This man did not inspect our faith in the bridge, he inspected the bridge. So often we are inclined to look at our faith … but we must inspect the Bridge. We must not look at ourselves, but at Jesus. And when we look at Him we know He is strong.
– Corrie ten Boom (Not I but Christ)
For several hours after we arrived at home I felt like I was still moving. A fine trembling in my bones replaced the vibration of tires on asphalt and I half-expected the items in my peripheral vision to pass more quickly than they did as I rolled my suitcase down the hall to the bedroom.
I was kind of proud that I just drove from eastern British Columbia to California and back again. We enjoyed different scenery than we are used to. Then I remembered my Dad’s friend who drove that route twice a week, hauling back truckloads of fruit or vegetables. He said fresh raspberries were the worst.
“They have no patience or endurance, them things. They’ll turn themselves into a thousand pounds of red mush if the load shifts or you get held up somewheres,” he said. “Give me crates of oranges or carrots.”
Twice a week. Wow. Now that man had both patience and endurance.
I suppose he knew the road so well he wouldn’t get lost like I did when I missed an important exit ramp. My instincts about which lane to be in are terrible. The last time I drove this route I nearly went around the bend in Bend when I was caught up in a surge of traffic that herded me off toward Portland when I didn’t want to go to Portland. Later that day I found myself half-way to Yakima before I could find a place to turn around after missing the sign that pointed to Kennewick. It was probably behind the onion truck.
We have a talking guidance system in our car which is marvelously wonderful compared to reading huge floppy paper maps by a wimpy light in the ceiling like in the old days, but it can’t be entirely trusted. I talk back to the in-800-meters-make-a—–left-turn lady a lot, and not always in the most respectful tone. Most of the time she is brilliant, but she can be incredibly obtuse when it comes to one-way streets, construction zones, and especially new overpasses.
“What left turn? There is no road on the left anywhere around…. aaargh… that was the exit ramp on the right, wasn’t it. Seriously? ‘Make a u-turn, if possible,’ is not going to cut it here on a divided highway with an 18 wheeler breathing down my neck, GPS lady! I trusted you and you misled me!”
On the other hand I could have been trying to cross Oregon in an oxcart. I’ve heard that wrong turns had more serious consequences than a half hour delay when the pioneers first attempted the journey. I should be more thankful.
Yes, I am grateful for a heated, air-conditioned, low-emissions, adjustable-seated vehicle with air bags, surround sound, USB port and a lady in the dashboard who tells me that my destination is ahead on the left. Very grateful indeed. Bridges and paved roads with shoulders are great and signs that give you enough notice to be in the proper lane are a God-send. Thank you.
But I still hate getting lost or off-track with nowhere to turn around for miles. I am almost ready to park and walk on dark rainy nights in a strange city with signs that say one-way, no left turn. and no u-turn. Do people living there just keep going in ever-widening circles to the right, hoping eventually to make contact with their hotel? Is there no mercy for those of us who are in the wrong lane or who make a wrong turn?
I saw a different sign on the outskirts of Sandpoint in Idaho in a neighbourhood where all the big box stores decided to settle. On the highway running past parking lots and colourful buildings with familiar logos I saw a lane that was designated for u-turns. In fact there was more than one lane on this stretch of the road for people who didn’t want to go that direction anymore. The sign had a curved arrow and said: U-TURN. Drivers could actually, legally “make a u-turn if possible.” How thoughtful!
The sign caught my attention. I’ve been thinking about it and wondering why it stood out to me. Then the Lord reminded me of the conversation we had been having about seeking direction for my life. I have been asking, “Who do you want to be for me now?”
I believe he is saying, “I am the way. I am your u-turn lane. I am your motive, means and opportunity for change. I give you permission to do things differently.”
When Jesus began his preaching ministry on earth this is what he said: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”
The meaning of the word “repent” has been shifted and squashed like an unrecognizable mass of raspberries in a truck that has hit too many speed bumps. We associate it with sign-carrying doomsday prophets, Bible thumpers, and religious police on the lookout for anyone exceeding the limits of propriety by having fun. To many of us “repentance” brings up images of airing dirty laundry in traveling tent meetings, or of reciting prayers and doing penance as punishment or even joining Monty Pythonesque flagellation marches. Mea culpa, whack, mea culpa...
Repent, as most of us understand it nowadays, is not an inviting word.
But repent (metanoeo in Greek) actually means to turn, to change, to think differently, to admit to ourselves, and those we have offended, that we know we are going in the wrong direction, that this is not working, and we want to make a u-turn. It’s an invitation to the kingdom.
Sometimes we are on the wrong road because we were misled. Sometimes we were caught up in a crowd, or missed the signs or were not paying attention. Sometimes, like I did in Klamath Falls, we turn off to eat a quick lunch in a pretty park down by the lake and realize getting back on track is not as easy as getting off. Sometimes we outright rebel and run angrily in the opposite direction, finding ourselves on a dirt track that goes over a dubious bridge and dead-ends at the dump. (I may have learned that lesson the hard way too.)
Jesus doesn’t wait on the high road for us to figure out how to get out of the mess ourselves before he’ll meet with us. He, himself, provides the way to change. The Bible tells us that it is the kindness of God that leads us to change direction, so we can follow him and his kingdom ways.
One of the things I love about my husband is his ability to make a diagnosis and take math students back to the point where they got lost. Then he helps them find their way again. A lot of professors can teach brilliant, enthused A students, but it takes someone who genuinely cares to take the time to help a D or F student turn around, get back on track and gain the confidence they need to pursue dreams of higher education. When they begin to let go of the label of “stupid” they lose the fear of trying. They wear a new sign that says “capable.” I watch him do this all the time. He’s amazing.
This is what God does with his children. When we come to him wearing a sign around our neck that says “hopeless sinner” he takes it off, helps us find the place where we got off track and provides our u-turn lane in Christ. He tells us who we really are, “saint,” and gives us a vision of hope. He points toward the dreams he placed in us. Then he goes with us.
He’s just that good. He really is.
Sin turns ugly and is subject to defeat only when seen in the light of Christ’s beauty.
-Ravi Zacharias
I’m running away.
I’m tired of ugly words. I’ve read too many words by frightened people pointing out other people’s sins and stupidity today.
And now I’m doing it too.
I’m not burying my head in the sand; I’m burying it in the roses.
We drove down to Sandpoint, Idaho for a break (and to buy corn tortillas and a brand of cheese we can’t get here.) I stopped the car for a moment to get something out of the trunk. Then I looked up and saw, in this place for stopping and doing nothing (a parking lot), hundreds of roses blooming on the embankment below a busy highway.
It was a reminder to literally stop and smell the roses.
Can I admit that lately I have found that any time I have been invited to join a group with “Christian” in the title it is nearly always an invitation to entertain contentious frightened people’s conflicting opinions? I long for a place where followers in Christ live in peace and joy. A place where it is said of these people, “Look at how they love each other.”
In the meantime I will try to remember to stop for a rose and see it as a gift from the One who is peace, joy and love.
Thank you, Lord, for your generous provision of beauty where we least expect it.
All the way to heaven is heaven, because Jesus said, “I am the way.”
– St. Catherine of Sienna
Sometimes, when alpenglow lights up the mountains for a few minutes at sunset I want to stand up and applaud, shouting “Author! Author!”
Sometimes I do.
I want to praise the Creator of all this.
I heard of a writer who tried to correct some information about his motivation for the development of a character on a Wikipedia article about himself. Ironically, the corrections he tried to make were “re-corrected” because he – the author – was not recognized as an authority on himself. (A whole other discussion about media and trust could be held here but I shall resist for the moment.)
Yesterday my son and I were discussing theology as he helped me make dinner. He thought there was a reason the people who marvelled at the things Jesus said recognized he that taught as one who had authority.
“It’s because he was the author,” my son said, as he mashed the potatoes. “Teachers like the scribes of Jesus’ day, can only propose theories on what they think the author meant, but Jesus spoke with authority because, as the author of the story, he knew what it meant.”
The best way to understand what the author intended is to ask the author. In Hebrews we read that Jesus Christ is the author and finisher of our faith. He is the ultimate authority on God’s intentions. Like watching a continuing saga of gigantic proportions the meaning of beginning of the story can only be fully understood in the context of the ending. This takes a brilliant author.
Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrew 12 NKJV)
In Christ the great mystery of the ages is revealed.
The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation.
For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.
And he is the head of the body, the church;
he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy.
For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross. (Colossians 1: 17-20)
He speaks as one having authority.
My relationship with Christmas is complicated.
I’ve been in four car accidents in my life. Two were on Christmas Eve and one was on Christmas Day. The first one left a lasting impression as a man stepped into the icy street in front of a vehicle my father was following. Neither could stop in time and drove over him. Years later I learned the investigation showed the man chose this method to commit suicide. (I wrote about it here in The Sorrow of Christmas.) I was very young, but I never bought “the magic of Christmas” after that.
On the other hand I was a singer and some of the best music in the world, especially choral music, is performed at Christmas.
On the other hand I love food. Cooking for her family and friends was how my mother expressed affection and she dished out the love at Christmas. I enjoy making cookies and Santa Claus pie with my grandchildren. Even though I can’t eat it anymore shortbread in the oven still smells like love.
On the other hand I love art and crafts and creativity and pretty baubles that serve no purpose whatsoever other than to say “Here I am in all my sparkly Modge Podge glory.” Where’s my glue gun?
Christmas Eve at our house always included a decorated tree. It always included hot chocolate and new slippers and pajamas. Christmas Day always included an over-heated house full of relatives and the smell of roasting turkey. Aunt Jessie always brought her pineapple marshmallow whipped cream salad. Uncle Joe always piled his plate so high there ought to have been avalanche hazard warnings posted. Christmas afternoon always included a crokinole tournament for the men and a card table with bits of a thousand piece puzzle scattered on it for the women. It always included a plate of Aunt Doris’ maple fudge and a bowl of nuts still in the shell with dangerous-looking implements sticking out that little kids weren’t supposed to touch, but did. It always included a political rant or two from opinionated patriarchs-in-training.
Frantic cleaning and cranky words usually bracketed the arrival and departure of guests. That was a tradition too.
When we married and had our own home we always honoured the Christmas season script with tree and lights and presents and turkey. The season included weeks of shopping on a tight budget whilst dressed up like a sweating Eskimo in a store with yuletide carols [badly sung] piped into every aisle. (Let’s just say it’s a good thing it’s not a Canadian tradition to carry guns into Walmart or there might be one less looped tape of Santa Baby and Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree in the office.)
Christmas included saying no to kids who saw far too many commercials on TV. It often included travelling long distances in horrid weather on icy roads. It involved little kids in emotional melt-down Christmas Day because the tradition on one side of the family said gifts must be opened at midnight. Sometimes it included cancelled flights and sleeping in airports and midnight rides on Greyhound buses because one simply did not risk breaking with tradition. Christmas frequently included Kleenex and cough drops and aspirin. Flu is also a Canadian seasonal tradition.
Christmas included shopping in a town with only two stores for white shirts so kids could sing in the school choir (and bringing baked “goodies’), obligatory parties for every club or group anyone in the family attended (and bringing baked goodies) and finding dates for student concerts and recitals that didn’t conflict with all the other events (and bringing baked goodies).
Christmas makes me feel emotional, but it doesn’t always bring thoughts devotional. Man-made traditions tend to accumulate and open branch offices. Don’t blame the old stodgy churches for being mired in ritual. Sometimes it takes only one repetition to create a tradition.
One thing I have learned is that you can discuss theology until the Arminian/Calvinist debate is actually settled amicably but you don’t mess with people’s traditions. Neglect to take part in the Lord’s Table for weeks and folks will hardly notice. Accidentally double book the hall for the third annual mother/daughter Christmas tea and someone may question whether your name is actually written in the Lamb’s book of life.
Christmas for me has always included stress -good stress, bad stress. Stress is the most consistent tradition. It wasn’t until the year that baby Jesus, or parts of him, went missing from the nativity scene for who knows how long (puppy?) that I noticed the disappearance of Jesus as the center of the creche looked a lot like the absence of Christ at the center of many of our traditions and rituals. I had to ask, “Is this actually “Christian?”
Tradition can be a memorial stone that helps us remember important experiences, but rituals can also become a burdens that miss the original point entirely. There is a difference between the traditions of God and the traditions of man.
Some ancient traditions started with spontaneous expressions of joy or sorrow around certain events. Jeremiah wrote songs of mourning when King Josiah died. They became traditional laments in the Jewish culture. The people in exile inaugurated the feast of Purim to memorialize the victory told in the book of Esther. Man-made tradition and rituals can help us to remember and to teach our children. I love liturgy for the same reason. The church calendar can be like a lesson plan that reminds us to examine the whole of scripture and not merely our favourite bits. But forms without flexibility to follow the Holy Spirit’s lead can also become a burden.
Some ancient traditions are God-ordained. Moses said to the people:
“This annual festival will be a visible sign to you, like a mark branded on your hand or your forehead. Let it remind you always to recite this teaching of the Lord: ‘With a strong hand, the Lord rescued you from Egypt.” (Exodus 13:9 NLT)
The protectors of an established way of life that came from extrapolations on the law of Moses said to Jesus: “Why do your disciples disobey our age-old tradition? For they ignore our tradition of ceremonial hand washing before they eat.”
Jesus replied, “And why do you, by your traditions, violate the direct commandments of God? For instance, God says, ‘Honor your father and mother,’ and ‘Anyone who speaks disrespectfully of father or mother must be put to death.’ But you say it is all right for people to say to their parents, ‘Sorry, I can’t help you. For I have vowed to give to God what I would have given to you.’ In this way, you say they don’t need to honor their parents. And so you cancel the word of God for the sake of your own tradition. You hypocrites! Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you, for he wrote,
‘These people honor me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me.
Their worship is a farce,
for they teach man-made ideas as commands from God.’ “(Matthew 15:2-9 NLT)
I’ve made progress in neutralizing my acid pen in the past few years, but I lost it in November. The nasty protests on social media against commercial outlets that don’t follow “Christian traditions” started up again. (Has no one noticed that holidays is just the traditional spelling of Holy Days?). There is no command in the Bible to celebrate Jesus’ birth on an arbitrary day with holly on a coffee cup or nativity scenes on city hall property. How can we demand that people who do not know the Lord honour our man-made traditions when we ignore what He actually demonstrated? How did it get to be alright to demand protection for “our way of life” when that act itself violates a command of God to love your neighbour and treat those in authority with respect?
How is it alright for our car full of Christmas traditions to run over the lonely, the depressed, the oppressed, the sick, the grieving, the desperate as we rush home to celebrate the birth of the One who showed us what love is? How is it alright to lay burdens on ourselves that resist the message that Christ came to set us free?
Jesus Himself said that if we love him we will obey His commandments which are simply to love others as we love ourselves.
I’ve had to apologize for attacking people for attacking people and for being intolerant of the intolerant. I’m not one who says you mustn’t celebrate Jesus’ birth on December 25th. I’m saying don’t make this season of worship a farce.
I’m saying it is for freedom that Christ came to set us free and we need to be careful not to take on another yoke of bondage.
I’m saying God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son so that anyone who believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. That is joy. That is love.
Anything else is unplugged tangled Christmas tree lights that bring no light at all.
For God, who said, “Let there be light in the darkness,” has made this light shine in our hearts so we could know the glory of God that is seen in the face of Jesus Christ.
(2 Corinthians 4:6 NLT)
I was walking home in darkness that falls too early this time of year. When I stopped to tie my bootlace I realized I was standing under the neighbour’s lamp stand at the end of their driveway. The darker the sky grew the brighter the light grew in comparison.
Even in dark times our loving Father makes the light to shine in our hearts as we abide in Christ and he indwells us. This is my first Christmas without my Dad since he is celebrating with Mom and Grandma and Grandpa and the rest of the cloud of witnesses this year. This is also the first Christmas since my husband’s brother passed away. Tears fall easily lately, but even in sorrow there is hope. The mystery hidden for ages is now made known. Christ in us, the hope of glory.
Have you noticed how many Christmas carols are about the light shining in the darkness? One of my favourites is Candlelight Carol by John Rutter. Candlelight, angel light, fire light and star glow.
I think I must have a nerve that goes straight from my nose to a file of old memories in the dusty attic that is my brain. The scent of autumn leaves on the ground takes me back to kicking my way through the park and burying my little brother in a mound of leaves so he could suddenly sit up and scare the wits out of passersby. He was a fun kid.
I learned as a kid that leaves and flowers stuffed in a plastic container with a layer of snow to preserve them didn’t smell so good when you opened the lid a few months later. The odor of rotten vegetation triggers memories of bad ideas.
Not all smells are good. Before the Lord healed me certain odors could trigger flashbacks and bring on anxiety attacks that felt like hanging over the fires of hell by an unravelling rope. If you don’t understand what that means I thank the Lord for his goodness to you and pray that sentence will never make sense. Just let me assure you that God does heal memories and removes their power over you. (My friend, Praying Medic, has written a book about one very effective method of healing prayer for memories and emotions. His blog with link to book here.)
But sometimes God lets some memories remain.
I was struck by a story in the Bible that mentions a campfire on the beach after Peter and the boys decided to give up this whole disciple-schtick and go back to the old job, wondering what those three last years were all about.
Wood fires smell all Kum-by-yah and marshmallow torches to me. Charcoal fires put me back in the scene of a crime I vaguely recall with some not-so-sober friends who tip over a little hibachi grill onto the Parks Canada picnic table. We drag it lakeward with the intentions of throwing it in because we are afraid of starting a forest fire, which really would really tick off the rangers, when somebody has the bright idea of pouring some of the lake on the table instead.
But I digress.
So there is Jesus, no longer dead, cooking fish over a charcoal fire. Maybe he had a hibachi. I don’t know. He yells at the boys, who were failing as badly at fishing as they were when he first met them. (Why, in the face of disappointment, do so many of us return to the very same thing that didn’t work for us the last time either?)
“Throw the net on the right side!” he yells.
The same miracle happens. Lots of fish, Many, many, many fish.
Now Pete, bless his heart, is still not the sharpest knife in the drawer, and it takes his buddy John to point out the coincidence to him. Then he does his impulsive thing, although perhaps less impulsively than before because this time he puts some clothes on first, and swims for shore. When the other guys catch up they see the charcoal fire and a fish fry happening on the beach.
Now I don’t think the Bible throws in a lot of extra detail because the Lord knew the book needed to be portable (although I’m still working on understanding why I have to haul all those genealogies around every time I throw it in my big old tie-dyed hippy bag). So why mention charcoal?
Because when Peter denied Christ he was standing near a charcoal fire.
When Jesus asked Peter twice if he loved him (agape -God’s total all-encompassing love) Pete was again standing beside a charcoal fire, but on the beach this time.
The memory of the last time he stood beside a charcoal fire would have been very strong. He could not answer that he loved Jesus with agape love because he knew that in himself he did not have that ability. His ceiling had already caved in on that issue. He was publicly exposed as a coward and had wept bitterly at his own weakness.
And now Jesus is rubbing the memory of his failure in his nose.
By making him a meal over charcoal early in the morning, Jesus is reminding him of his worst moment, yet serving him and loving him at the same time. My stomach would have been willing to give back the fish at that point. In the midst of the smoke, which I can see drifting his way, Peter has to be totally honest and humble before Christ -and himself- and admit he can, at best, only offer a lesser phileo (brotherly) love. So Jesus asks again and after receiving the same response lowers the ante and asks the broken man if he loves (phileo) him.
This is the moment when Jesus chooses to call him to leadership. “Feed my sheep.”
While Peter’s nostrils are sending the memory of the worst moment of his life straight to his heart and mind, Jesus says he is ready to care for His sheep and lambs.
Have you noticed when you feel like God might be asking you to step up and do something courageous, something that might look like a promotion to anyone else, he often picks the moment when you are most aware of your personal inadequacies, the moment when you know without a doubt the task is beyond you?
There you are, bravado and enthusiasm stinking like a Tupperware casket full of last season’s rotten leaves, as you slink off the stage hoping no one remembers what you look like. And then God says, “Now you’re ready.”
Why? Because he doesn’t need your talent, your muscle, your wit, your confidence and excellent self-esteem. He wants your love. That’s it. That’s the only qualification. And he doesn’t even expect you to drum up a lot of that on your own either.
Three times Jesus asked Peter the question, giving him the chance to confirm three times what he had denied three times. Jesus is very good that way. He takes our worst moments and burns them up to cook breakfast over, just for us. He is not afraid of our failure. His kindness is relentless.
He puts his love in our trembling hands so we have something to hand back to him.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. (Psalm 51:17)
Someone asked me recently why I don’t take a stronger stand against evil. “All that’s needed for evil to prevail is for good people to do nothing,” they said. “If you keep talking about grace without warning about compromise with sin you can be held responsible for the consequences.”
Lately I’ve been hearing from a lot of folks who are sure we are about to be judged for the sins of our countries. “We’ve gone too far,” they say.
We do reap what we sow. If our pleasure or comfort comes at the expense of someone else (or even our future selves) eventually somebody’s going to get hurt. I watched the escalation of the squirt gun wars amongst my grandchildren this summer. If you squirt someone with water they have the right to shoot you back. You have set a precedent. How long do you think the fun lasted until there were tears and Grandma had to confiscate the toys? I can tell you the scenario was repeated often enough to establish the character of human nature. (Bless their hearts.)
The escalation of conflict in the world goes way beyond squirting each other with cold water. It’s a dark, ugly, scary place sometimes where even a child in his momma’s womb is not safe.
Sometimes I get the feeling some people think our countries are working on some sort of group project that is about to be judged by God’s big red pencil. The “achievers” are really ticked off with the “slackers.” The ones who feel responsible for doing everything right are running around yelling, “Now we’re all gonna fail! Aaaargh!” What if the test is not about a good mark on a paper about blood moons and calendars and court rulings and not being passively complicit in giving approval to sin? What if the assignment is all about learning to love?
I had to ask the Lord, “Am I a slacker? Have I compromised on speaking out about the consequence of defying Your orders for the way things are meant to be done in Your creation?
As I prayed I was reminded of a vision I had a few years ago. A picture flashed in my mind’s eye. A runner on a dark road in the night carrying a torch like we saw during the winter Olympics in Canada. It was a like a detailed short video and lasted only a moment, but it looked very real.
“Was that from you, Lord?” I asked.
“I miss the people of the flame.” I recognized His voice.
“What people? What flame? What happened?”
“It was buried under the bridge of compromise,” He said.
That was it. That’s all I heard. I pondered this event for some time wondering who the people were and what the flame represented. I couldn’t understand. Was this about having more fervency, more zeal? But I know plenty of amazing people striving to make the world a better place so who are these flame carriers you are missing? It didn’t make sense to me so I left it on the shelf for a while.
This week, as the memory of the vision came up again in the context of taking a public stand against sinful practices, I continued to talk to the Lord about it. I remembered a verse I learned as a child, “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105)
Pointing to the darkness and saying “This ought not to be!” is like being the kind of doctor who can diagnose a complicated case, and may be able to treat some symptoms, but offers no cure. It’s like a physician who says “Those spots indicate a serious disease process. If you didn’t have those spots you wouldn’t be sick!” We walk away thinking about how to get rid of the spots instead of how to treat the root cause.
I wonder if a type of disappointment has been growing in our communities. Like yeast that fills a lump of dough I’ve noticed a pervasive cynicism has crept in. I see so many who have experienced disappointment in the ability of hard work, religious observance, law-abiding life-styles or the false charm of political promises to make lasting deep heart-change. I wonder if disappointment is an indication that we have replaced God’s priorities with our own. We are still working hard but it’s not going the way we envisioned. We have been striving to remove the spots in ourselves and in others in the hope it will lead to a healing of the heart. But the more we try the worse the spots get.
I wonder if the flame in the vision is about true hope. Perhaps the lamp, “the Word,” does not refer to more Biblical injunctions to quit sinning. The Bible tells us that the Word is Jesus Christ Himself.
Today I asked the Lord again if I have been in error by not standing up against sin more publicly. Have I been lazy, avoiding conflict, compromising? His answer to my heart: The people of the flame carried the light. They carried hope, they carried good news. They ran into the darkness, unafraid, because they carried the flame.
After Jesus died the people who had expectations that he would deliver them from the oppressors felt profound disappointment. “But we had hoped that he was the one…” said the two followers as they walked dejectedly to Emmaus, not recognizing the person who joined them was the resurrected Jesus. They did not understand that God had much bigger plans than improving their living conditions. These were the same people who, after the Holy Spirit came with wind and tongues of flame at Pentecost, abounded in hope in the worst possible circumstances, under severe persecution. They were not concerned with “preserving their way of life.” They did not point to encroaching darkness and announce God’s judgment on a place, nor did they sit down awaiting rescue from the planet. They did not deny the darkness. They picked up their torches and ran right into the darkness. The message they carried changed the world.
They carried hope. They carried the light. The light of the world is Jesus Christ.
We each face challenges of Olympic proportion. Will circumstances become more difficult in the future? I don’t know. All I know is that in my own small way, right where I am in this little corner of the world I can run into the darkness carrying the light.
I pray that God, the source of all hope, will infuse your lives with an abundance of joy and peace in the midst of your faith so that your hope will overflow through the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:13)
Charis: Subject to Change 