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)
The thing I like about rest is it gives me a breathing space where I can gather myself. I can step back. You don’t have to react to externals; you have to respond to an internal.
-Graham Cook
I feel sorry for the person in a crisis or otherwise dramatic moment who has a microphone thrust in her face as a reporter is asking for reactions. If that happened to me I could probably supply him or her with a choice remark off the top of my head. But that’s the problem. My first reaction is just that -my reaction.
It is, as often as not, a shallow, self-centered reaction motivated by whatever has caused inconvenience or pain. For small things, like a stubbed toe, the memory of a short loud complaint fades faster than it takes to hop across the room on one foot. For big things that involve profound disappointment in people and may even change the course of my life, I need to get away and submit my reaction to the Holy Spirit’s response before I say or do something I’ll regret later
I need to gather in angry scowls, perturbed sighs, peaceless mutterings and woe-is-me moans. I need to take catastrophizing thoughts and calls for revenge captive. Then I can present them to Jesus. After all he paid to take this stuff away. Then I need to listen and respond with his love, his joy, his peace. I need to see the way he does.
Sometimes it’s a bigger struggle than I think it should be. Sometimes I sit in his presence wishing I could take back words that flew out of my mouth before self-control showed up to edit them. Sometimes I feel as stubborn as three-year old who would rather sit at the dinner table until bedtime than eat my broccoli. I don’t want to eat my words. And sometimes I eventually hear the futility of my repetitive argument as the finer points dull in comparison to his wisdom.
I’ve changed my mind about a lot of situations and people lately. When my first reaction might be to reject them he whispers, “Look again. Do you see what I see?”
Freedom means that when a situation sticks a metaphorical microphone in front of my face demanding an immediate reaction, I don’t have to give one. I can step back, wait, listen and respond with Christ in me, the hope of glory.
It definitely beats counting to ten.
Don’t be worried with evil workers
or envy the gains of people with all-wrong-upside-down ways.
Soon enough they will wither like grass,
like green herbs fading in summer’s heat.
Believe in the Eternal, and do what is good—
live in the land He provides; roam, and rest in God’s faithfulness.
Take great joy in the Eternal!
His gifts are coming, and they are all your heart desires!
Commit your path to the Eternal; let Him direct you.
Put your confidence in Him, and He will follow through with you.
He will spread out righteousness for you
as a sunrise spreads radiance over the land;
He will deliver justice for you into the light of the high sun.
Be still. Be patient. Expect the Eternal to arrive and set things right.
Don’t get upset when you see the worldly ones rising up the ladder.
Don’t be bothered by those who are anchored in wicked ways.
So turn from anger. Don’t rage,
and don’t worry—these ways frame the doorway to evil.
Besides, those who act from evil motives will be cut off from the land;
but those who wait, hoping in the Eternal, will enjoy its riches.
(Psalm 37:1-9 The Voice)
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.
Not long ago someone who was moving to a new city asked a group of us what we looked for in a church.
Some people said they valued good preaching, or good worship music, or a good children’s program. Some wanted a place that offered the old time religion and salvation message that was good enough for Grandma. Some wanted something deeper or fresher or more relevant. Some wanted standards. Some wanted to be open to everyone and everything. Some wanted a place where they could take an active part and others wanted a service that ended on time with easy access to the exit and the parking lot.
When they asked me I said I don’t know anymore.
I’ve been in rooms with brilliant teachers teaching brilliant thoughts to eager learners.
I’ve been in open fields with people willing to lay down their lives for the nations,
in kitchens where folks fed the poor,
in safe houses with two or three friends who understood my brokeness patiently worked toward my emotional healing,
in giant cathedrals with choirs and organ music that carried the echoes of a thousand years of faithfulness,
on patios around the barbecue where people talk about the love of Christ and things that matter,
in backrooms where street people loved each other with the deepest sincerity,
in quiet sanctuaries where the sacraments repeated the promises I needed to hear,
in rented spaces with music and dance so enthusiastic I could feel the beat in my chest,
in accepting ethnic communities where I was the only white person,
in gyms where children laughed and played and recited memory verses,
in creaky old pews where multi-generational families prayed together and stayed together
in halls and airport hangars where the power of the Holy Spirit was so strong people were thrown out of their chairs or fell on the floor with laughter or were healed of incurable diseases on the spot,
and in wood paneled sanctuaries where the elderly found comfort in hymns about heaven.
I have known the safety of basement classrooms with friends who desire to hear the Lord and are willing to graciously speak truth into my life.
I’ve known the church of the internet where spirit to spirit connection rides the air waves.
I’ve known the reverent and the raucous, the richly furnished and the barely maintained, the well-staffed and the unstaffed, the steadfast and the risk-taking.
It’s hard to choose which one I will reject if I cling solely to one and forsake the others.
I love them all.
But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.
Sometimes we walk on sunny mountain tops. Sometimes we walk through stormy valleys.
Lately it feels like another storm hits before our shoes have had a chance to dry out after the last one.
Can I be honest with you? I don’t feel like I’m doing a great job in this season of my life. I’m so far behind I don’t know if I’ll ever catch up to my expectations for myself. Sometimes the closest I come to resting in the Lord is pulling the blankets over my head and ignoring the clock in the morning.
This morning I had a dream that describes what I have been feeling. I was rushing around in a house (similar to ours in real life but with more stories) that needed work and preparation for the next season. Someone came to the door. I felt grubby, dusty and sweaty and not in the mood for company, but I invited the young girl who waited there into my mess.
She whispered something about wanting to make a proclamation. Before I could say anything another person showed up who needed my attention. As I went to look for something he wanted more people arrived – all in some sort of need or crisis. My house was noisy and confusing and full of people poking into all my private not-so-impressive spaces. I wanted to be hospitable and make something for them to eat, but everywhere I looked something in the house needed to be cleaned, trimmed, painted, organized, or repaired. Too many voices asked questions at the same time.
I felt overwhelmed.
Then the girl who had arrived at my door first put her hand on my arm and said in the sweetest gentle voice, “Can we proclaim now?”
I woke up, the word “proclaim” still ringing in my ears.
All day I’ve been thinking about this. Then I stumbled on this video by a group of young singers called “Proclaim.” The first young soloist looks like the girl who came to my door in the dream.
Okay, Lord, you have my attention. I’m listening.
I will call upon your name when everything has failed.
I will lift my weary eyes to that place where my help comes from
and I will not be afraid
and I will run to you in my time of weakness
and I will remember your unfailing love for me
You are my help, Lord!
Your right hand will hold me when I stray.
You are my help, Lord.
There’s no fear in me.
I will rise again.
I proclaim the glory of the Lord.
I will remember Your unfailing love for me. There is no fear in me. I rise again!
I love raiding people’s bookshelves when I am a house guest. It’s like a conversation that continues after everyone has gone to bed. Tell me more about who you are and what’s important to you.
My son-in-law caught me perusing his shelves one evening.
“Here,” he said, pulling a thin book out of the line-up. “You will like this author. He presents profound ideas in a palatable way, and he has your sense of humour.”
The author was Graham Cooke. The book changed my life. I ordered more of his books and devoured Youtube videos. He was teaching concepts that confirmed what I felt the Lord was showing me but I didn’t have words for yet. He was also teaching concepts that made me run to the scripture to see if this was true. It appeared I needed to make some major course changes in the way I thought, and who wants to mess up their head with changes if they don’t have to?
After paying attention to Bible passages I was in the habit of skipping over (to reach my “quiet time quota” for the day) I realized my thought processes needed a major overhaul in some areas.
I was pretty much on my own in exploring this new way of thinking (focusing on how God wants to reveal some new aspect of himself in every circumstance, living in my identity as a much loved child of God, praying as a bride and not a widow, realizing the old sin nature is dead and learning to jettison old sin habits in favour of making choices based on the fact that I have a new nature, understanding that Holy Spirit doesn’t merely drop by for an occasional visit because Christ is in me and I am in Christ etc.).
Progress for someone who needs to ditch a habit of overly cautious (okay, sometimes lazy) procrastination has been slow. I’ve had to back out of a few rabbit trails in my lifetime when I made the mistake of unquestioningly following guides who were more sure of themselves than they ought to have been. I am wary of following one person. I don’t believe anyone has the whole picture and I need confirmation from other sources and especially need to learn to hear from the Lord myself before I make big moves. But I like this guy. He provokes me to goodness and living in joyful trust in the Lord.
Imagine my utter surprise when I walked past a little church in my neighbourhood and saw a marquee announcing that Graham Cooke would be speaking there the following weekend. What was a writer and speaker who stood before thousands at events internationally doing here in my small remote city in the Canadian Rockies? It couldn’t be the same Graham Cooke. I phoned and checked. It was! Well, I’ll be… Of course I registered for the conference.
Have you ever been in a place where someone addresses the very issues you have been discussing with God lately? I soaked it all in.
Except for one thing.
Another speaker who accompanied Mr. Cooke talked about faithfulness to friends, family and community. He stressed the importance of honouring them, especially in keeping agreements.
A local group I belonged to scheduled a meeting for the same time as the last session of the conference. A few weeks before they had changed the evening they met on to accommodate my schedule. I had planned to make my apologies and skip the meeting when this guy (bless him) used a hypothetical example so similar to my situation I felt like he had been reading my mail.
I struggled. I wanted to be at the final session. I was so hungry for more. But that evening I walked out of the conference venue and went to the local group’s meeting as an act of obedience. I asked my husband to go to the little church and take notes. He obliged, loving man that he is.
As soon as I could get away I rushed back to the church and just about bumped into Mr. Cooke as he exited the building. He smiled, nodded, got into a waiting car and left.
Someone grabbed me, “Wasn’t that absolutely marvelous? Can you believe what he said? He came here to this little place because he had a prophetic word specifically for us!”
“What did he prophesy?”
“Weren’t you paying attention?”
“I just got here. I had a meeting…”
“He told everyone 55 and older to stand up because the Lord had something for every person holding out their hands to receive. Maybe someone recorded it. I’m so encouraged, so thrilled that the Lord remembers us here.”
I was 55. I wasn’t there. I didn’t hold out my hands to receive something special. I missed it.
I was new to this kind of stuff. I had come to see how prophecy, like healing, is still active and had been very influential and encouraging in the lives of people around me. I, however, had never received a prophetic word more specific than “God wants to be your friend” or other nice things one could write in terms so general they could apply to at least 1/12th of the population reading the newspaper on any given day. This was a specific word, and a good one. And I wasn’t there.
I tried not to let it bother me. But it did. When I got home I cried, remembering all the times I felt like I was left out as a child.
I have struggled my whole life with a pervasive sense of being on the outside looking in. Never fitting in. The girl from the religious family playing the records while other children danced at school. Too young, too old, too small, too big. The girl allergic to birthday cake and ice cream. Cinderella without a godmother. Never going to the ball.
It takes a while to recognize a set-up, especially a God set-up. I didn’t tell anyone about my great disappointment for quite a while. But the Lord used the occasion to point to a hole in my heart that needed healing. And he has been doing that. He’s also giving me connections in places I never expected, with people who understand.
One thing I have learned that I didn’t know before is that one of the jobs of a New Testament prophet is to teach people how to hear God’s voice for themselves. In Old Testament days the Holy Spirit came upon men and women to deliver a specific message. Since few had the Holy Spirit directly communicating with them, the role of prophet as conduit became extremely important. Messages from God were few and far between. Centuries even. You couldn’t afford to miss one.
Things have changed. Jesus changed them.
Waiting for a person with a gift of prophecy to tell us what God wants to say to us is a kind of abdication of our privilege to ask him ourselves. When we do hear from those who have heard God’s encouraging words for others, it’s nearly always a confirmation of something we have been feeling but haven’t assembled in usable form yet. It’s wonderful, but it’s a bonus. Holy Spirit himself makes his temple in hearts that are open to him now. And he promises to never leave.
When I asked the Lord sometime later why I was left out that evening, I felt him comfort me and say I wasn’t left out of the promises given. They are for me as well. I can claim them. It’s just that he didn’t want me to be distracted or tempted to worship the messenger. He wanted me to seek Him so he could tell me himself.
It’s all about relationship.
Recently, there was an event which I longed to attend. Many of my new friends who support Graham Cooke’s ministry were there. Again I made the decision to honour the timetable of family and friends first and stayed where I have commitments. I am tempted to feel left out again, but when the Holy Spirit living in me connects with the Holy Spirit living in others, even though we are not in the same room, there is unity in the Spirit. I’m not on the outside. We are one in the Spirit. We are one in the Lord.
The Church, the Body of Christ, is wherever his people are, including here, today, on the internet, with you.
I hear the Saviour say, “Your strength, indeed, is small. Child of weakness, watch. Pray. Find in me your all in all.”
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities.
For when I am weak, then I am strong.
(2 Corinthians 12:9,10 ESV)
Jesus Paid It All. (lyrics by Elvina M. Hall, 1865)
Charis: Subject to Change 