Last night our electricity was off for a few hours. This rare occurrence had us searching for flashlights, candles, and a way to have supper without being able to cook anything. It also illustrated to me how easily I take things for granted. Every dark room I entered, I reached for a switch to turn on the lights.
After doing that a couple of times, I thought how I take the goodness and power of God for granted. The light He has given me about sin and eternal life is so much a part of the way I think and live; what would happen if that light suddenly went out? How would I manage in darkness? How would I feel if every time I reached for Him, prayer failed to bring anything and the darkness remained?
The power company’s recorded message said it would be on at a certain time, then bumped that time up. Eventually we went to sleep without any electricity. After a short while, it flashed on, long enough to know which lights we’d left on, but not long enough to do much before we were in darkness again. When the power did come on, I turned out my bedside lamp and went back to sleep, feeling good that life was back to normal.
For me, spiritual normal has become a sense of God’s presence, walking in His light, knowing His power. This experience reminded me that I assume it, and so easily forget that spiritual darkness is the norm for thousands. While I could consider myself in an elite position, His light doesn’t do that. Instead, I’m in awe that God has been merciful to me, and incredibly grateful that because of His grace, I’ve a measure of spiritual awareness. If He pulled the plug, I’d be no different than millions who don’t know Him.
My devotional reading today at first seemed to have little to do with this experience. It is about Mary, who broke an expensive flask containing precious oil, and poured the oil on the feet of Jesus. The disciples criticized her saying the oil should have been sold and the money given to the poor. Jesus criticized them. While giving to the poor is a good thing, pouring out one’s self and one’s treasure as a blessing for Him does deeply please Him. He added, “Assuredly, I say to you, wherever this gospel is preached in the whole world, what this woman has done will also be told as a memorial to her.”
I’m a practical person. I think that my salvation from sin is so God can use me in some way, whether by writing, teaching, sharing the Gospel with others, giving resources, and so on, but as I read this, and as I think of today’s to-do list, I could hear the Lord whisper, “Do it for me. Give of yourself for me. Don’t be concerned with the results in the lives of others. Your sacrifices please me. Do it for me.”
The light, the power, the life that I live is not for my convenience, even though I love being His child. His power is not so God can use me to help other Christians, even though He is gracious to sometimes do that. The light He gives me is not even so I can be a light for those in the dark, even though He could use it that way. Instead, in His commendation to Mary for her actions, He tells me that He gave Himself to me that I might give myself back to Him.
Yet this small ray of light, wonderful as it sounds, is a bit fuzzy and indistinct. I can see the light of His blessings, the light of being a blessing to others, but to be a blessing to Him? That is almost beyond my comprehension. He shines so bright and so true, that the thought of being or doing anything just for Him, fills me with awe. I feel like the smallest candle flickering in hesitance beside the brilliance of the sun.
My worn and frazzled paintbrush is useless, dropping its hairs in the paint and making uneven marks on the wall. This week, my worn and frazzled microwave fell into the same category. It wouldn’t heat a cup of water, never mind cook a meal, so it too became worthless.
I will quickly replace paintbrushes, microwaves and anything else that has lost its ability to do the job. Why then am I so slow to put off the old nature and go with on the new?
Romans 6 and 7 are clear; the old nature is not only useless, it is dangerous. It continues to sin even after God gives me the power of Christ to stop it. It makes me a slave to bad habits long after the sacrifice of Christ has set me free. This spiritual dead thing can shrivel and kill any spiritual fruit I could produce through the life of the Holy Spirit. If I live by it, it will ruin me.
God tells me that I need to know that this old nature is spiritual dead. Romans 6 says, “ . . . knowing this, that our old man was crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves of sin. For he who has died has been freed from sin.”
A bit later in the chapter, God challenges me again. It isn’t enough to know it; I have to constantly think it. He isn’t asking me to play a mind game with His challenge though. He says, “ . . . reckon yourselves to be dead indeed to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
“Reckon” is an accounting term often used to having an unreserved confidence in what one’s mind knows to be true. Know that old nature is dead, then, at any and every opportunity, consider it so. Present myself to God as a living person, not to sin or anything that is separate or contrary to the life of Jesus Christ. Know and remember that because of that separation, those old ways are also dead and will work death in me.
Most of the temptations I face are little prickly things. I’m not much interested in the big sins, like murder, adultery, or robbing a bank, but I will snap impatiently when someone is too slow or cuts me off in traffic, or become annoyed when my routine is interrupted, or reach too often into the candy dish. However, the same principle that crucified my old nature to those “bigger” sins also made me dead to these other sins.
Why, then, is it so easy to refrain from robbery, cheating, or using a gun or baseball bat on people, but so much harder to curb my sweet tooth or hold my tongue? When I figure that out, maybe I’ll drop those ten unwanted pounds, but more important than that, I will better glorify God and become much easier to live with.
My husband likes to travel. If offered a trip even on the spur of the moment, he’d make a few quick phone calls to co-workers and immediately pack his bags.
Not me. If I were a dog, I’d be a German Shepherd laying on the front step or in front of the hearth, content with staying where I am and with the routines of my life (which is a bit of an oxymoron because my routine is constantly challenged by unexpected additions). I really don’t care for living out of a suitcase, at least not for an extended time.
Today’s reading is in Genesis 12. “Now the Lord had said to Abram: ‘Get out of your country, from your family and from your father’s house, to a land that I will show you.”
Abram had already traveled some distance. His father had taken him and his wife, and one grandson, Lot, from Ur of the Chaldeans to Haran in Canaan. The Bible says nothing before this about Abram’s religion except that the call from God first came in Ur (Acts 7), and history shows that the people of both Ur and Haran were pagan.
With this call, God promised Abram that He would make his name great, make of him a great nation and bless all the families of the earth because of him, but he had to move. Abram responded and did what God asked.
The emphasis in his story is on his faith. Hebrews 11 says, “By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to the place which he would receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he dwelt in the land of promise as in a foreign country, dwelling in tents with Isaac and Jacob, the heirs with him of the same promise; for he waited for the city which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God.”
Faith is only as valid as its object. I might believe I can sing, but if my voice is not that of a singer, then my faith is misplaced, and no amount of believing will make me a singer. I might believe God will give me a fancy house with servants, but unless that is the will of God, my faith will not make it happen. Faith is about where it is placed, not about its own size, strength, intensity or determination.
Abram (who became Abraham) believed God, not because he like to travel, or his father wanted to move, or this looked like a good idea. He had no reason to think he would become father to a great nation, and even less when his wife turned out to be barren and childless until the age of ninety. He went because God told him to go, and he believed that God knows what is right, what should be done, and what is best for Abram and his wife.
Sarah seemed to have had no say in the matter. She may have complained, or been excited about the move. In any case, the New Testament talks of her as a woman who trusted God so much that she could do what her husband asked without any fear of the results. She knew that the secret of submission is not becoming a doormat (a popular misconception), but releasing the tyranny of always having to have her own way. (In their story, when she insisted on what she wanted, it led to disaster, not to say that wives can’t make decisions, but we need to be aware of our motives.) Sarah’s faith was just as much part of their move as her husband’s trust in God. Hebrews 11 commends her for her faith also.
As I think about this story and about my husband’s desire to travel, I’m reminded that faith means I can trust God to use travel as a means to blessing not only us, but others. He might even use even me, who would rather stay home, to be a blessing. If faith moved Abram and his wife to a new country, faith can also move me to go wherever God directs for a vacation. I’m just a little slower to pack my bags than my spouse.
I’ve been putting my devotional thoughts in a searchable database. Reading them again is a humbling process. I might be quick to pick up other skills but many spiritual lessons supposedly ‘learned’ even as recent as six years ago seen to have been completely forgotten, never mind applied to my life.
Today, I was going to write that after thirty plus years of being a Christian, some things are finally sinking in, but after remembering what I read yesterday from March 2001, I say everything tentatively. The following may have sunk in, but if need be, God will run me through those lessons again.
At the end of his little New Testament book, Jude wrote this benediction: “Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling, and to present you faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy, to God our Savior, who alone is wise, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and forever. Amen.”
Amen indeed. If I’ve learned anything it is that I cannot keep myself from stumbling, stumbling into sin, stumbling into doubt, stumbling over others who have stumbled. He does it, and yet if stumbling happens, I am to blame. In failure, I find out again how much I need Him.
I’ve also learned that one day Jesus will joyfully present me faultless to Himself. The thought makes me feel like a bride walking down the aisle toward her perfect soul mate. I can see His radiant face as He watches me draw near. I’ve no words to express what that thought does to my spirit.
I’ve also learned that God alone is wise. His answers to my needs are always perfect, always timely, and never anything that I could have imagined. He knows exactly what I need and exactly what He is doing. He is worthy of glory, a majestic God who has dominion and eternal power over all, all the time.
So why do I forget wonderful things like that? I want to remember, and my family insist that I do not have Alzheimers, so there is no other explanation except that it is characteristic of my old nature to sinfully shove aside all that God breathes to me in a foolish effort to be my own keeper, filled with flaws and content to stay that way, and lacking the wisdom to even recognize that God wants to replace all that folly with His grace and glory.
I could vow to remember. This does not work; I cannot keep myself. Instead, He keeps me and saves me—even from that low-level of recall. When I need it, He reminds me of things temporarily forgotten, not so I have a database filled with good stuff, but to keep me from tripping and keep me walking toward Him. By His grace, I can glorify the One who does it all for me.
Several years ago during a visit with my husband’s cousin, she invited us to a banquet for school teachers. She was in leadership so we sat at a different table. We had rich conversation with the other guests, and I was part of it—until someone asked me where I got my teaching degree. When I told them I didn’t have one, it was as if I suddenly became invisible. Even though I could ‘talk the talk’ I let them down. No one said a word to me after that.
Credentials. People look for qualifiers, a stamp, a visible or tangible indication that someone fits their claims. While I didn’t claim to be a teacher, they assumed it by my conversation, but without the piece of paper, I was suddenly a person who could not meet their expectations. Remembering that incident still brings a chuckle, and reminds me of a greater rejection that is not amusing.
For the Jews, when God promised them a Messiah, they were certain He would be a conqueror who would free them from political bondage and grant them a strong and wealthy economy. He would be born into royalty. He would look like and act like a king.
Isaiah prophesied otherwise. He said of the coming Deliverer, “For He shall grow up before Him as a tender plant, and as a root out of dry ground. He has no form or comeliness; and when we see Him, there is no beauty that we should desire Him.”
Jesus was ordinary. He was born in poverty, like most people of that time, and did not have the look of royalty. Apart from the miracles that gave Him a reputation, He would have been able to walk down the street without being noticed.
Isaiah added in his inspired words that Jesus would be “despised and rejected by men, a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief,” and when He came, “we hid, as it were, our faces from Him; He was despised, and we did not esteem Him.”
In reading the New Testament, it seems Jesus had a large following, but in the end when He was dying on the cross, everyone abandoned Him. They thought this was not the right man, not the leader that God had appointed. God revealed to Isaiah that would happen: “Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.”
Isaiah goes on to say that, “He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement for our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed” yet most of the people then, including His disciples, didn’t get it. They thought He came to save them from Roman rule, not from the rule of sin. When He died, they figured Him a lost cause, not recognizing they were (and we are) the lost ones.
Credentials are connected to expectations. If a person is looking for a teacher, they might look for a teaching degree, or maybe just the ability to teach. If a person is looking for a Savior, they need to understand what they want to be saved from. Is it an oppressive boss? A husband who beats them? Poverty? Illness? Danger?
While Jesus can save us from all that and more, He told the people His reason for coming: “I came to seek and to save those who are lost.”
Isaiah gave them the same message 600 years prior: “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned, every one, to his own way; and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.”
I was lost to life with God because of my sin. Jesus bore the punishment for my sin so I might be saved from its penalty. But there’s more. Paul wrote, “He (God) who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?”
By understanding and by believing that Jesus came to seek and to save me from my sin, I’ve access to the rest of His saving power; I can expect Him to be for me all that I need. And because He has all the necessary credentials, He always lives up to my expectations.
Today’s reading could be God is saying Amen to what I wrote yesterday. It is from Philippians 4, “Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice!”
The joy of the Lord is produced by the Spirit of the Lord. It does not depend on circumstances, but is His delight, His over-flowing joy. God is a happy God, and because He lives in my heart, I am capable of experiencing His emotions of joy.
What makes God so happy?
John Piper wrote a marvelous book called The Pleasures of God. In it, he describes God as being delighted in Himself. Lest that sound narcissistic, think about it. God is perfect, without sin, flaw, short-comings in any way. He is the only perfect being. To delight in anything less is nonsense.
I know a little of what that means. When I obey Him and know that I’ve done something right and good, I’m pleased. I’m pleased with God, and I’m sure that pleasure comes from the Holy Spirit who lives in me, but at the same time it is a sort of pleasure with myself. I’m being what I was created to be and it feels good.
Besides that, God is exactly who He is. There is no pretense or pretension. He is all that any being can be and more. There is no darkness in Him, no evil, no lies, no imperfections. If I was like that, I’d be happy with myself too.
When I think about Him and the glory of Him, even as I write these words, the sense of His joy bubbles up in me. Rejoicing in Him is as simple as turning my thoughts away from everything else and just thinking about who He is, what He does, the beauty of Him.
God let’s me see Him—another reason to be joyful! People who don’t know Him cannot see Him, or fathom the grandeur that is in Him. He must reveal it, but He does not make Himself inaccessible. As Scripture says, He can be seen in creation; “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork” (Psalm 19). Doesn’t the beauty in the natural world tug our hearts into a smile?
He can also be seen in His Word, the entire Bible being a revelation of who He is and what He has done, both in history and in those who believe in Him and those who do not. He says that “Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God.” If we read it, our eyes are opened to who He is, what He is like.
The plainest revelation is in Jesus, “who (is) the brightness of His glory and the express image of His person . . . .” Jesus is the Word of God made flesh, the very expression of God in a human body. All I need to do is look at the person of Jesus Christ and I rejoice.
I see God in others too, but not always, and not in everyone. He is visible in those who know Him and who allow Him to fill them with Himself (instead of selfishness, self-rule and sin). He reveals His glory in His people, a glory that isn’t seen nearly as often as it should be or could be, but nonetheless is there, waiting for us to let Him have the preeminence.
One way I can do that is by rejoicing in Him, just letting His joy be seen and heard for what it is, the fruit of His Spirit and the strength of my life. This is a good way to begin today.
Our friend, Janice, said that before she became a Christian she knew who was and who wasn’t because the Christians had shiny faces!
Not to discount her experience, we both know now that shining faces don’t always mean someone is filled with the Spirit of the Lord. It can be good make-up, the effects of alcohol, the glisten of tears, or whatever, but a truly joyful Christian should have that joy obvious on their countenance.
David, in Psalm 34, describes the faith experience and shiny faces. He says, “I sought the Lord, and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears. They looked to Him and were radiant, and their faces were not ashamed. This poor man cried out, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.”
Sometimes I’ve tried to make my face shine. The author of my devotional book points out that is silly. If I want to read in the dark, I don’t work on the light bulb to get it glowing; I go to the source of power and flip the switch.
It is the same with joy. It isn’t produced by introspection, sweat, or any subjective effort, nor does it come when life is rosy and all things are in order (as if that ever happens). Joy is a fruit of the Spirit, and it bubbles up from within when my focus is on its source, the Lord God, the Holy Spirit and my Savior, Jesus Christ. David said, “I sought the Lord . . . “ not, “I tried to be joyful.”
It is not difficult today to be joyful because of circumstances. There are dramatic changes in our household. Yet my joy is still in the Lord, because as this poor woman cries out to Him, and as others who care help in that cry, the Lord hears us. He delivers us from fearful things. He saves us from trouble; and He produces the shine.
In this wonderful sense of being rescued from fears and oppression, and in seeing our prayers answered, I know who is responsible. My joy is in Him.
Last night our electricity was off for a few hours. This rare occurrence had us searching for flashlights, candles, and a way to have supper without being able to cook anything. It also illustrated to me how easily I take things for granted. Every dark room I entered, I reached for a switch to turn on the lights.
