Heaven

 January 31, 2021

Park church’s most recent sermon series is billed as “Endless,” with sermons on the reality of eternity, of heaven, and of hell. Pastor Joe this morning spoke about what he considers the error of thinking believers will spend eternity in heaven, instead presenting the case for us living on a new earth. 

I’m not particularly adept at advanced theology; frankly, most of it bores me. I’ve read some pretty heady stuff, both theologically and philosophically, but most of it seems to me designed to impress the less educated with big foreign words. It’s not that I don’t have opinions about all of it, but most of the time, I think pretty simply. My mantra for such things is, “Well...it’s a pretty deep subject for such a shallow mind.” So here’s what I think about heaven. Get ready to be impressed. Or not.

Heaven is wherever Jesus is. It doesn’t matter to me if it’s here on earth, or somewhere beyond the galaxies. Heaven is not as much a place as it is a Person. That’s why it’s so important to get to know him here and now. If I am not particularly interested in knowing Christ better here, what makes me think I’m going to want to spend eternity with him? Here, as St. Paul says, “we see in a glass dimly.” Mirrors back then were made of polished brass. You might see your reflection, but not in the vibrant colors and clear lines we know today. Our knowledge of Christ is like that—a dim reflection of the reality that awaits. Here, there is much to distract; competition for our attention and affection. The day is coming when all that diminishes and detracts will be removed, and we will experience the full glory of his presence. THAT is what heaven is all about. Debate all the other stuff, if you will, but I’m not interested. Knowing Jesus fully is my goal. Someday, I’ll get there. Where it is doesn’t matter. Who it is is all that matters.

Character

 January 30, 2021

Nehemiah was a man of bold faith and character. He took his life in his hands asking the king to send him to Jerusalem, prayed and formulated a plan to rebuild the city walls, withstood opposition from enemies within and without, accomplished his goal, and then tackled the lax religious observance of the people. Everything he did, he did with energy and power. A man of prayer, he was also a man of action, combining religious observance with armed resistance. He refused to lay burdens upon his people for his work, like former president Trump refused to take a salary from the people. At the end of it all, the only thing he asked was for God to remember him. He didn’t need accolades, didn’t want riches, actually took a secondary place to others in the dedication of the city walls he had built (Neh. 12:38). 

It’s not an easy matter to work so hard and then slip into the background. Most men would welcome the honor. Not Nehemiah. I think it was Lincoln who said that the measure of a man’s character is not how he handles failure, but how he handles success. Too often, success is more of a downfall than failure. Failure builds us; success tests us. I’ve known both, and am thankful tonight for this reminder to not let success go to my head. May it be enough that my reward is that of Nehemiah: “Remember me, O God!”

Hope

 January 29, 2021

I’ve been thinking recently about hope. Not hope as in “I hope the Bills win the playoffs.” That hope is a bit late, and dependent on factors no one, not even the Bills could control. I’m thinking of hope as the Bible describes it in Hebrews 6:19—“an anchor for the soul.” Our hope is independent of circumstances, wholly dependent on the faithfulness of God. 

People often criticize Christians for their hope. They say it’s a “pie in the sky bye and bye” faith that doesn’t touch down here and now. I disagree. It very much lives in this world. John Piper put it this way: “It’s Object is in the future; It’s experience is in the present.” Let me illustrate, but with something quite dependent upon matters outside of my control.

I keep bees. Years ago, a gentleman in my church introduced me to this fascinating hobby, Sadly, my colonies died one spring some twenty years ago, and I gave it up; but last summer, I decided it was time to get back into it. Right now I have three colonies in the side yard. In the winter, honeybees cluster around the queen, keeping her warm and ready to resume egg laying, usually sometime in February. If all goes well, by April, the colony is exploding in numbers, but it’s a critical time for them. If they run out of honey stores or can’t get to what’s in the hive, they will starve, often only inches from the life-giving food they need. 

In the fall, I inspected the colonies, made sure they had enough stores for the winter, closed them up, and waited. In hope. I made preparations in October with April in mind. Now that I’ve finished our laundry room, I’ll be assembling frames for them to build comb on in the spring. Everything I did in the fall, and everything I do from now until April, is done in hope that they will be alive and ready to start bringing in nectar in the spring. Hope prompted me to do things beforehand; my eye on the future guided my hands in the present.

In an even greater sense, the Christian’s hope of eternal life is what motivates our actions today. If there is no future, no heaven (and hell), why bother with the hard work of loving others, feeding the poor, clothing the naked, caring for the sick? Of course, doing so is admirable, but human nature what it is, we soon let up our pace, flag in our zeal, and start looking out for Number One. Hope keeps my eyes off myself and on Jesus Christ, the Object of my hope that motivates me here and now. Hopefully, in the spring, my hives will be bursting with buzzing—a hope conditioned upon factors I cannot control. My hope in Jesus is secure, because nothing is outside his control, for which I am thankful tonight.

Glory for Me

January 28, 2021

Psalm 17:15 reads,”I will see Your face in righteousness; I shall be satisfied when I awake in Your likeness.” As if it weren’t enough to someday wake in God’s presence, the promise here is that we shall awake in his likeness. I imagine Paul had this in mind when he penned 2 Corinthians 3:18–“We all with unveiled face beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord.” Or 1 Corinthians 13:12–“Now we see in a mirror dimly, but then, face to face.” 

As a teenage new Christian, we sang Charles Gabriel’s hymn, “O That Will Be Glory for Me.” The first two refrains are as follows:

“When all my labors and trials are o’er

And I am safe on that beautiful shore,

Just to be near the dear Lord I adore

Will through the ages be glory for me.

“When by the gift of his infinite grace

I am accorded in heaven a place,

Just to be there and to look on his face

Will through the ages be glory for me.”

I remember singing these words joyfully, but it’s only with more than a half century under my belt that I am beginning to appreciate them. It’s a song of anticipation that the young only appreciate when faced with abject failure or defeat. Anticipation produces either escapism or engagement. People often think of heaven as a way out of life’s problems instead of the natural result of life lived as God planned. Without the anticipation of eternal life, escapism is a logical choice—why engage in a difficult endeavor that has no ultimate goal or meaning?

Contemplation of heaven is merely the fulfillment of what we aspire to be here on earth. At my worst, I reflect only my own fallen likeness. At my best, I hope to exhibit the likeness, a reflection of Jesus Christ, but I usually fall somewhere in between; a faulty and flawed likeness at best. the thought that someday I’ll not only be WITH Christ fully, but LIKE him also, is my hope. As Gabriel said, it’s only by his grace, now and forever. May this hope mold and shape my words and deeds now, in this life, as they will in the life to come!

 

(Un)Answered Prayers

 January 27, 2021

Intercessory prayer is hard work! Just briefly mentioning the names on my prayer list can take me a half hour or more. Prayers with any measure of detail can consume an entire morning, and if I don’t have my list in front of me, I forget a lot of the people and situations I promised myself I would remember. But it’s not the sheer volume of prayers that makes it so much work; it’s also the frequent absence of seeing concrete and significant answers. I can’t even begin to number the prayers that seemingly have gone unanswered. 

But what if instead of being proactive, many of my prayers are simply protective or helping maintain a status quo? More than once I’ve been involved in situations that were troubled for some time before exploding in very messy ways. In reflecting upon these, one of the common denominators is my failure to persevere in prayer. A marriage was troubled. The couple came in for counseling. We prayed. I prayed...for a time. Things seemed to be going well enough, until one filed for divorce, and I was convicted yesterday the Lord of slacking off in my prayers. It seemed that the couple had reconciled, so I stopped praying. In reality, they were still struggling behind the scenes, and needed those prayers to maintain equilibrium. 

Sometimes answered prayer doesn’t come in the form of dramatic divine intervention; it may be in the quiet and desperate struggle that no one sees, but which needs the strength those seemingly unanswered prayers have been providing. We who pray must decide whether prayer actually does any good, or not; whether there is a spiritual dimension to life that is impacted by our prayers, or not. If not, then we might as well quit praying altogether, but if God really exists, and if he listens to our prayers, then my prayers can, and do, make a difference. Quitting early is an admission that we don’t really believe there is a loving Heavenly Father who hears and answers. Sometimes the mere maintenance of the status quo is more of an answer than we can imagine.

What We See

Exclusion

 January 25, 2021

It’s OK to not have all the answers. It’s OK to not even know all the questions. Some people seem to have a gift for ferreting out pearls of wisdom from even the most obscure Scriptures. Daily they offer gems that gleam with a kaleidoscope of beauty that the rest of us wish we could see, but don’t. We muddle through, hoping that occasionally even a flawed diamond will fall into our hands. 

I’ve been reading through the Old Testament. 1 and 2 Chronicles had some good stories with plenty of examples of human failure and divine grace, but of course, they were mingled with endless lists of names that have the capacity to put even the most dedicated scholar to sleep. Today, having left Chronicles behind, I read through Ezra, the scribe who probably wrote both the Chronicles, and perhaps the two Samuels and Kings as well. His biography (or perhaps autobiography) is somewhat less dramatic than those of whom he wrote in his other works. He oversaw the rebuilding of the temple after the Babylonian Captivity, and tidied up some of the errant practices of the religious leaders of his day. It is this latter that has my attention, if not my understanding.

Ezra was charged with ensuring the orthodoxy of the Remnant who returned to Jerusalem under the protection of Cyrus. Israel’s history had been one of struggle between the monotheism of Yahweh and the polytheism of the rest of the world which continually threatened and often succeeded in infiltrating pure Hebraic religion. Their being carried into captivity by Babylon’s Nebuchadnezzer in 586 BC was what finally cured them of their polytheistic impulses. Seventy years exile in a pagan foreign land taught them their lesson. Polytheism was never a serious threat to Judaism from then on.

But when the Jews returned to their homeland, they found living there the descendants of the poorest of their countrymen who had been left behind; people who had mingled and intermarried with the peoples the Babylonians had imported as part of their policy of breaking up opposition by scattering and settling them in the far-flung reaches of the empire. In Judea, these people were not only “mixed breed,” their religion was a synchretic hodge-podge of Judaism and whatever religions the imported peoples happened to bring with them.

So when Ezra set about rebuilding the temple and restoring worship, these settlers who had been in Judea for the past seventy years naturally saw themselves as having priority in the process. They were, after all, the “old guard.” But Ezra would have none of it. He refused their offer, which caused no small stir. There was a further problem. Many of those who had returned with him had settled down and were intermarrying with the native population. This might be permissible for the ordinary settler, but the religious leaders were absolutely forbidden to do this, even to the point of insisting that those who had thus married renounce their wives and children. The purity, and therefore survival, of the nation was at stake.

So here’s the problem: What do we do with this today? We live in a country enamored with multi-culturalism, with ethnicity, and inclusiveness. In past generations, when people came to these shores, they pretty much left behind their old alliances and even nationalities. Though they retained their languages and cultures, their primary identity was that they were now Americans. There was a unity of values and ideals that no longer exists. Ezra insisted that anyone not willing to be 100% Jewish be completely cut off from the worshipping life of the synagogue. Exclusion was necessary for the survival of the nation. 

Jesus taught differently. He held up the half-breed Samaritan as an example of God’s love, and included the leper, prostitute, and traitorous tax collector among his followers. We live suspended between these two. Without a clear demarcation of “in” and “out,” we soon lose our identity, but holding strictly to such a standard flies in the face of the Gospel. So tonight, I ponder these Scriptures, not yet finding the answers to my questions, but grateful to have the Scriptures to guide and correct my often errant thinking. I am a legalistic at heart, but I also lean hard into the grace without which I would certainly be left on the outside, looking in.

Young Muscle

 January 24, 2021

As I write here in WNY, Bills mania is at fever pitch. Their first AFC playoff game since 1994; quarterback Josh Allen wasn’t even born. The game hasn’t started, so I don’t know yet whether to celebrate or mourn. But that’s not why I write or why I’m thankful tonight.

For the past two months, we’ve been working on a ground floor laundry room. Our cellar stairs are steep and we aren’t getting more agile, so it just makes good sense to do it now. Some Amish friends handled the excavation, foundation, and framing work, but when it came time to put in the electrics and plumbing, for obvious reasons I became the man of the hour. That hour stretched into weeks as I strung wire, installed the plumbing, and learned that they couldn’t come back to finish the job in December. So I insulated, hung drywall, taped and mudded the seams, and Linda and I painted. Yesterday I hung the last piece of door trim.

After dinner today, I got the tractor and plowed a path from our driveway all around the house to the new basement entry, and my two sons and a friend provided youthful muscle, moving the washer and dryer to their new home. Most people our age don’t have their grown children living within walking distance. We are blessed that way, and by the fact that they actually enjoy spending time with us. Sunday dinners help, and after today, this may no longer be an accurate statement, but I am thankful tonight for Nate, Matt, and Bob. Unfortunately, I don’t have a photo of them fist-bumping at the conclusion of the job; all I have is a picture of the finished job itself. Thank you, guys, for all your work. And thank you, Lord, for young men willing to do the grunt work for this old man.

Chronicles

 January 23, 2021

With nearly every regime change, the party that comes into power reverses the policies of its predecessor, often so completely that the monuments and symbols of the former are deliberately and completely erased. The new government flexes its muscles for a few years before the tables are turned and the suppressed subculture that has been percolating beneath the surface explodes in a pent-up burst of political energy that engulfs and overwhelms its oppressors. And the cycle begins all over again. 

One might think I’m speaking of our most recent transfer of power. It does, after all, have all the same earmarks: reversing of policies, cancelling former agreements, even attempting to erase all reference to the now former president.

It’s not current events I’m describing, but the kings of Judah from around 800-400 BC. A king is said to be good or bad depending on his adherence to the ancient Torah, and although the Judaic kings were all of the line of David, their policies flip-flopped from father to son. Reading the stories in 2 Chronicles is a depressing litany of rulers leading with integrity and justice followed by others whose only concern was amassing power and living in complete debauchery. Back and forth it went, century by century, until the kingdom was wiped off the map by the Babylonians under Nebuchadnezzer. 

Such reading would not give much hope for today except for one solitary fact: God refused to give up on his people, and had a plan for their redemption. And although we as a nation cannot claim to be God’s own people, our own nation’s tendency to carom from right to left and back again mirrors the Old Testament story in such a way that makes me believe we aren’t yet in the Apocalypse. Those who demonize the other side and those who act as if all were lost don’t know the full story. Life has its ebbs and flows, its mountain highs and valley lows, but as the old Gospel song says, “The God of the mountains is still God in the valleys.” And for his unchanging faithfulness, I am grateful tonight.

Stuck

 January 21, 2021

In her latest email blog, Ann Voskamp tells of her husband, whom she calls “the farmer,”  as he invited her to ride their 4-wheeler with him out to the river. She writes, “Just south of this grove of gnarled apple trees, huddled close in the January winds, the field wasn’t frozen a solid safe, but was actually this soggy bog under an unsuspecting cloak of snow. Which meant that?My farming man and I went down like a stone in a winter quicksand. Yeah: mud spinning up and ATV sinking down in a muck sea and there we were:

“In the beginning of a new year, with all its new goals and plans and resolutions, already kinda mired down and — stuck. You know that of which I speak?”

She relates how he cabled the ATV’s winch to an apple tree, revved the motor, and suddenly they popped free. Off again they went. She leaned close and said, “You just think you can go anywhere now, do anything, just because you’ve got a winch on the front of this thing, don’t you?”

His response? “Absolutely not. Because look around you: You can only get unstuck if you’re close to a tree.”

She thought about this, reflecting that there is no getting out of any mire without an anchor. There is no hauling out of muddy messes without the Tree of Christ. She went on to talk about everything that’s changed this past year, and how we’ve gotten stuck, and how there’s no getting out unless we’re close to the Tree and the Christ who hung from it so we could climb out of the mire and head into the future that awaits us.

Those on the Left are rejoicing today, while those on the Right are seeing the imminent demise of our country. I certainly don’t know what the future holds, but I have seen a lot of people getting stuck, and not just those who voted for Trump. Some Biden supporters have allowed their disdain for Trump to get inside them, obsessed with erasing even his memory. They are stuck. It’s the same for many of us impacted by the coronavirus. We’re stuck in the way things used to be, bristle at the words “new normal,” and see only dark days ahead. We’ll never get unstuck by revving our engines and spinning our wheels. We need the Tree as an anchor to pull ourselves free from the morass in which we find ourselves.

I’m finding it more and more necessary to anchor myself to the Tree. Only the roots of the Cross go deep enough to hold firm when I’m stuck. So tonight, as every night, I call upon the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ as I firmly anchor my soul, prayerfully searching the Scriptures. When I do this, the muck and mud that have seized hold of me begin to give way and I rise from the bog and once more fly across the fields of God’s grace and mercy into the future he has prepared for all who love him and call upon his name.

The Enemy Within

 January 20, 2021

Psalm 56 has an interesting couplet in verses four and ten. The writer is complaining to God about enemies who are doing everything they can to destroy him. They hound his steps, twist his words, organize others to try to trip him up. Sounds to me like today’s political landscape. Actually, these are the words of David before he became king. Apparently he misjudged things, allowing his enemies the Philistines to capture him and take him to the city of Gath. This would not have been a very promising set of circumstances inasmuch as it was the home town of Goliath, the mighty champion of the Philistines whom David had killed some years before. They undoubtedly remembered, and David was in a very tight spot.

He writes, 

“Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in You. 

In God (I will praise His word), 

In God I have put my trust; 

I will not fear. What can flesh do to me?

In God (I will praise His word), 

In the LORD (I will praise His word), 

In God I have put my trust; 

I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?”

—Psalms 56:3-4, 10-11 

David repeats himself almost word for word with one little exception. In the last line of these two stanzas, his choice of words changes significantly, from “What can flesh do to me,” to “What can man do to me?” 

Whenever we find ourselves in difficult circumstances, especially when we are being oppressed, vilified, and attacked by others, we are vulnerable in two different ways. It’s understandable to be afraid when others are attacking us (v. 11), but we would do well to be aware of the danger we face from within, what David calls “the flesh.” The external threats are easily identifiable. They may be scary, but at least we know what they are. The internal threats are more subtle, and for that reason, are more dangerous. Bitterness, jealousy, the desire to get even, worry, greed, and pride are not always easy to see in ourselves, but they are enemies of the soul not to be underestimated in their power to destroy. Many a believer has successfully stood against the attack of another person only to fall victim to a simmering determination to give the other what’s coming to them.

David asks, “What can man do to me?” He can destroy the body. What can my flesh do to me? It can destroy my eternal soul. However, I need not fear even the flesh if I keep praising his word. I can only praise his word if I know it, and it is this constant soaking of my soul in God’s Word that stiffens the soul against the flesh and enables me to keep putting my trust in Him. I am grateful tonight that God offers not only help against any external enemy arrayed against me, but also from the enemy within my own heart. The internal is the more dangerous, sly, and persistent. The external only has the power to get to me if I allow him to access the inner part of me. But God’s Word is a refuge and strong tower that the Enemy of my soul cannot breach unless I open the door to him. Not tonight, Satan! Not tonight!

Don’t Faint

 January19, 2021

Since we are often slow to understand, the Bible is filled with illustrations of how God works in this world. Ordinary events of life are never merely ordinary. They are windows to the eternal, and God wants us to look out through them to see beyond what these mortal eyes can see. Take for example, farming. No, not the mammoth-scale agri-industrial farms such as Monsanto operate. In the Bible, farming was entirely small-scale; something nearly everyone knew from personal experience. The language reflects this down-to-earth life that has become a foreign tongue to many of us.

In 2 Corinthians 9:10, St. Paul offers a blessing: “Now may he who supplies seed to the sower, and bread for food, supply and multiply the seed you have sown and increase the fruits of your righteousness.” T.D. Jakes recently preached on this text, noting that God supplies seed to the sower, not the saver. It is an important distinction. In verse 8, he reminds us that “God is able to make all grace abound toward you, that you, always having all sufficiency in all things may have an abundance for every good work.” The “alls” jump out at me. This isn’t bare minimum survival; God is able to do “exceeding abundantly above all you can ask or think” (Ephesians 3:20). 

It is always tempting to limit God to what we can figure out in our finite human reasoning. So we pray confidently that God will heal someone’s cold, but add “if it be Thy will” when the person has aggressive cancer. We hedge our bets. So we stockpile for a rainy day when God tells us to sow abundantly. We lack the faith of Psalm 126:5-6. “Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy. He who continually goes forth weeping, bearing seed for sowing, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.” 

The scene is like this. The small subsistence farmer has his spring seed in a sack in the corner of the house. It’s late winter, and the food stores are running low. His children are crying with hunger as he eyes the seed. His tears mingle with theirs as he tells them they cannot dig into that bulging sack of grain; if they do, there will be nothing to plant in the spring. Spring comes; their little bellies are swollen, but he takes that precious seed and scatters it on the ground. He doesn’t know if the weather will cooperate, but he casts the seed, tears streaming down his face, sowing in the hope that there will be joy at harvest time. 

I’ve never known such straightened times, but I can imagine hearing Paul’s words, knowing how precarious life can be, and wondering if it’s really true that God will supply and multiply whatever I give away, whether he really is sufficient.

Then there is Galatians 6:9— “let us not grow weary in well doing, for in due season we shall reap if we faint not.” “Well-doing” is like seed; we have to give it away if we want a harvest at the end of this season of life. You would think it easy to do well, but the sharp retort, the snappy comeback, the desire to get even, is much easier than doing good to those who ill treat us. Jesus told us to bless those who persecute us, to do good to those who speak evil of us. In all the political rhetoric flying around these days, I hear very little blessing being offered. 

Tonight, I’ve been trying to get resources to some international friends who are suffering from their government’s reaction to the pandemic. People are literally going hungry, and the country is suffering from years of mismanagement. Every avenue I’ve tried has ended in a closed door. It’s frustrating to not be able to help them, and tempting to just forget the whole matter. Until I remember this word: I can only reap if I faint not, ie. refuse to give up. God is able to do “exceeding abundantly above all we can ask or think,” so even if I can’t figure out how to make this happen, the path is clear to my Heavenly Father. The harvest is worth the tears and frustration, so I keep sowing. God didn’t bless me so I can keep it to myself. There is a way; I just haven’t yet found it. When I do, there will be great praise and rejoicing. Until then, there will be great prayers and I’ll just keep sowing my way through the frustration.

Letters from Prison

 January 18, 2021

Isolation demands discipline. St. Paul found himself in prison on more than one occasion, but unlike many of us today, these unplanned detours didn’t derail his desire to bring the Gospel to as many as possible. Where I might grumble about being deprived of my freedom to fulfill my calling, Paul used his prison time to write...and reach a far wider audience than he could have imagined. Had his missionary journeys not been interrupted, we would be bereft of nearly half the New Testament. 

I’ve read about men who’ve endured horrific imprisonment. Viktor Frankl survived Nazi concentration camps, while Louis Zamporini made it through Japanese internment in WWII. Both of them (and there were countless others) wrote of the inner discipline that enabled them to endure. Frankl came to the conclusion that though the Nazis could deprive him of everything else, they could not take from him his ability to choose, to determine his own inner life. Zamporini spoke of his determination to not let his captors break him. 

Someone once wrote that it isn’t the storm outside the ship that sinks it; it’s when the storm gets inside. We’ve all been enduring a medical, political, and cultural storm. For many, their emotional and spiritual ship is leaking badly, while others seem to be riding it out quite well. I feel somewhere in between. This is where the discipline comes in.

We’ve been in quarantine for just one week as of tomorrow morning. We exhibit no symptoms, so at this point, it’s all precautionary for the sake of others. I’ve made quite a bit of progress on the laundry room, have kept up with my workout routine, and have gotten some reading done, but I’m finding it difficult to stay focused spiritually. I read my Bible and pray, but it frequently feels perfunctory, like I’m only going through the motions. If Paul were more like me, our New Testament epistle wouldn’t consist of much more than the introduction to Galatians. I’m sure I’m not the only one who struggles with this, which is why I am writing this somewhat embarrassing admission. All I can say is, thank God for his longsuffering grace!

Thank You

January 17, 2021

I think today ought to be National Thank Your Pastor Day. For nearly a year now and with no end in sight, pastors have scrambled and worked to minister to their congregations under circumstances challenging enough to discourage even the most stout-hearted of them. Their churches have been shuttered, they’ve had to master technology on the run, care for the sick and lonely through a maze of restrictions and cautionary means. They, along with our public school teachers, have persevered while watching those they love fall behind or by the wayside, and yet they keep soldiering on.

After watching our church service on TV this morning due to our quarantining, I caught a bit of T.D. Jakes preaching at the Potter’s House, an 8500 seat church in Dallas, only he was preaching to an empty auditorium. People were tuning in by live stream, but any preacher can tell you it is a world of difference between preaching to a packed hall and an empty one. For someone like Jakes, whose sermons are often punctuated by Amens and other assorted encouragements by the congregation, it must be particularly difficult.

Throughout this pandemic, I’ve often commented on how glad I am to be retired. I can see the toll all this has taken on pastors. They are tired, often worried about finances that have taken a hit since people aren’t there in person, and even more worried about those people in their churches who are on the edge; whose marriages are teetering on divorce, the substance abuser clean for just a few weeks and feeling the pull back into the old life, the lonely widow that can no longer be visited. 

These men and women need our prayers more than ever. Their families, who have to live with the one who carries a heavy load, putting in more hours away from home than usual, also need our prayers and support. People are hurting, and these caregivers are working overtime, without fanfare and often without adequate support themselves. So tonight, I pray for pastor Joe, for Brandon, Tony, and Nate, and for their families, to be strengthened by the Holy Spirit as they study the Scriptures, labor in prayer, and serve selflessly for us all.

 

Vader and Me

 January 16, 2021

In one of the most famous movie lines ever, Darth Vader speaks to Luke as the latter is all but vanquished in a light saber battle between the two of them. “Luke...I am your father,” to which Luke cries out, “NOOOO!” Perhaps it wasn’t just the thought that his father was the villainous Vader, but something else instead. It’s one thing for my father to have said to me, “I am your father;” it’s quite another for me to utter the corollary: “My father is me.”

And yet, it’s true. Much of that is good. My father was a patient, faithful man, a man of his word, a man who ordered his priorities well. He loved my mother, and provided for his family. He believed in play only after the work was done, and there was always plenty of work to be done, except when it was time to go fishing. My brother and I always accompanied him and both our grandfathers on those excursions which lasted most of the day on summer Saturdays.

He had a keen sense of justice, coupled with grace and forgiveness. The night I forgot to lock the car and all his tools were stolen, he never said a word of rebuke. He just listened to my stammering. It would have been easier if he had hit me, but he didn’t. 

Dad wasn’t perfect, which is odd, because he was a perfectionist. When we went camping with friends, we were always the last to leave the campsite because he was taking so much time folding the tent just so, sweeping away every hint of debris while everyone waited. He was easy-going, perhaps a little too much. And he was conservative to a fault. He never did well with investments because he played it too safe. 

“I am your father” morphs smoothly into “I am my father.” I can be patient, am faithful, believe in family and hard work; I love my wife and have tried to be a good father to my children, and a good grandfather to theirs. But my patience and perfectionism can easily turn into a slow indecisiveness that drives my wife crazy. I have deliberately striven to be more of a risk-taker than my dad was. 

What I really want though, is for these words to be true of me in the spiritual realm. God says to me, “Jim...I am your Father!” Contrary to Luke’s reaction to hearing those words from Vader, I say, “YESSS,” while praying that in turn that my Father is me; that his character is replicated in my heart and life. If that happens, even as imperfectly as it will be, I can be thankful tonight.

Finishing Well

 January 15, 2021

2 Chronicles 14-16 tell the story of Asa, considered one of the “good” kings of Judah because he did his best to follow the LORD, commanding his subjects to seek the LORD and observe the Law. The text says that because of his faithfulness, “the kingdom was quiet under him.” Instead of the ceaseless wars and conflicts of his predecessors, God gave him and the land rest. In spite of the general peace, he still strengthened his borders.

There is a connection between purity and peace. Following the Lord gives personal peace, and if a nation’s leadership does so, God gives national peace. It’s not a quid pro quo; many factors play into the matter, but the Bible assures us that behind all the political and economic factors that drive nations, there are unseen but very real spiritual matters that weigh heavily in a nation’s fortunes.

None of it is ever guaranteed. Asa did well, at one time facing down an army twice the size of his own. But he apparently started believing his own press and trusting in his own diplomatic and military skills. When the northern kingdom of Israel closed down the border, blockading the normal trade routes upon which Judah depended, Asa paid big bucks to hire the Syrians who occupied Israel’s northern border to put pressure on Israel by invading. It worked, but one of Asa’s advisors reamed him out for abandoning the God who had before delivered him from a greater foe than Israel. Asa’s reaction was to have this prophet thrown in prison. What’s worse, he began a purge of suspected opposition. 

When towards the end of his life he contracted some sort of disease in his feet (was it diabetic neuropathy?), instead of returning to the Lord, he merely consulted physicians, dying painfully two years later.

There are many lessons here; some good, as when he was blessed for his faithfulness. But ultimately this is a story of someone who started well, but finished poorly, a timely lesson for me at this stage of my life. I’m 71. I’ve been far from perfect; made some dumb mistakes and have had my share of repenting to do. I believe I can say I’ve tried to follow the Lord faithfully for most of my life. Nevertheless, there is still time to screw it all up. It is tempting to fall back on past successes as proof of invincibility, but faithfulness is a day-by-day matter. There are plenty of examples of athletes who celebrated a bit too soon and lost the contest due to their cockiness. There are even more pastors who started well, but began thinking they were beyond temptation, believing that woman who told them they were everything their husbands were not.  And there are too many who, when the pressures of life were eased in retirement, found that it was the pressure, not the Lord, who was holding them together. The external pressure off, they blew apart from the buildup of stuff that should have been dealt with years before.

The Bible is an interesting study in human nature. Its stories don’t hold up various people and encourage us to say, “I want to be just like him (or her).” It holes up various people, lets us look at them and say, “God help me; I’m just like him!” Asa is me, if I forget God. Tonight, I remember, pray for grace and mercy, and thank God for his strengthening and at times, chastising presence. It is as John Newton said, “grace [that] has led me safe thus far; and grace will bring me home.”

Climbing the Heights

 January 14, 2021

Psalm 15 led off our Zoom men’s prayer meeting this morning. It was a bit different, sitting in my recliner by the fire, iPad on my lap as we prayed together. Note to Zoomers: singing together is a bit challenging with various rates of signal delay. It sounded like we were being directed by a spastic Orangutan. 

Yesterday I commented on Psalm 73 and how the psalmist despaired at what he saw going on in the world around him...until he came into the house of the Lord and received a much-needed perspective adjustment. In Psalm 15, he begins with “LORD, who may abide in Your tabernacle? Who may dwell in Your holy hill?” He then tells us the character traits required of anyone who would venture into the presence of God—walking uprightly, working righteousness, speaking truth in the heart, doing no evil, not charging interest on loans. Every character trait save one has to do with how we treat others. The only internal trait is “speaking truth in the heart.” In other words, before I can have integrity with others, I need it with myself. If I am lying to myself, there is no way I can be truthful with others. 

Such inner truthfulness is harder than we might imagine. As Jeremiah remarked, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?” (Jeremiah 17:9) His answer? Only God. 

This creates a problem: If my heart is deceitful and if truth in the inner heart is required to ascend the holy hill of God, how can I possibly come into his presence? Of course, the answer is that we come into the presence of God only on the merits of Jesus Christ who entered the Holy Place “once for all” with his own blood (Hebrews 9:11-28), a full and sufficient sacrifice on our behalf that opens the way for us.

The Psalmist’s use of the phrase “holy hill” intrigues me. We must climb to get to the holy place. We don’t slide our way in; entering requires intention. And it is a hill. Only in the presence of God can we obtain the perspective we need to live in the valley of this world. We live in the valley of the shadow of death (Psalm 23), and the shadow quickly obscures our path and clouds our vision. If we are to walk in the valley, we need those times when we climb the mountain to see the vistas of eternity that stretch before us. Otherwise, we will easily lose our way, feeling our way through the darkness, wandering in despair. 

So tonight, I cling to the Gospel, the Good News that Christ has entered the presence of the Father who has accepted his offering on our behalf so we can sit with him in heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6) and see our way clearly and walk humbly and confidently in this dark and often foreboding world.

Elective Perspective

 January 13, 2021

In Psalm 73, the writer speaks of his despair over the “success” of evil in the world. Such despair is a natural reaction to the demonization of those with whom we disagree, all the while giving ourselves a pass. In the psalm, he speaks of powerful people who crush the common folk underfoot, with little fear of retaliation. After all, what can the little person do? We are to the powerful, as one prominent politician once said, “a basket of deplorables,” who to them exist only as vote fodder.

Only when he went to the house of God was this writer able to gain a proper perspective. We can never get God’s perspective of this world if we don’t ever sit in heavenly places in Jesus Christ (Ephesians 2:6). In the spiritual realm, we are already there, but too often, instead of sitting down with Jesus, I’m up, pacing around, not paying attention. The view from this world of ours is narrow and limited by all the stuff that surrounds us, both material and immaterial. When we are surrounded, we can only see what’s in our immediate vicinity, and that is the cause of much of our distress.

I live in a gully. Behind our house is a fifty feet (perhaps more) embankment just the other side of the creek. It’s the same in the front, except for the creek. If I look down the street to the south, I can see maybe three hundred yards, maybe half that if I turn around to look north. If I want to see any distance, I have to climb or drive up to the top of the hill where I can see for miles. On the hilltop, I can see the fog settling in the valley below, and the next ridge miles to the west. Where we stand determines what we see.

The Psalmist had to climb the mountain to the house of God in order to see beyond the politics and problems of his world. We must do the same. But what do we see from that vantage point?

Psalm 103 shows us. A heavenly perspective turns our gaze to God himself, who remembers, forgives, heals, redeems, crowns, and satisfies us. (vv. 2-5). This is the blessing given to those who turn from this world to enter God’s holy sanctuary. In addition, he “executes righteousness and justice for the oppressed” (v. 6). 

For years, we’ve listened to the posturing of politicians claiming to stand for justice. They make promises they have no intention of keeping unless it benefits them in some way. The more we look to them, the more jaded we become. The answer is still before us: “When I went to the house of God...” This is no casual stroll; we must fight our way through demonic obstacles, distractions, and our own inertia. The house of God is not for the faint of heart. The Holy One is not easily approachable; only through the merits of Jesus Christ can we draw near. But he bids us come, bearing our cross, humbly bowing before him that we may stand strong in the evil day.

House Arrest

 January 12, 2021

One good thing about quarantining is having plenty of homestead projects in the works to keep me busy. Yep—got the news this morning that I was exposed last night, so for the next week or so, I’m keeping a low profile. It’s not like I had a lot of “people stuff” planned. A visit to the audiologist had to be postponed, but when you’re all by yourself, there’s not a lot to hear anyway. I’ll have more time for the laundry room project, but will miss having the grandkids overnight this weekend. They bring a special joy to our home.

For some time now, it’s been my belief that sooner or later, we’re all going to be exposed. It’s like my bees. One of the more devastating bee pests is the Varroa mite. They get into a colony and attach themselves to the bees. It’s not so bad for the adult workers, but when they get into the brood nest, they go for the larvae; when the larvae hatch, they often have deformed wings. Bees with deformed wings cannot fly, and if bees cannot fly, they cannot gather the nectar and pollen needed to sustain the colony. In addition, the mites carry viruses that weaken the bees so that winter survival is jeopardized.

It’s pretty much an axiom that if you have bees, you have Varroa. It’s pretty much inescapable, but it is manageable with a variety of options ranging from completely natural and organic to chemical treatments. It’s this axiom that I find significant for life itself. We live in a COVID world. It’s here, and is pretty much inescapable, despite what our government officials are telling us. Our own governor is calling it a war on COVID that must be won. If it’s anything like our war on drugs, we are in deep trouble. All the posturing in the world isn’t going to change reality. Can we mitigate and manage it? We can and will. Can we eliminate it? Not any more than beekeepers can eliminate Varroa.

So I am under house arrest for the time being, eating healthy, getting plenty of exercise, taking my vitamins and applying essential oils. Will I get it? Only God knows, and it is into his hands I commit myself, and knowing that my future is secure in him, I am at peace. And from the looks of it, my projects will get done ahead of time.

Of Bees and Life

 January 11, 2021

My bees have been sequestered in their hives since Thanksgiving. When the temperature dips below around 50 degrees, they stay inside. As the temperature drops, they cluster, crowding closer and closer to each other, surrounding the queen and keeping her warm by vibrating the wing muscles in their backs. Tighter and tighter they crowd, keeping her warm in a cluster the size of a soccer ball, moving vertically only about a centimeter per day. Bees don’t actually hibernate, and as the solstice passes, along about the end of January, the queen begins laying eggs again, building the population for spring with its sudden profusion of flowers and nectar.

My three colonies reside in what’s called a Langstroth hive, named after the Rev. Lorenzo Lorraine Langstroth, who developed the moveable frame beehive in the mid 1800s. Prior to his invention, bees were kept in logs or straw skeps, the honey removed by destroying the colony. His brainchild allowed honey to be harvested without destroying the nest, insuring a continual and reliable source of honey. The Langstroth hive became the industry standard, as they could be readily transported to supply orchards and farms with pollination.

They do have their drawbacks, however. They are relatively thin-walled, which in colder climates make survival of the colony more precarious. They require more intensive and invasive management, and in recent years, the arrival of the virus-laden Varroa mite has devastated apiaries all over the world. Pest management is almost a full-time job.

Into this apiary climate has come in recent years a re-evaluation of the entire process of modern beekeeping. Some old practices are getting a second look, with the hives of Emile Warre or George de Layens garnering attention for their ease of operation and ability to overwinter.

My point in this little apiary history lesson is that we are always learning, and the practices that everyone knows are just the way things are, are not necessarily the best. Sometimes we need to step back and ask ourselves if our present course of action and belief the best we can do. I had a friend gently take me to task recently about some things I had said to another friend. I had convinced myself I was simply playing devil’s advocate, trying to promote a broader view, but realized instead that I was actually pushing my opinions and perspectives on someone who didn’t really need to hear it at the time. So I repented, confessed, and asked forgiveness, which was freely given. Sometimes we need to be challenged to rethink our habits and actions. We seldom do so all on our own, so I am thankful tonight for someone willing to help me see the error of my ways, and that a different approach may prove healthier and more productive. I trust it will both in my relationships and in keeping my bees.

Discipline

 January 10, 2021

Sunday school this morning began a series on hope and discipline. The two are connected. Hope without discipline is little more than wishful thinking. Whether it is losing weight, exercising more, or reading our Bibles daily, it is all mere pipe dreams unless we actually commit to a regular plan and schedule for the changes we want to see. So we were challenged to think of one discipline in our lives we need to work on; mine was prayer. I’ve often felt as if my prayers were little more than a laundry list of things I want God to do; while I’ve had times when I felt my spirit soaring in prayer, those times have been far fewer than I would like to admit. 

This afternoon, I began. It is easy for me to read the Bible and rush off to whatever needs to be done for the day, but this afternoon, I just sat for an hour or so, slowly and calmly going through my prayer list—the people and situations that are regularly on my mind. The difference today was the “slowly and calmly.” As I recalled each name, I didn’t always have a specific request, and even when I did, it was usually pretty simple: healing, guidance, salvation, relationships, etc. I don’t often know much detail about the people and circumstances for which I am praying, so I simply held their names before the Lord before going on to the next one. By the time I was finished, I noticed something I hadn’t noticed before: I felt a connection with God that wasn’t there when I started. I hadn’t been telling God what to do about the situations or for these people; it was as if God and I were sitting side by side thinking about and blessing those who came to mind. We were partners in grace, and in giving it through prayer, I received it myself.

For what it’s worth, my prayer list includes people I’ve never met and whose values are far different than mine; public figures whom I presented to God without any agenda. It is a good thing to release them into the care of the almighty, holy, just, and loving God, blessing them in the name of Christ. Not only does such prayer release them; it also sets me free. 

One prayer does not a discipline make. Tomorrow is another day. Discipline often requires accountability beyond our own commitments. I have three young men who will hold my feet to the fire, and in so doing, will help me be a better Christian. Nate, Matt, and Bob, I’m counting on you! Don’t let me off easy. I’ll do the same for you, and at the end of this study, all four of us will with thanksgiving reflect more clearly the image of Jesus to our families, our church, and the world.

Cleansing Blood

 January 10, 2021

“The blood of Jesus Christ...cleanses us from all sin.” —1John 1:7

It’s been a long day. A number of us from our church attended safety training today. In the past fifteen years, deadly force incidents in houses of worship have increased by over 6000 percent. This was one of the statistics that confronted us, and is the reason for the training. Not even a generation ago it was unthinkable that such incidents would happen, but it is almost commonplace today. The likelihood that it would occur at any given church is minute, but not negligible, so training in de-escalation and even forceful response is sadly necessary.

We watched security footage, listened to recordings, and heard stories of shootings, stabbings, assaults, learned of the physiological reaction of the human body to the adrenaline pump that makes the heart go from 60-80 bpm to 140 to 160 bpm in such situations, and practiced strategies and techniques for containing and minimizing damage.

This was one day, involved no actual weapons or real danger to anyone, but when I got home this afternoon, I felt drained. No—I felt defiled. Even though we soaked the sessions in prayer and were working from the perspective of keeping people safe, our constant focus on evil made it feel like it was seeping into my soul. I’m not depressed, but I am feeling subdued this evening, and wondered how anyone involved in law enforcement could survive for long without being affected by what they see day after day. In addition to what they see, they must deal with a society that disrespects and defunds them. It’s no wonder that more officers die by their own hand than by deadly incidents on the streets. And it’s no wonder that when Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane prior to his crucifixion, he said, “Now my soul is troubled.” That was surely an understatement! The sinless Son of God was taking upon himself the sin of the whole world in all its demonic ugliness. It was a burden that drove him literally prostrate to the ground.

So I prayed. And prayed. And prayed, till this word from St. John surfaced in my mind. “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from all sin.” Not only my sin, but the sin of others that defiles those who must deal with it. The blood of Jesus Christ, and only the blood of Jesus Christ is adequate to cleanse from such defilement. I prayed again, claiming the blood, and calling out to the Lord for the cleansing my soul needed, and like David, I found that when my soul cried out, he was there to lift me out of the miry pit and set my feet on a solid Rock! 

Tonight, I pray as I’ve never prayed before (because I’ve never before understood) for those who daily stand in the gap. They need the prayers of those who will plead the cleansing blood of Christ on their behalf. 

Bass Notes

 January 8, 2021

“Hi pastor Jim! I wanted to double check with you and see if you were still interested in teaching SOTA (School of the Arts) this semester, and then also see if you still wanted to teach bass or if you were interested in teaching another class!” When Katie texted me this message earlier this week, I responded by telling her I would be happy to teach bass again.

You must understand that when agreeing to teach, you only have to be one step ahead of the student. When it comes to bass, I am barely adequate, and with upright bass, I am a rank beginner. But I am one step ahead of someone who has never touched the instrument.

I continued my response to Katie. “As for other classes, if anyone were interested in upright bass, I would be willing to teach that.” I had barely finished hitting send when the response came: “Oh that’s awesome! If I wasn’t teaching, I would LOVE to take upright! I always thought it was so cool!”

“It could be arranged,” I answered. She is excited, and I am happy to share what little knowledge I have. As I’ve said many times before, I am living proof that one doesn’t have to be a good musician to appreciate good music. Or even to play it. I am thankful for the opportunity to encourage Katie. She can build on her foundation of keyboard and vocals to become an even more versatile member of the worship team. St. Paul told Timothy to stir up the gift that was given him. Katie is doing just that, and I get to be the stirrer, blessing both of us, and maybe a whole bunch of people, along the way.

Unreported News

 January 7, 2021

We’ve longed for the media to give us something other than its endless stream of COVID bad news, and yesterday, we finally got our wish, although perhaps not quite the way we had hoped. For those obsessed with all things political, here’s some news you might have missed.

A young man and woman are quietly and joyfully planning their wedding. Hopes and dreams are not the sole provenance of the political crowd. This couple is trying to juggle what they can afford with what governmental limitations may be imposed six months from now upon their joyful celebration, but today, they are happy.

A husband and wife are reunited after an estrangement that lasted for over a year. They both worked on it, and are now experiencing a depth of love they hadn’t dreamed of before. Their children are doubly blessed having them together without the former tension that plagued their home.

The winter solstice has passed; days are slowly getting longer—a faint harbinger of warmer days, snowbells pushing up to the light, and the return of the geese. Our fire still warms our bodies, while our love warms our hearts. We read tonight in peace and gratitude.

The coffee on the table by my side is hot and strong; somewhere, a coffee grower eats his supper because of that cup. He worked, sold his product to a supplier who also eats tonight, as does the roaster, the person who designed and produced the bag in which it was put. A trucker, warehouse worker, stock boy, and checkout clerk are also part of the blessing of that cup.

A birthday is being celebrated today. For some, it is their very first; they took their first breath. A life full of possibility, challenge, joy, and danger awaits them. Someone else blew out seventy, eighty, or even ninety candles, perhaps with help, but remembering birthdays past, joys and sorrows, the mystery of life.

Someone whose life hung by a thread, someone at the end of their rope, seeing nothing for which to hope, found that hope as another shared the Gospel with him. The door to eternal life swung wide open, and she walked—no—danced through, the burden and guilt of sin lifted from sagging shoulders that now stand straight and erect.

Today brought much more than the media would report. There’s no profit in telling the rest of the story, but it’s there. I am thankful tonight for the stories that never make the headlines, but make the front page of someone’s life tonight.

An Ordinary Day

 January 6, 2021

It’s often a challenge to come up with something to write about. Big events swirl around us; our country will undoubtedly swerve hard to the left, now that the presidency and both houses of Congress are in Democrat hands. Some are rejoicing; many are worried about the accelerated shrinking of our liberties we see as government engulfs more and more of our lives. I was apparently unusually quiet at dinner tonight; Linda asked me if I were worried about the Georgia election. I’m not surprised, and I’m not particularly worried. My concern is the kind of world my grandkids will inherit, but I have to decide if I really believe God is in control. If I don’t believe this, I might as well stop writing.

Compared to the seismic changes happening all around us, the small concerns of my little world seem almost petty, except for one thing: Life is made up of small things. Without the microscopic, the macro world wouldn’t exist. So I engage each day the best I know how, with gratitude, integrity, and diligence. 

Today, I went to the dentist to get a tooth crowned. I was surprised at how quick and simple the procedure was, and am thankful to have insurance and the money to pay the bill. I bought a portable compressor to power my pneumatic stapler for assembling bee equipment before coming home to tape and paint the laundry room. That being accomplished, I trimmed out one window. Tonight is our village board meeting, and tomorrow, I hope to get started on the other windows and start installing the flooring so I can move the washer and dryer in. Not one of these activities is world-shaking. Nobody’s world would have come crashing down if I hadn’t done one or more of them. But if I had instead parked myself on the couch to watch TV all afternoon, something evil would have happened.

If this last statement sounds a bit melodramatic, consider that life is made of choices. A small deviation today may not look like much, but in hunting or target shooting, a tiny shift at the end of the muzzle will send the bullet wide of the mark. If I want to be like Christ; if I want to come to the end of my earthly journey with integrity, the small things I do today are important. I may not score a bullseye, but I at least want to leave my marks on the paper. Too many people today are shooting first, then painting the target around wherever the bullet hits. It looks good, but is as fake as today’s news.

It has been a busy, unstressful, productive day. Whatever happens elsewhere, I can stand today before my God and say I have not squandered the strength he has given me, and humbly present this ordinary day back to him with gratitude for the grace I have been given in Christ.

Thoughts

 January 5, 2021

For many of us, our greatest problem is that we have our eyes glued to the screen instead of the Scriptures. We obsess over things we cannot change, and are lethargic about the things we can change. I cannot change the outcome of an election, but I can control my attitude about it. I cannot by myself control the direction our country is heading, but I can control the direction I am heading. I cannot control other people’s decisions, but I don’t have to let them control mine. However, all this takes discipline and self-control. 2 Corinthians 10:5 instructs us to “[cast] down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God,” and to “[bring] every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.” My thoughts are often like runaway calves; as soon as I corral one, another breaks loose, and I have to chase it down and drag it in. 

It’s tempting to get discouraged. You would think once I’ve got that wayward thought in Christ’s corral, it would stay there, but they keep breaking out. Here’s what I’ve learned: The fact that we’re still chasing them down is evidence of God’s work in our hearts. The longer I’m a Christian, the more I realize though the war was won by Christ on the cross, the battle in my heart is never over. 

At times, it feels overwhelming. Asa faced an army of over a million men and 300 chariots with half that many footsoldiers, not the best of odds. He “cried out to the LORD his God, and said, “LORD, it is nothing for you to help, whether with any or with those who have no power; help us, O LORD our God, for we rest on you, and in your name we go against this multitude. O LORD, you are our God” (2 Chronicles 14:11). He saw the reality he faced, but he didn’t let it define him. Though the text doesn’t tell us this, I know from my own personal experience that the only way he could face those odds was by spending more time in God’s presence than in his enemy’s presence. Too often, we do just the reverse.

Jehoshaphat faced a similar situation. He too, turned to the Lord, saying, “O our God...we have no power against this great multitude that is coming against us; nor do we know what to do, but our eyes are upon you” (2 Chronicles 20:12). When we don’t know what to do, keeping our attention focused on God is not a bad strategy. The problem is, we suffer from spiritual attention deficit disorder. 

When it’s hardest to do—that’s when I need to double down in prayer. When I don’t feel like meditating upon Scripture is when it is most important for me to do so. When it’s easier to stay home than to visit someone in need is just when it is imperative for me to kick myself in gear and go. The battle is in our minds, which is why we are given the helmet of salvation. My thoughts need saving, and for that, I need the grace of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit. That power is not always an energy I feel; often it is a determination I command.

The past year brought much we didn’t expect and much to dampen the spirit. But God brings much more: “Where sin abounded, grace abounded more” (Romans 5:20). THAT’s where I will corral my thoughts this year, every time they escape.