At times he appeared as an old man, at times as a little boy. Sometimes he brought her sweetness and delight, sometimes bitter gall that nearly made her retch to swallow it. But no matter how bitter her portion, it always carried with it at least a hint of sweetness.

One day, when she had almost, but not quite, finished a packet of particular bitterness, she heard a knock. She walked slowly to the door, her knees aching, for somehow through the years she had become quite old.

There at her door was the Prince of Spices, full of vitality and strength, his beard a splendid golden brown, his eyes a flame of purest love. He carried no staff or pouch; his arms were free to enfold her in the tenderest of embraces.

"My darling, my love, my fairest one," he whispered in her ear. "Look how you've grown!"

She rested silently in his arms, wondering how the glorious Prince of Spices could ever love such a faltering old crone as she.

"How I've longed for this day," he said, and kissed her wrinkled cheek.

"Have you come," she asked haltingly, "to bring more bitterness?"

"No, my dear," he said gladly. "Today I shall take you to dine at my house."

Nodding, she took his hand and stepped through the door. And all of the years of waiting, of waiting, of bitterness, of sweetness, melted away and became nothing.

"Is it very far?" she asked, but suddenly her legs felt young and strong, and she knew that she could walk that far, no matter how far it was.

"We are here," said the Prince.

"Oh, my," Bella gasped, as a banquet table appeared before them, lavishly filled with every manner of delicacy, from aromatic soups to succulent main dishes to irresistible desserts. "I had no idea it was this beautiful!"

"My love," said the Price of Spices, "you have not even begun to imagine."

*******

When we were quite young in our faith, we thought that following Jesus would be a constant journey of sweetness and light. "God has a wonderful plan for your life," we were told, and it is certainly true--though not in the way our adolescent ears heard it. We thought that a wonderful plan would certainly include shiny cars and pretty girlfriends and lots of money and perhaps a little fame.

"My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways," says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:8-9 NKJV).

Even today in the church, we are bombarded with preachers who promise Your Best Life Now; with doctrines that suggest the really successful Christian has a BMW in his garage, a happy, smiling family, and a constantly growing retirement plan.

But Jesus said, "If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it" (Luke 9:23-24 KNJV).

"[H]e who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me" (Matthew 10:28 NKJV).

We live in a land that promises every person Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness, and never was a promise more fiercely defended than the pursuit of happiness. We defend all of our darkest deeds and desires by declaring, "I only want to be happy." And society nods in agreement and says, "Well, if it makes you happy. Whatever makes you happy."

The great Christian thinker Malcolm Muggeridge wrote these words:

"Of all the different purposes set before mankind, the most disastrous is surely 'the Pursuit of Happiness,' slipped into the American Declaration of Independence, along with 'Life and Liberty' as an inalienable right, almost accidentally, at the last moment. 'Happiness ... is like a young deer, fleet and beautiful. Hunt him and he becomes a poor frantic quarry; after the kill, a piece of stinking flesh.' True happiness ... lies in forgetfulness, not indulgence, of the self; in escape from carnal appetites, not in their satisfaction."

In another place he writes, "[S]eeking happiness ever more ardently, [we find] despair ever more surely."

God has a wonderful plan for your life; it is true. But God's plan consists in this: Knowing Him. Nothing more, nothing less, no matter what it takes.

God wants you to experience Your Best Life Now. But your Best Life consists of this: Knowing Him. Nothing more, nothing less, no matter what it takes.

And what it takes for most of us is suffering.

The Apostle Paul says these words:

"For to you it has been granted on behalf of Christ, not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer for His sake" (Philippians 1:29 NKJV).

"[W]hat things were gain to me, these I have counted loss for Christ. Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having my own righteousness, which is from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which is from God by faith; that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death" (Philippians 3:7-10 NKJV).

And the Apostle Peter says:

"Beloved, do not think it strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened to you; but rejoice to the extent that you partake of Christ’s sufferings, that when His glory is revealed, you may also be glad with exceeding joy. If you are reproached for the name of Christ, blessed are you, for the Spirit of glory and of God rests upon you.... If anyone suffers as a Christian, let him not be ashamed, but let him glorify God in this matter.... Therefore let those who suffer according to the will of God commit their souls to Him in doing good, as to a faithful Creator" (1 Peter 4:12-14, 16, 19 NKJV).

Suffering is God's gift to us. Suffering removes from us the illusion that we can find true satisfaction in the events, the trappings, the relationships, the stuff of this world. Suffering divorces us from the vanity of the Pursuit of Happiness.

But more than that: Suffering also causes us to cry out to God--to call out to Him in a way that we never would if we were content with the ways of this life. Suffering is God's ordained path for fellowship with Him--is that too strong to say? I think not.

From the small-seeming but noble sufferings of a vague discontent with our spiritual condition, to the great-seeming sufferings of failure, divorce, illness, and bereavement (which are common to us all), they are all designed with one end in mind for those who belong to Christ in faith: That we may know Him. Nothing more, nothing less, no matter what it takes.

Like Bella in the story, if we had our own way, we would crave nothing but sweetness. But the Price of Spices has many more things for us to taste, if we are ever to leave the stuffy confines of our small, darkened rooms.

So let us eat whatever is set before us with thanksgiving. For nothing is given to us except for that which was prepared by our Prince's hand. He mixes the sweet with the bitter, all for our good. But His great desire is that He would find us eagerly waiting for Him when He appears at our door.

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us" (Romans 8:18 NKJV).

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"Oh, my," Bella gasped ... "I had no idea it was this beautiful!"

"My love," said the Price of Spices, "you have not even begun to imagine."

Words that Hurt, Words that Heal

2009-01-07T05:51:00.000-08:00

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My stepdaughter Dana and her family joined us for dinner last night. Dana is a smart girl, bright and sensitive, with a tolerably good sense of humor. And I've always taken an inordinate amount of pleasure in trying to get her to laugh, or at least smile, or failing that, grimace.

That's where I get into trouble. My own sense of humor tends toward a celebration of the absurd. As the great observer of humanity C. S. Lewis noted in The Screwtape Letters, a joke exists only with the sudden perception of some incongruity. True for me! The more ironic I find something, the better. (Maybe that's why I dislike so much of what passes for "comedy" these days. Instead of trying to exploit incongruities and reveal something truly funny, which is hard work, today's writers appeal to the lowest elements of our society: foul language, which is no longer shocking enough to be incongruous, and jokes about sex.)

Not everyone, of course, shares my sense of the absurd. I can't begin to tell you how many times people have been shocked or offended at what they perceive as a lack of sensitivity, propriety, or compassion on my part … when all I was really trying to do was make them smile.

Wait--that's not quite true. While I would have been perfectly happy to have made them smile, what I was really after was the approval, the admiration, of the person behind the smile. "That Bob--he's always so funny!" "Yes, isn't he, though? What a great wit!" "He must be really smart!"

While I'm pretty sure people don't really say things like that out loud any more, I'd really like them to think that about me. So my marvelous sense of humor is exposed at last for what it is in truth: another pathetic attempt to stroke my own ego, another vain genuflection at the altar of self-worship.

That's where my introspection inevitably leads. And while I humbly thank God for the revelation--which, though it smarts, brings healing--this article is really about outrospection: how do my actions affect others?

Which brings me back to Dana.

More, perhaps, than any other person (at least in the last ten years), I have seen in Dana's eyes the sting of pain when some misguided attempt at humor has gone awry. Again! Time after time, I have tried to exalt my own cleverness in some meager attempt to win her approval, only to leave her briefly hurt and confused. She entrusts me with a bit of her heart, and then I betray her by wounding her with my words.

I did it again last night. She had almost gotten out the door without incident, but didn't quite make it. It doesn't matter what I said. It was an attempt to be witty, and it misfired. And just for a moment, I saw the familiar old pain in her eyes, before she realized that it was just another one of those moments.

Is that better, I wonder? Is it preferable to be misunderstood as a failed comedian, or correctly perceived as a fool?

The awkwardness between us doesn't last. I usually apologize, she always forgives; there is love and grace between us. But why do I have to go there in the first place?

More than ever this year, I am trying to put into effect the admonition of the Apostle Paul: "Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers" (Ephesians 4:29 KNJV).

My God, how short I fall! But what is a nobler goal for me--that people should think me clever, or that my words impart grace? God, help me to choose the better portion.

And Dana, sweetheart--I'm sorry. Please forgive me yet again. And pray for your mother. She has to live with me all the time.

Resolution for a New Year

2009-01-04T09:07:00.000-08:00

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"Tell me a little bit about yourself." We've all had chances to do that; maybe a job interview, maybe meeting somebody new at a party.

Most of us, when asked to describe ourselves, would give an answer something like this: "Oh, I'm 5'7", a little overweight. I work for ABC company and I like jazz music. A huge Steelers fan. I'm a Democrat, a member of Local 202, but I vote for whoever impresses me the most. I give blood to the Red Cross and sometimes I volunteer for the Boy Scouts. I like to donate a little money to St. Jude's and the Heart Association. My daughter just gave birth to my first grandson, and I'm just as pleased as I could be. Oh, what else? Well, I'm a member of the Methodist church. I guess that's about it."

Don't think that I'm mocking you if that sounds a little like what your answer would be. Those are all acceptable things to say if you were posed such a question. But is that how you really regard yourself in your heart of hearts?

I hope that being a member of a church wouldn't be the last thing you think of. And I hope even more that being a member of a church would not be a poor substitute for a living, breathing, growing relationship with a living God, who is constantly breathing life into you as you mature in your faith.

When asked about the greatest of all the commandments, Jesus Christ said this: "... you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength" (Mark 12:30 NKJV).

Does that describe you? Do you love the Lord your God with all your heart ... when it comes to romance? Your hobbies? Your leisure time? Do you love God with all your soul, when it comes to what you choose to watch on the TV? Do you love God with all your mind, when it comes to the books you read? Or with all your strength, all your energy, all your enthusiasm?

Hebrews 12:29 says that "our God is a consuming fire." Let me ask you this: Does He consume you? Are your thoughts constantly turning towards His beauty, His glory, His grace? Do you reflect often on Heaven and eternity? Or is the fire that consumes you made up of the stuff of this world?

Now, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, and this sermon is certainly not written to lay a heap of legalistic demands upon your life; you know how much I hate that. But I would like to remind you, if I may, that we are made for His pleasure. We were born for eternity, and our thoughts should constantly be returning Heavenward to our great Creator and merciful Savior.

When we make our typical New Year's Resolutions, we reveal just how earthbound we are. "I'm going to lose weight this year--I just know I am. I'm going to exercise and eat healthy and count my calories ... right after all of these Christmas cookies are gone."

Or how about this: "This year I'm going to be more patient with my husband. I promise not to nag him, no matter how many times I have to ask him to take out the garbage, and he just sits there in front of the TV and grunts like he's not really listening, even though I know perfectly well he can hear every word I'm saying. And why shouldn't I be able to expect a little more help around the house anyway?" And so it goes.

Most of our New Year's resolutions amount to a bit of wishful thinking about becoming someone we'd like to be, if only we had a little more will power, a little more gumption, a little more elbow grease. Legalism! Faugh!

And the end of all of our attempts to pull us up by our own bootstraps is humiliating failure, as any legalistic striving must inevitably be. How many of you really lost weight after a New Year's resolution? Is it still lost?

Jonathan Edwards, the great American preacher of the early 1700s, made a list of seventy resolutions when he was about 19 years old. These were not resolutions for a new year, but resolutions for his entire life. Just to note a few of them:

1. Resolved, that I will do whatsoever I think to be most to God's glory ... to do whatever I think to be my duty and most for the good and advantage of mankind in general. Resolved to do this, whatever difficulties I meet with, how many soever, and how great soever.
7. Resolved, never to do anything, which I should be afraid to do, if it were the last hour of my life.
9. Resolved, to think much on all occasions of my own dying, and of the common circumstances which attend death.

These from a 19-year-old! Better than "I'm gonna lose ten pounds before February", yes?

But Jonathan Edwards also understood where the power to make and keep such resolutions comes from. He wrote a preface to his list of resolutions that, to me, is more significant than any of the resolutions themselves: "Being sensible that I am unable to do anything without God's help, I do humbly entreat him by his grace to enable me to keep these resolutions, so far as they are agreeable to his will for Christ's sake."

Not legalistic demands, but a reliance upon God's grace, to perform the things in us that please Him for His own sake.

Now, if you think it's unfair of me to compare Jonathan Edwards' seventy resolutions with our feeble attempts at improving our lives, you may be right. Jonathan Edwards was a Paul Bunyan of the faith; I am a Tiny Tim. Edwards was Babe Ruth, and I'm that fat guy on the company softball team who usually strikes out.

But if we truly believe that God Himself is our greatest good, that obedience to His will is our greatest cause, that Heaven is our ultimate home ... then how can our aim be any less than to love the Lord our God with all of our heart, soul, mind, strength? The archer may not always hit the bull's-eye, but at least he knows where the target is. Let our target be to love God so completely that it's as if we are being consumed by that love.

Now, I'm not naïve enough to think we can, or even should, make grand promises that are bound to fail. If you've never read the Bible before, it might not be a good idea to promise yourself you're going to read the whole thing in a year. If you aren't really strong in prayer, you might not be well-advised to say you're going to pray every day for ten minutes for missionaries in Africa. You might get derailed, and if your train was fueled by self-motivated power instead of grace, you weren't on the right track anyway.

The journey of our sanctification is a long one, and most of us suffer many stumbles and missteps along the way. But one thing we can do is remember. Remember who we are: just humble sinners, saved by grace through the faith of Jesus Christ. Remember who God is: our Creator, our Redeemer, the lover of our souls. Remember that our God is a consuming fire, and so present ourselves on the altar as often as we think of it: "Here I am, Lord. Consume me."

As far as resolutions for a new year go, make what you will. If you try to keep them in your own strength, you're gonna fail.

As for me, I resolve to remember--to remember who I am, and who He is. More than I ever have before. Hopefully every day. And if I stumble and fall, to get back up and start walking again, remembering His love for me, that carried Him to my deserved place on the cross, that will carry me to His place, in that day when I will finally see His face and cast whatever honors I have at His feet.

"Being sensible that I am unable to do anything without God's help, I do humbly entreat him by his grace to enable me to keep these resolutions, so far as they are agreeable to his will for Christ's sake." Amen.

Once to Every Man and Nation

2009-01-01T03:39:00.000-08:00

I remember singing this hymn one time when I was a kid growing up in the Baptist Church, and I was just amazed. We had never sung anything like this before! I didn't even know it was in the hymnal! And to be sure, it's not in many hymnals any more at all.

From the first dirge-like tones coming from the organ, I was captivated. (For those of you with a working understanding of hymn melodies, it goes to the tune called Ebenezer.) Reflecting on it now, I imagine it would sound terrific with pounding 6/8 drums, and power chords on the electric guitar.

But it was the words that gripped me. I found out much later that they came from a much longer poem written by James Russell Lowell around the time of the Civil War, but the four verses I had access to were infused with a timeless quality that piqued my adolescent curiosity so long ago, and stir me still. Here they are:

Once to every man and nation
comes the moment to decide,
in the strife of Truth with falsehood,
for the good or evil side.
Some great cause, God's new Messiah,
offering each the bloom or blight,
and the choice goes by forever
'twixt that darkness and that light.
Then to side with Truth is noble,
when we share her wretched crust,
ere her cause bring fame and profit
and 'tis prosperous to be just.
Then it is the brave man chooses
while the coward stands aside,
'til the multitude make virtue
of the faith they had denied.
By the light of burning martyrs,
Christ, thy bleeding feet we track,
toiling up new Calvaries ever
with the cross that turns not back.
New occasions teach new duties--
time makes ancient good uncouth.
They must upward still and onward
who would keep abreast of Truth.
Though the cause of evil prosper,
yet the Truth alone is strong,
though her portion be the scaffold,
and upon the throne be wrong.
Yet that scaffold sways the future,
and behind the dim unknown,
standeth God within the shadow,
keeping watch above His own.

While these words were originally written as part of a poem supporting the abolition of slavery, I can clearly see their application to our present American culture, as well as the potential trials of the immediate future.

The day has arrived, and will undoubtedly intensify, when the "ancient good"--morality, decency, the Gospel itself--has become uncouth in our society. The "new Messiah" of materialism offers the bloom of hedonistic pleasure if you embrace it, and the blight of society's stern disapproval should you reject it.

It'll get worse.

I often wonder how those in the present-day American church will fare when faced with the scaffold, whatever that will eventually mean to us. We do love our prosperity.

May God grant us the grace to be like those who embraced His promises and "confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For those who say such things declare plainly that they seek a homeland.... But now they desire a better, that is, a heavenly country. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them" (Hebrews 11:13-14, 16 NKJV).

Happy New Year.

What I'm Reading

2008-12-31T07:36:00.000-08:00

I had been aware of Malcolm Muggeridge only on my periphery--he was someone I had seen quoted by writers I admire, but I had never read any of his books for myself. Thanks to an infusion of Christmas money, I was able to snag this one (along with a couple of others) from Amazon.com. I picked this title to read first because it was the shortest, which is, I suppose, commentary enough on my competence as a student of literature.

The book's complete title is A Third Testament: A modern pilgrim explores the spiritual wanderings of Augustine, Blake, Pascal, Tolstoy, Bonhoeffer, Kierkegaard, and Dostoevsky. These men have likewise been heavily referenced by writers I respect, but had read little of for myself. I remember reading something of Bonhoeffer's many years ago, and I have recently finished Augustine's superb Confessions--nothing from the others, to my knowledge. In any case, I am looking forward to this read.

Here's just a brief excerpt, from the Introduction:

What a perfect description of the revolutionary happenings now, which take place silently, invisibly, with the media lulling everyone to sleep, until the people awaken--if they ever do--to find that the Honorable and Right Honorable Members going in and out of the Aye and No lobbies are ghosts voting for and against nothing; that the vested priests at the high altar are praying to no one about nothing, and dispensing wine and wafers lifeless as stale yeast; that the currency notes being printed at the Mint have lost their value before they come off the presses, as the words dispatched to the composing room have lost their meaning before they are printed.

If that's a fair representation of Muggeridge's genius, I think I'm going to like him ... at least as much as I can understand.

Because sometimes (very often, in fact) I read things that are too deep for me. Chesterton comes to mind, and Luther and Jonathan Edwards. But I also realize that, by dipping my toes into the deep end of the pool, I am learning how to swim in those waters, albeit gradually. The thoughts of the masters are influencing the thoughts of humble me, and helping me to grasp concepts I probably never would have even considered, being, after all, an average TV-loving American male.

I've also just begun a book simply for pleasure. Since I spend so many hours on topics that are relatively weighty, I also like to send my mind out to play sometimes as a reward--kind of like recess in the midst of the schoolday. My wife Susan bought me this tome for Christmas: The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume 6: The Crime Stories. I won't be offering a review of this one here--if you've ever read Louis L'Amour, you know what to expect--but it's fun to read.

So ... What Next?

2008-12-28T13:20:00.000-08:00

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(Prior to reading this sermon, you might want to read Ecclesiastes 2:12-23.)

On Christmas morning, my wife Susan and I had the pleasure of having our year-and-a-half-old grandson Taylor with us for breakfast and a time of opening gifts. It was great fun watching him as he opened each present, delighting in tearing the paper off the box and finding what was inside, sometimes even pausing for a fraction of a moment to inspect or play with its contents. I think his favorite gift was a box of Ritz cheese-and-crackers that his grandmother gave him. But after each package was opened, and each brief inspection completed, it was instantly on to the next box, searching for another bow to tear off, another bit of colored paper to rip away.

What's next? What's next? What's next?

We've all heard stories of children who, after they had opened all of their gifts on Christmas morning--more gifts than they could have had any right to reasonably expect, since their parents probably went into debt to provide them--sullenly sit on the floor and say with a poorly-disguised sense of disappointment, "Is that all?"

Remember that old song that Peggy Lee used to sing: "Is That All There Is?"

Is that all there is? Is that all there is?
If that's all there is, my friend, then let's keep dancing.
Let's break out the booze and have a ball,
If that's all there is.

(copyright Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller)

One of the most depressing songs ever written, both for its sense of ingratitude and its sense of hopelessness.

King David's son Solomon was the wisest man who ever lived, by the gift of God, and he was also one of the very wealthiest, relative to the culture that he lived in. We read a little bit earlier about his despairing conclusion regarding the life of man: "... all his days are sorrowful, and his work burdensome; even in the night his heart takes no rest. This also is vanity." "Vanity of vanities," said Solomon. "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity" (Ecclesiastes 1:2). Everything is pointless; everything is useless.

How did he get there?

"I searched in my heart how to gratify my flesh with wine, while guiding my heart with wisdom, and how to lay hold on folly, till I might see what was good for the sons of men to do under heaven all the days of their lives. I made my works great, I built myself houses, and planted myself vineyards. I made myself gardens and orchards, and I planted all kinds of fruit trees in them. I made myself water pools from which to water the growing trees of the grove. I acquired male and female servants, and had servants born in my house. Yes, I had greater possessions of herds and flocks than all who were in Jerusalem before me. I also gathered for myself silver and gold and the special treasures of kings and of the provinces. I acquired male and female singers, the delights of the sons of men, and musical instruments of all kinds.

"So I became great and excelled more than all who were before me in Jerusalem. Also my wisdom remained with me. Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; and this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; and indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun" (Ecclesiastes 2:3-11 NKJV).

Is that all there is?

Even in the life of the church, we suffer from a similar malady. We get so busy during the rising crescendo of the holiday season that culminates in our Christmas service, and then suddenly, it's done. So ... what's next? Then we start trudging along again until we get to Easter, another high season in the year, and then that's done, and for some of us at least, it's curiously unfulfilling. Is that all there is? So ... what's next?

In our personal lives too, we encounter the same phenomena; we forget sometimes that there are many more miles to walk than there are milestones. We focus on some big event--our graduation, our wedding, the birth of a child--and suddenly we reach it, and suddenly it's done, and before us lay many more weary miles to walk. So ... what's next? Wasn't there supposed to be some kind of happily-ever-after here?

Not everyone is suffering from a case of "Is that all there is" because of too many presents, too much luxury, or too much wealth. For some of us, the same question arises out of sorrow.

We've had a long season of death here in our little church in upstate New York. There was Dorothy awhile back, and then all in a rush we lost Jim, and Carlton, and Jake. And each time, the family members left behind were faced with the almost-impossible question: "What do I do now? What's next? I can't believe that's all there is." But there are still many more miles to walk, miles made more lonely by our sense of loss.

For some of us, we come to those questions by other means. Cheryl sends Ben off to the Marines, and Mary off to college, and suddenly her house is the emptiest it's ever been. "So ... what do I do now?" Susan has an illness that lays her flat on her back for a month, and suddenly, she's no longer the caretaker for her beloved grandson. "So ... what do I do now?"

Milestones reached, some of them wanted, some of them unwanted, but reached nonetheless, and there's no way we can turn around and retrace those steps. So ... what's next?

I don't have a silver bullet this morning that will suddenly make this all right ... or maybe I do. It all depends on whether you're willing to receive it--may God grant us that will.

The Apostle Paul lost everything he had during the course of his life and ministry. How did he respond?

"... I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having my own righteousness, which is from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which is from God by faith; that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, if, by any means, I may attain to the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:8-14 NKJV).

Several times in Scripture Paul refers to our life in Christ as a race--not a sprint where we go all-out for a few brief moments, but a marathon, where we run steadily for mile upon mile.

"Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may obtain it. And everyone who competes for the prize is temperate in all things. Now they do it to obtain a perishable crown, but we for an imperishable crown. Therefore I run thus: not with uncertainty. Thus I fight: not as one who beats the air. But I discipline my body and bring it into subjection, lest, when I have preached to others, I myself should become disqualified" (1 Corinthians 9:24-27 NKJV).

Run like you want to win. Press on toward the mark. Keep your eyes on the prize at the end of the race, not the milemarkers along the way.

How do we do that? Isaiah gives us a key.

"Have you not known? Have you not heard? The everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, neither faints nor is weary. His understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the weak, and to those who have no might He increases strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall, but those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint" (Isaiah 40:28-31 NKJV).

Jesus says a similar word in the gospel of Matthew.

"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30 NKJV).

Now, most of the time in our lives, the demands of the Lord aren't anything particularly spectacular, anything milestone-worthy. To do justly. To love mercy. To walk humbly with our God. To keep on walking patiently along the path He has prepared for us, knowing that our citizenship is in Heaven, and that's where our ultimate prize lies: When we finally see the face of God Himself.

So, in this season following a season, when our gifts have all been unwrapped, be they few or be they many--when our milestones have been passed, be they for pleasure or pain--what do we do next?

This: take the next step. Keep on walking; keep on running. Don't give in to despair. Don't give in to boredom. Don't give in to ingratitude. Do justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly with your God. Yoke yourself to Jesus and let Him help you carry your burden, even as you help carry His. Wait on the Lord and let Him renew your strength. And press on toward the prize.

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal" (2 Corinthians 4:16-18 NKJV).

We have not even begun to imagine the treasures that await us if we stay true to the course. A crown of righteousness. A resurrected body, with no more pain or death. The very face of God.

So, next time you hear Peggy Lee sing, "Is that all there is?" you can say with confidence, "No. It is not."