The teacher asked us to reflect on what “Repent for the kingdom of heaven is at hand,” means to us, then paint it.
This is not a detailed work of art. It’s a quick painting done during an evening of worship. As I thought about her question, this image is what came to mind.
I understand “repent” to mean change thought and direction.
The cross of Christ is the intersection where time and the eternal, and the physical and supernatural meet.
Jesus has broken every barrier down and his grace gives us the ability to change direction.
We enter everything God has for us — the Kingdom — through the cross.
This is so good — especially if you’ve ever felt foolish for listening to the wrong advice. Allison Bown (no r) is a brilliant writer. Thank you Allison!
Reblogging this because I need it today. Maybe someone else does too.
What do you see?
My grandma’s kitchen table overflowed with happy chaos –as did her closets, drawers, shelves, baskets and any other available surface. She was a quilter, crafter, seamstress and creator of quasi-useful doo-dads extraordinaire. She should have had a blog.
Some might have thought she was a hoarder, but she actually made use of her stashes of potential and gave most of the finished projects away. A quilt stretched out on a frame usually took up most of the living room and when I came home from school I automatically picked up a threaded needle and joined the two or three older friends (all called Mrs. So-and-so, even to each other) while Grandma fixed me a snack.
One of the other jobs she gave me was sorting the bottles of buttons she snipped off thrift store clothes too worn to wear, but still good for quilt patches. I…
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I have often felt I’ve been in the awkward position of having to choose between being with those who pursue a life of victory in Christ or those who glory in suffering.
My life verse has been, “…that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection…” The problem is that I cannot ignore the next part: “and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, if, by any means, I may attain to the resurrection from the dead.” (Philippians 3:10-11)
Victory, yes, but suffering…
I came across this video by Ryan Matchett (one of the pastors at River of Life Church in Lethbridge, Alberta) talking about this problem. It’s about realizing the purpose and value of suffering without getting stuck there.
Thomas believed in Jesus enough to be willing to die with him. His doubt was about his difficulty transitioning from a willingness to suffer with Jesus to a willingness to also share in his resurrection. “When we don’t believe in resurrection in the midst of suffering we make agreement with death.”
This is well worth the 38 minutes of listening time.
I needed to hear this again today. Sometimes God allows painful memories to surface to remind us that we have not cut the ties with past events or people who have caused us to live in fear. I didn’t realize those voices still have an influence and I need to stop listening to them. How about you?
Long ago and far away I worked in a really crazy office. The two women who ran the department were nuts -and I say that in the nicest possible way. They actually threw books at each other. Since my desk was between theirs I learned to duck when “Olga” began her wind-up. She had a good arm but her pitches were often low. Olga qualified as a United Nations translator, but when people she didn’t like required her services, she suddenly developed a thick accent and twenty word English vocabulary. She would hand me the phone and I got to pass the messages on. Yet Olga had power. She had been there forever, knew the dirt on everyone and wasn’t afraid to drag it up. She even made the company president cower.
“Lulu” was Olga’s assistant. She had the worst bouts of PMS I have ever witnessed. Most of the…
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I once had a friend who started filling out his tax return with the bottom line – the amount of taxes he was willing to pay: $0.00. It always took him a few weeks, but in the end he paid $0.00. Did I mention he owned a Ferrari and a few hotels and bragged about his off-shore accounts?
Alas he died a few years ago, still a relatively young man in his late forties. He left no heirs. I don’t know who got his money, but it wasn’t me, so I don’t think about it much except at tax time. It’s too sad.
We have a problem. My husband, who is retired, took on a few projects last year and they were more successful than he anticipated. The accountant called us into his office to sign our tax returns and said he was sorry to deliver bad news, but we owed the government more money. I have a few friends who are accountants and they hate this part of the job, especially when they are fighting tax season sleep deprivation.
This time I had to smile. After some lean years and whining and complaining at tax time I am changing. I now consider it a privilege to pay taxes. I am grateful for what our government provides. We live in a safe country with clean air and clean water. Our children are well-educated. Our roads are maintained and our airports are safe. We have freedom to believe what we choose. And after the trials of the past couple of years can I tell you how utterly grateful I am for disaster aid and especially Canadian medical care?
I spent some time with my son’s family in the government-sponsored mobile home camp in High River after the flood which was the biggest natural disaster in our history. There were good people there helping through very tough times.
When our son-in-law was discharged from the hospital after being given a 0% chance of surviving the necrotizing fasciitis that sent him into toxic shock, he walked out not owing a penny for the superb care he received for two months. The cost was well into seven figures and his family still has their home and can continue life as before. Everyday I receive prayer requests from people who are not so favoured.
I do not begrudge helping to pay for a neighbour’s education, or healthcare, or for snowplows and sanding trucks that make his journey easier. I appreciate trade delegations and police and fire and ambulance services. I honour the court system and food safety inspectors. I thank both the military and the peace negotiators and the thousands of secretaries who really keep this country moving.
I realized that I have accepted complaining about taxes and listening to complaints about paying taxes this time of year for so long that it has seemed normal. When I vote I cast my ballot for the person I think might be the most capable of being a good public servant and administering the government fairly. I am not voting for God. That position is filled. Humans will make mistakes and be tempted to misuse power and sometimes I am disappointed. ‘Tis the nature of humans, so we do need to pray for them, be attentive, write letters and keep up with maintaining the privileges we enjoy, but we also need to honour those who serve in government – and that includes the tax man (or woman).
So today I salute you, much maligned revenue services. We give you this cheque with our blessing. You are welcome. Use it well. We count it a privilege to be able to work and pay taxes at our age. Thank you for your faithful service. We honour you for your hard work and diligence.
A reminder. When the Apostle Paul (and also the Apostle Peter) admonished believers to honour governing authorities they were talking about people like Nero who used Christians as party lights, and Herod who had Jesus flogged. None of our leaders have sunk to that level. Our leaders, whether we voted for them or not, whether we approve of them or not, are owed revenue, respect, and honor. They can’t do the jobs they are supposed to do without it. And it’s the way of love.
“This is also why you pay taxes, for the authorities are God’s servants, who give their full time to governing. Give to everyone what you owe them: If you owe taxes, pay taxes; if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect; if honor, then honor. Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for whoever loves others has fulfilled the law.” (Romans 13:6-8)
If God is on our side, then tell me: whom should we fear?
If He did not spare His own Son, but handed Him over on our account, then don’t you think that He will graciously give us all things with Him?
Can anyone be so bold as to level a charge against God’s chosen? Especially since God’s “not guilty” verdict is already declared.
Who has the authority to condemn? Jesus the Anointed who died, but more importantly, conquered death when He was raised to sit at the right hand of God where He pleads on our behalf.
So who can separate us? What can come between us and the love of God’s Anointed? Can troubles, hardships, persecution, hunger, poverty, danger, or even death? The answer is, absolutely nothing. As the psalm says,
On Your behalf, our lives are endangered constantly;
we are like sheep awaiting slaughter.
But no matter what comes, we will always taste victory through Him who loved us.
For I have every confidence that nothing—not death, life, heavenly messengers, dark spirits, the present, the future, spiritual powers, height, depth, nor any created thing—can come between us and the love of God revealed in the Anointed, Jesus our Lord.
(Romans 8: 31-38)
“All the paths of the Lord are loving and faithful” Psalm 25:10 I have pondered this verse lately, and have found that it feeds my spirit. All does not mean “all – except the paths I am walking in now,” or “nearly all – except this especially difficult and painful path.” All must mean all. So, your path with its unexplained sorrow or turmoil, and mine with its sharp flints and briers – and both our paths, with their unexplained perplexity, their sheer mystery – they are His paths, on which he will show himself loving and faithful. Nothing else; nothing less.”
We wondered what our wee granddaughter was talking about when she asked a question about “skin people.” Her story books were full of talking fur or feather people, she explained, so she wanted her mommy to know she was talking about other kinds of people who look like us.
“They’re called humans, Honey,” her mommy answered.
The next day, within the hearing of other shoppers she asked, “What are those humans doing over there?”
More than one head turned.
I realized that many children’s stories meant to teach a moral lesson use personified critters –clever foxes, wise owls, sneaky snakes, innocent baby bears. It’s easier for authors to frame a story when you are in control of the rules in the fictional world simple characters live in. It works. Kids love it, and there are fewer stupid human tricks for us to explain.
Lately, she’s been asking me to tell her stories about me or her mommy or my friends. At nearly six-years old she has become a student of skin people nature, which can be pretty baffling at times.
Since we were discussing birthday plans I told her this true story about my friend and a birthday cake. There were two people who loved to play jokes on each other. One year “Dolly” decided to play a big trick on her friend, “Burt.” She hired a baker to decorate a cake made up of doggie biscuits frosted together (because he had already played a joke with doggie biscuits on her). From the outside, the birthday cake looked fantastic. Then she dropped it off at Burt’s house. He wasn’t home, so his wife took it gratefully and said she would give it to him later.
After a few days she had not heard anything from him and wondered if his feelings were hurt, so she phoned him.
“The cake was amazing,” he said. “Wow. Thank you so much!”
“It tasted good then?”
“Marvelous!” he gushed. He paused and then said, “I’m sorry, Dolly. I have to I have to tell you what happened. I was tired when I got home so we put it in the freezer and thought we would bring it out when we had company. But last night my wife suddenly remembered she promised to supply the cake for a birthday party for a person at the Old Folks Home. It was too late to order one and yours was beautiful so she brought it down to them this morning.
“Oh No! Did they give the dog biscuit cake to the old person, Nana?” granddaughter asked.
“Well, Dolly called the baker and asked him if he had a cake in the shop she could have and he did. So she hurried over there and bought the cake and rushed to the nursing home with it. She ran into the kitchen and asked the cook if Burt’s cake was there because she wanted to trade it for a fresher cake, but the cook said the cake was already in the dining room for the party. Dolly ran to the dining room.
“Don’t cut that cake!” she yelled.
“Why not?” everyone asked.
Just then Dolly’s friend Burt came in the room and everyone laughed and laughed because they were all playing a joke back on her. Burt knew the cake had dog biscuits inside and he told everybody he was playing joke on Dolly. He already had another one there for the party.
“Why was it funny?” my granddaughter asked.
“Why did she make a cake of dog biscuits? That would taste yucky. That could hurt his feelings.”
“How did Burt know there were dog biscuits inside? Why did he tell his friend he was giving it to the old person? Wasn’t that a lie?”
“Why did the lady forget to order the cake? Didn’t she write it on a calendar?”
“What bakery did Dolly go to?”
Well, I thought it was funny. My next story will start with “Once upon a time there were three bears…”
Skin people communication is so complicated. Friends who understand each other can share practical jokes and laugh at the re-telling for years. Let-your-yea-be-yea-and-your-nay-be-nay people will ask, “Why would you give me a dog biscuit cake? Why would you dishonour me this way?”
Nothing is more shaming than being told your attempts at communication with people you care about have been interpreted in the opposite way you intended – especially if they wait for years to tell you that they have only been smiling politely and they have found you offensive all this time.
Sometimes in our attempts to make connection too much is assumed. It’s like we have only a partial picture of this skin person and they are much more complicated than we think because unlike illustrations of fur and feather people in story books they keep bouncing out of the frame.
The moral of the story: Never assume you understand skin people. Never assume skin people understand you.
Do you know what I mean?
Charis: Subject to Change 