Author: firstdelray

“So I’ll gladly spend my time bragging about my weaknesses so that Christ’s power can rest on me.” 2 Corinthians 12:9b (Common English Bible)

Bragging about our weaknesses is uncommon. What is customary—even encouraged—is that we “hide” our weaknesses and present the illusion of a life that is lived in a tranquil manner that is deep and even and unhindered by frailties. One unfortunate result is the deep disillusionment that is experienced when we find our heroes far too human, with frailties and weaknesses like our own. We look for people who seem to have no limitations, no handicaps, and no imperfections and we aspire to be like them. In no small manner, people with weaknesses are not considered worthy of our admiration and praise.

Naturally, the danger of finding such a person, a person who is unencumbered by difficulties and imperfections, is to know someone who also possesses considerable conceit. They need no one; they require nothing for their journey through life, not even God. Worse, when understood correctly, their perfection fails to inspire those of us who struggle with handicaps. Another’s perfection can only result in our despair. This is why Paul “brags” about his weaknesses—Paul’s interest is that we praise only God and that we find in his broken, imperfect life reason for encouragement as we struggle with our own handicaps.

Paul did pray multiple times that his handicap might be removed. That is a demonstration of his humanity. It is an honest prayer that we have no doubt prayed ourselves. Yet, our spiritual condition is developed, positively or negatively, from the place of our weaknesses. For many, the first and instinctive reaction toward our limitations is a negative attitude—a rebellion or self-pity. We revolt against our limitations. Such a negative struggle often advances to cursing God. What we fail to see is that disappointment with our imperfection arises from conceit—we expect to be perfect. That is a poor spiritual condition indeed!

Paul’s positive and hopeful response to his weaknesses demonstrates that anyone, regardless of his limitations, can make a spiritual contribution to the world. History is replete with stories of people who rise up and make great contributions in spite of handicaps. These are the stories that inspire each of us to push through whatever difficulties hinder us and advance our lives and the lives of others. Anyone fortunate enough to have the charm and looks of a prince, excellent physical and mental health, and is untroubled by limitations, fails to inspire those who struggle daily under limitations. It is not easy to estimate the spiritual stimulus that comes into human life from handicapped people who have found that Christ’s power is sufficient for them.

Joy,

“But in the days to come . . . ” Micah 4:1a (Common English Bible)

Some years ago, I was sharing lunch with my mother in Irving, Texas. A woman seated at a nearby table looked at me, grabbed a notepad from her purse, and approached me, “May I have your autograph?” I inquired of her who she thought I was. She named a football player with the New York Giants and, apparently, she was a huge fan. Naturally, I politely told her my name and that I was a Presbyterian pastor serving a congregation right there in Irving. She refused to believe me. With anger and frustration all mingled together in one burst of emotion, she answered, “If you don’t want to give autographs, say so!” and returned to her meal. She saw something in me that I was not—and never will be. And, I fear, I have cost a Giants player one of his fans.

God does something similar. God doesn’t mistake our identity, as the woman in Irving, but God does see in us something so much more than is presently true. With a forward-looking eye, God sees what we might become. Think of a teacher that goes into a classroom, a class of girls and boys. The teacher lifts his or her eyes away from the present to see women and men. The best teachers understand that, in a sense, they are architects and builders of the people those children will become. It is the teacher’s vision of “what might be” that directs every moment spent with the children. The vision is active in the present, shaping, molding, and encouraging children to do something more. Yet, for the future to be claimed, each child must be a willing participant in the process of learning. In Jesus Christ, God shares God’s vision for what we might become. It is a work completed by the Holy Spirit as we willingly participate by paying attention to God.

Our encouragement comes from the rich examples in the Old and New Testament—examples of God’s uncommon work in common people. Moses had a speech impediment but would stand before a king and demand that the people of Israel be set free from their bondage in Egypt. David, a shepherd boy tending sheep, would defeat a Philistine giant, Goliath, rescuing Israel from an enemy. Simon, a name that means hearer, or one who simply hears, would have his name changed by Jesus to Peter, a rock, upon which Jesus would build his church. And a woman of sin—an outcast child of the city—would be addressed by Jesus as “daughter” and spoken to as if she had already entered the future as an heir to God’s promises. Each story nudges us to come to our present, filled with difficulties and struggle, with a vision of the future, a glimpse of what might be.

Here, in this brief passage, the prophet Micah lifts his eyes away from the present to the days that are to come. By holding clearly before him God’s promise of more, Micah finds refreshment in the present difficulty. Without the joyful anticipation of something more to come, without the conviction that the God who worked uncommonly in common people in the past continues the same today, Micah would lose his capacity to hold on, and the spirit of striving would go out of his work. Our vision of the future always determines the behavior and attitudes that we bring to the present. Our dominant thought and hope regulate how we go about our responsibilities today. It is wise to ask what vision pulls us forward? What future do we have in mind? What do we see as the possible consummation of our present work? It is not enough to know what we are doing today. We must draw so close to God that we capture a glimpse of what we are working for—for a glimpse of what we might be.

Joy,

“I have shown it to you with your own eyes; however, you will not cross over into it.” Deuteronomy 34:4 (Common English Bible)

This is a remarkable picture of Moses! He is at the point of death, on a mountaintop, gazing out over the Promised Land, a land for which he led God’s people to possess, pondering God’s word to him that he himself will never enter the land. A universal truth of life is captured in this tragic moment, a truth that neither the great nor the small among us escapes; life brings equal capacity to experience joy as well as disappointment. This singular moment of Moses’ life lays hold of our imagination as no other moment in his life does. Life sometimes falls short of what is desired and for which we intended our labors to provide.

That moment is on the horizon for every one of us – that moment when we realize that our grandest dreams and the greatest desires of our hearts may not be realized. Moses wanted to cross over into God’s Promised Land, and the apostle Paul urgently wanted to take the gospel to Bithynia. Both were denied. Both their circumstances and their own earnest efforts gave Moses and Paul every reason to believe their central purpose and passion in life would be achieved. But what would lie beyond their vision was the disheartening experience of watching their dreams tumble to the ground. “I have shown it to you with your own eyes; however, you will not cross over into it.”

What are we to make of this? We do not have access to Moses’ inner thoughts as he sat upon that mountain, looking out over the Promised Land. Paul speaks little of his failed ambition to preach in Bithynia. What we do know is that both Moses and Paul had a choice to make. They could look back bitterly, questioning where it all went wrong, angrily regretting that they ever had dreams at all, and this decision produced tears of disappointment. Or, they can hold their heads high in disappointment and acknowledge that God has blessed their labor, that in their struggle, God’s purposes were advanced, and that by God’s power, they took a step closer to eternal things.

Perhaps there is no greater struggle than recognizing, again and again, that God’s view of success and failure differs from our own. And, it is God’s view that really matters. Moses and Paul fixed their gaze upon a destination. Yet, what really matters to God is whether, at the end of the pilgrimage, those God calls have learned patience and humility, and have entered into an utter dependence upon God. Ultimately, the destination is quite a secondary thing. It is the quality of the pilgrimage that matters. We don’t have access to the private thoughts of Moses and Paul as they experienced disappointment. But they were great men of God, and great people lived their lives for God. I suspect that, at the end of their life, Moses and Paul lifted their gaze beyond failed aspirations and saw God’s smile at a life well lived.

Joy,

“The burning sand will become a pool, and the thirsty ground, fountains of water.” Isaiah 35:7 (Common English Bible)

There is, perhaps, no greater disappointment in life than to experience disappointment with God. Missed opportunities, unrealized dreams, and friends who fail us are no small matter. They can be debilitating at times. Yet, most people also recognize that such disappointments are the stuff of life. With a strong network of family and friends, many find that they are able to push through such disappointments. But what are we to do with our disappointment with God? This is the most shattering of disappointments. “No longer is there a wide, comfortable margin between peace and the edge of doom,” writes that great Scottish preacher, James S. Steward.[1] Disillusionment with God is startling, surprising, and overwhelming. In a deep spiritual sense, such disillusionment is taking up residence in the desert.

Isaiah has a word for those desert moments—or days. In dramatic fashion, Isaiah speaks of a grand reversal: “The burning sand will become a pool, and the thirsty ground, fountains of water.” With incredible verve, he takes the most frightening and cynical judgment of the world that says that this life is nothing more than “burning sand” and reverses it. God is not absent, nor will God remain silent. The word from the Lord is that the desert places of life will become an oasis, living water that quenches our fears and dispels the darkness.

What does this mean? In effect, Isaiah acknowledges his common experience with ours that life is full of disappointments, broken dreams, and dashed hopes. More, Isaiah is no stranger to fears that come like a bolt of lightning, unnerving our sense of comfort and security. But he also wants to remind us of history; Israel’s history of a God that is never far off, a God that appears in the midst of struggle and uncertainty with the hand of a shepherd, confidently leading us forward into God’s future for us. In every situation, even when the darkness of the hour seems to have the upper hand, grace reigns.

Understand, of course, that the very struggle with disillusionment dispels any notion that faith is always experienced without struggle. Any spiritual journey occasionally moves through desert places, where the ground is hot and parched. But, Isaiah asks that we steadily move forward, particularly when our steps are labored and weak, for a wonderful discovery lies ahead of us, the same discovery that Isaiah made. Present circumstances that seem like burning sand will, by God’s promises, become a pool of cool water. Additionally, you will find yourself in the company of those who have discovered that they would rather travel the most difficult road with God than any other road without him.

Joy,

[1] Stewart, James S. The Wind of the Spirit, Nashville: Abingdon, 1968, 70.

“I was beaten with rods three times. I was stoned once. I was shipwrecked three times. I spent a day and a night on the open sea. I’ve been on many journeys. I faced dangers from rivers, robbers, my people, and Gentiles. I faced dangers in the city, in the desert, on the sea, and from false brothers and sisters. I faced these dangers with hard work and heavy labor, many sleepless nights, hunger and thirst, often without food, and in the cold without enough clothes.” 2 Corinthians 11:25–27 (Common English Bible)

Sometimes it appears that the Apostle Paul had a hidden charm that both protected him from discouragement and defeat while providing navigation for his ministry. With every possible force at work against him—every possible obstacle to moving forward—Paul was simply unbeatable. His journey seemed impossibly long, and there were lengthy stretches during which he had to endure much hardship and loneliness. What’s more, Paul kept a careful journal of each difficulty encountered, every challenge he faced, and the deprivation he endured. His purpose for recording each was simply to force the question—can anyone survive experiences such as these, one upon another, by their own strength, their own resources?

Paul’s answer is, “No.” Every difficulty, challenge, and deprivation presented an opportunity for Paul to proclaim available strength that was not Paul’s—the strength of the risen and active work of Jesus Christ. Storms are part of the normal climate, and adversity is part of normal life. Paul utterly rejects the false notion that a formula is at work that shields us from the strong winds and turbulence of day-to-day life. Rather, Paul’s desire is to point to his own life and demonstrate a steadying hand that holds us and strengthens us in the storms. Life is full of annoying and costly interruptions and opposing forces that are bent on defeating us. Paul urges that we make the winds of opposition occasions for relying upon God.

That legendary football coach of Notre Dame, Knute Rockne, once summoned his players before a game and said, “The team that won’t be beat, can’t be beat.”[1] Rockne was not here proclaiming the strength of Jesus for his players. He was appealing to the uncommon courage, strength, and persistence that lie within each of us. Many of us engage in the game of life without our best effort, settling for something just below our actual capacity. Tremendous effort to overcome life’s difficulties is rare; people often accept defeat easily, naming what is possible as impossible. These are not the challenges Paul speaks of. Paul lifts his eyes to something higher still, to what is impossible were it not for God’s strength.

Paul continues this discussion beyond the words printed above. He asks, “Does it sound as though I am bragging about all the challenges I have faced?” “I am!” Yet, Paul quickly states that he brags not to showcase his ability. Paul brags to demonstrate the wondrous work of Jesus through him. There are doors that we cannot walk through and storms we cannot endure on our own. That is when we make every difficulty an opportunity to lean into Christ and draw from Christ’s strength. The strength that sustained Paul through every force that sought to stop his ministry is available to every one of us. In our hearts, we may ask, “Can I endure?” Paul gives the answer, “In Jesus, we are unbeatable.”

Joy,

[1] Frank, Madeline. “Persistence Is the Key.” (August 23, 2021).  https://ezine-articles.com/?Persistence-Is-the-Key&cid=10503510, para. 16.

“My brothers and sisters, what good is it if people say that they have faith but do nothing to show it? Claiming to have faith can’t save anyone, can it?” James 2:14 (Common English Bible)

Someone once declared that promised prayer has no power, only practiced prayer. That same observation can be applied to faith; the profession of faith has no power, only practiced faith. Evidence of this unfolded one Sunday morning during my graduate studies. Sitting in a Sunday school class for young adults at the North Avenue Presbyterian Church in Atlanta, Georgia, a young man asked permission to address the class. His intention was to make a simple observation and ask the class for help. Then the instructor would proceed to teach the lesson he had prepared for the morning. Yet, the young man’s comment became the lesson for that day.

This man began his comments by sharing that some years earlier he made a profession of faith in Jesus as his personal Lord and was baptized in that church. He was a graduate student, busy with not only the demanding rigor of his studies and also working a part-time job to help sustain him as a student. Then, there was also this girl. He was “madly in love with her” as he put it and that, naturally, required some of his attention and time. In the economy of a twenty-four-hour day, there simply was no time remaining for the regular reading of the Bible and prayer.

Now, this man has found himself in the middle of a weighty life crisis, one that was causing him to unravel. He turned to his faith. It was then he made a comment that has shaped my own understanding of faith, something that has given more texture, depth, and color to my own relationship with Jesus than anything I found in the classroom. “I turned to my faith and found that I had done nothing with my faith and now my faith could do nothing for me.” Then, a long lingering silence draped the room. Wisdom of such depth rarely can be met with words. The instructor then, with a deliberate and careful movement, placed his lesson upon an empty chair and asked, “What can we do for you?”

The only help the student asked for was accountability. “Beginning today, I am no longer neglecting my faith. Hold me accountable. Call me each day and ask what I have read in the Bible and how I am responding. What I need more than anything at this moment is a faith that will sustain me. Hold me accountable. I cannot move forward without God.” Here was a young man who discovered the profound truth that merely professing faith in Jesus lacked power. Vital, life-giving faith that sustains us requires practice. This is precisely what James would have us hear, “What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you?”

Joy,

“Pray like this: Our Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 6:9a Common English Bible)

Just this week, someone approached me following worship and said that he was still struggling with prayer. It was his comment, “still”, that caught my attention. Months earlier, we shared breakfast. The primary conversation at that time was prayer. Following that breakfast, he proceeded to purchase and read two books on prayer that are available at the church, one that I authored and the second, a collection of daily meditations from eleven pastors who have preached at First Presbyterian Church of Delray Beach in the past ten years. Yet, this morning he was “still” struggling with prayer. I asked him to say more. Faith in the power of prayer wasn’t the problem. By his own admission, he has seen the power of prayer at work in others. His difficulty was the “how”. Though each of the two books provided a beautiful daily prayer following thirty-one brief meditations, his struggle was “how” he would pray meaningfully each day.

The church often encourages people to pray—and to pray regularly. But this man’s concern suggests that the church has failed to offer specific guidance on how to pray. George Arthur Buttrick shares a cruel story of a bishop who resolved to practice what he had so often preached: he would speak to God in direct simplicity. He spoke. A Voice, gentle but holy, answered him, “Yes, what is it?” The bishop was found dead on the chancel steps.[i] Powerfully, this story addresses the lack of any real expectation from prayer. This lack of expectation may be a primary reason there is so little prayer today. But a closer attention to this story does offer a powerful “how” to a life of meaningful prayer: speaking to God in direct simplicity. Solemnity, grandeur, and beautiful language are not necessary to the effectiveness of prayer. Prayers must not be judged by their eloquence but by their sincere desire to draw near to God.

To pray, it is only necessary to make the effort of reaching out towards God as a child reaches out towards a parent. This is an effort from the heart. It is an effort that flows from love and expresses itself in feeling and longing for God. As a conversation between two people in love with one another, prayer seeks understanding, seeks guidance, seeks strength. It is not an intellectual exercise, not a conversation that flows from the mind. Nor is prayer a demonstration of poetic gifts of expression, though beautiful prayers can help others find words for inexpressible thoughts and longings. There is a difference between honest, simple, and direct conversation with God during the day and composing beautiful prayers that may be helpful to another. Real, authentic prayer must not be judged by its beauty and eloquence but by its results in strengthening the one who prays. Again, prayer should be like the conversation of a child with a parent.

What is urgently wanted today, by most people, is nothing less than a friendship with God. Prayer is the vital act that develops that friendship. Prayer can turn circumstances around for us, change our attitude, calm our anxieties, and give access to a life of the highest relationship available to us, awaking each morning and uttering, good morning to Jesus, confident that Jesus is there. That is what the man who spoke to me wants. It is a relationship that is indispensable to a deeply satisfying life. How then are we to acquire a positive life of prayer? Ashley Morgan Jackson is quoted on a Facebook posting as suggesting that sometimes the most honest prayers we can pray are the ones that sound like: “This is hard. I am tired. Please help.” It may be that this is the most eloquent prayer that can be uttered because it comes directly from the heart. Or we may simply begin a prayer as Jesus taught, “Our Father who is in heaven.”

Joy,

[i] George Arthur Buttrick, Prayer (New York & Nashville: Abingdon-Cokesbury Press, MCMXLII) 253.

“I can endure all these things through the power of the one who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13 (Common English Bible)

We are born with a desire to face any challenge, any obstacle, any difficulty on our own. Young children are proof of that when we hear from their mouths, “I do it!” Mastery over the circumstances of life is a healthy, normal desire. No one wants to feel inadequate, weak, or defeated. Many of us may be quick to come alongside another who struggles and help. We want to be there for others. We are inspired by stories of people who lend a hand, who listen and love deeply, or provide guidance for someone who seems to have lost their way. In each of those scenarios, we are the stronger one who comes to the aid of another. These circumstances demonstrate to us that we are adequate, that we are the strong one. Yet, as we are placed in those situations where we must acknowledge our own weaknesses, or own need for help, we feel small, even powerless. We are disappointed in ourselves because we are found to be inadequate.

These are the moments when Paul’s words to the Philippians are helpful. Paul declares that he can do all things! Sounds like a two-year-old child: “I do it!” Except, what flows next from Paul’s thoughts demonstrates a maturity far more developed than a two-year-old: “Through the power of the one who gives me strength.” Paul’s confidence in facing every struggle, every difficulty is “through the power” of another—through the power of Christ. Rather than feeling diminished or ashamed that he is inadequate, Paul boasts that Jesus Christ is mindful of Paul. Jesus, who is, “in the form of God” (Philippians 2:6), humbled himself so that he may dwell among people like Paul, sharing life with Paul, and finally pouring Jesus’ power into Paul for enduring anything life may throw at Paul. That special and empowering relationship with Jesus remains available for each one of us, promises Paul.

An attitude that is often taken among people of faith is that they simply do not understand prayer. They don’t oppose prayer. They simply don’t understand it. Consequently, one of two things is the result: Either they recite brief prayers taught to them as a child over a meal or at bedtime with little expectation of a positive outcome, or they don’t bother to pray at all. Living life with a vital and expectant sense that Jesus is very present is absent. They may go to church. They may have given mental assent to the teachings of the faith. They may even strive to live in a manner that is taught by the faith. But, in all honesty, they feel that they are on their own. Life is to be lived by their own strength and discipline, or they will be defeated. In moments of exhaustion, they may utter to themselves that they can’t do it and that is that. They accept defeat. Those are the moments that they fail to avail themselves of the power that is available to them in Jesus.

There is another attitude that is seen among people of faith. They are the ones who believe Paul. They believe that Jesus is present in their lives, and they set to use the resources of the faith as best as they can—particularly the resource of prayer. They don’t have a greater grasp of how prayer works than anyone else. They simply accept that Paul found prayer to be effective and that is enough for them. Rather than making any scientific inquiry as to the veracity of prayer, they pray. They pray with expectation. They pray, open to hearing from God even if what they hear isn’t what they desired. They pray not because they seek to leverage God’s power for their own purposes but to understand how God seeks to align them with God’s holy purposes for them. They pray, wanting to experience that this great adventure of life is not lived only by their own strength, or wisdom, or personal desire. And as they pray, as they exercise this conversation with God, what they find is strength.

Joy,

“After saying goodbye to them, Jesus went up onto a mountain to pray.” Mark 6:46 (Common English Bible)

Of all the things Jesus taught about prayer, the most powerful lessons were observed from his practice of prayer. Here is a moment when Jesus and his disciples are exhausted. It has been a day of incessant toil. Jesus acknowledges the disciples’ exhaustion; Jesus acknowledges his own exhaustion. In the thirty-first verse of Mark’s sixth chapter, Jesus says to the disciples, “Come by yourselves to a secluded place and rest for a while.” Jesus and his disciples depart in a boat to a deserted place. Their rest would be brief. Many people saw them leaving in the boat and ran ahead, presumably to the other side of the lake, arriving before Jesus and the disciples. Jesus shows compassion to the people and begins to teach them. Late in the day, the disciples urge Jesus to practice self-care: “Send them away so that they can go to the surrounding countryside and villages and buy something to eat for themselves.” (Verse 6:36) Jesus has another idea.

Jesus asks his disciples to feed the people. The toil of the day continues. Naturally, the disciples grumble. And who can blame them? They are exhausted. And feeding all the people? The disciples speak to the implausibility of that idea; a meal for everyone would cost eight months’ pay! We remember the story. Jesus takes a few loaves and fish and feeds approximately five thousand. And then there is the clean-up that follows the meal—twelve baskets of leftovers! There is exhaustion upon exhaustion. Each of us has had such days; days that seem to resist coming to an end.

Finally, Jesus calls it a day. Jesus made his disciples get into a boat and go toward Bethsaida. But Jesus doesn’t travel with the disciples. Rather, Jesus dismisses the crowd, stomachs full from a meal miraculously served to them, and Jesus goes up onto a mountain to pray. After that day, one might well assume Jesus’ spirit was depleted. Sleep might be in order. But within Jesus’ heart was another desire, to spend the night in conversation with his Father. Jesus prayed all through the night. Notice, prayer was the habitual practice of Jesus’ daily life—the communing with the one whom Jesus loved, the one who provided Jesus with all the strength, encouragement, and direction Jesus needed.

Exhaustion is one of the things that thwarts and stifles our practice of prayer. But exhaustion had no power at all with Christ. Nor was Jesus at the mercy of an irritable mood or sorrow. Jesus loved God his Father so deeply and passionately that any consideration of not praying was absent from his life. Every day and night brought an opportunity to speak to God, to acknowledge the presence of God; to simply be with God. This is an indictment upon our own failure to pray. Jesus’ practice of prayer is never meant to create guilt in our own failure to pray. Jesus never uses guilt. That isn’t God’s way with those God loves. Love and guilt are incompatible. What Jesus’ practice simply demonstrates is that there is a deficiency in our affection for God. That is where we begin. Not with a stronger resolve to pray or the exercise of greater discipline. We begin by paying sufficient attention to God that our affection for God grows. And as with any relationship, as affection grows, so does our desire to simply be with the other grows. That is when we notice our own movement from exhaustion to prayer.

Joy,