Category: Religious

“Just like a deer that craves streams of water, my whole being craves you, God.” Psalm 42:1 (Common English Bible)

The philosopher Blaise Pascal once wrote that each one of us is born with a God-shaped hole in our hearts.[1] Naturally, Pascal was not speaking of a literal hole such as a square hole. The hole he speaks of is an empty space, a deep longing or hunger. We often attempt to fill this empty space with other things or pursuits. Perhaps we seek a relationship that will satisfy this longing, or acquire some material reward such as a new car or country club membership. Each of these may satisfy for a period. Cracker Jacks at dinnertime will satisfy hunger for a little while. But the satisfaction will be short-lived. After all, if the empty space implanted in our hearts is for God, any substitute will simply leave empty spaces all around it. Our hearts remain empty.

This Scripture from Psalms speaks of deer that crave streams of water. What the original readers of this passage know is that many aqueducts in the Holy Land were built with a mesh-like covering to prevent trash from clogging the water supply. Thirsty deer could hear the streams of water, they could see the streams of water, but they could not drink from those streams. The mesh covering that prevented trash from entering the water also prevented the deer access to the water. So, the longing to quench their thirst remained. What is important for the reader to understand is that before the deer “listened for” and “moved toward” the sound of streams of water, there was first a thirst.

As the deer experienced thirst, often we experience a spiritual thirst, a spiritual yearning for something more. Sometimes that thirst is noticed when we see others living a deeply satisfying relationship with Jesus. There is simply something about their faith that is missing in our own experience. Other times we simply become tired of acquiring more and more and finding that all of it fails to satisfy our deepest hungers. The emptiness remains. And most of us will try almost anything to fill that emptiness only to be disappointed time and time again. That is because they fail to recognize that only the pursuit of a deep relationship with Jesus through regular prayer and study of Jesus’ teachings can ever satisfy that emptiness.

During my sophomore year of college, I had the opportunity to spend the fall semester of study in London. To complete a class assignment, I traveled to Liverpool for a weekend of research. Arriving in the early evening of a Friday—London to Liverpool—by train, I immediately looked for an inexpensive opportunity for dinner. Just as I began to enjoy the fish and chips I had ordered to go, eating while standing along a sidewalk, I realized I had lost my father’s professional Nikon camera he had trusted to my care. I lost my appetite, threw away a largely uneaten meal, and went off searching for the camera. Ultimately my search led me to a homeless man, the Cathedral of Christ the King, and Father Murphy, who had my camera. Returning the camera to me, Father Murphy looked deep into my eyes and asked, “Are you hungry?” At that moment I sensed that the question was intended for something much deeper than my stomach.

Joy,

[1] Pascal, Pensees, 48.

“You don’t have because you don’t ask” James 4:2c (Common English Bible)

Seven short words, here in the Book of James, speak one of the most powerful truths about prayer in all of scripture: “You don’t have because you don’t ask.” Though they are simple words, there is considerable depth in them. They speak to the power available to transform a life, to experience a mastery over struggle, difficulty, and obstacles that come to every person. Yet, their direct and simple promise suggest a carte blanche promise. They do not. The very next verse establishes reasonable parameters; “You ask and don’t have because you ask with evil intentions, to waste it on your own cravings.”

During two verses the reader moves from divine promise to harsh judgement, “you ask with evil intentions!” If those words were spoken to us by anyone, our likely response would be to walk away. And not in a positive manner. How are we to understand James’ teaching on prayer? Perhaps we can look to Shakespeare for help. In the play, The Tempest, which I saw on the London stage during college, a fierce storm hits in the open sea. The mariners run from one side of the ship to the other in desperation: “All is lost! To prayers! To prayers! All is lost! To prayers!” What becomes evident to the audience is that this call to prayer did not flow organically from a deep relationship with God. This call to prayer was nothing more than a last-ditch effort, a last resort, something turned to in a moment of frantic alarm. The prayer James’ speaks of—the prayer that releases considerable power—is prayer that is released from lives that are in harmony with God.

This teaching on prayer cannot be understood without reading the first chapter of James. It is there that James teaches that the process of maturity in faith, the process of growth in a personal relationship with Jesus, begins with trails and ends in endurance. This endurance completes its work with a faith that is mature, complete, and lacking in nothing. It is a faith of an intimate relationship in which there is understanding of God’s character and what a life that is “in-step” with God looks like. For them, God gives without a second thought (1:5). But for those mariners in Shakespeare’s play, those whose life gives no consideration to God except in moments of desperation, they should never imagine that they will receive anything from the Lord (1:7). Such people have reduced God to a blue genie in the sky who is always prepared to be ignored until a wish is made.

Our desire to interact with God must the one constant in our lives. Prayer is that means where we keep company with God, pay attention to God, and seek God’s wisdom for how we are to live. That relationship informs us what is to be our priorities and our desires as we continually draw near to God. It is then that we realize that God is the primary gift—the primary answer to our deepest longings. The contours of such a relationship are marked with vibrancy and power. Our primary commitment in life entails acting in line with and based on God’s wisdom. Moving in our own chosen direction, seeking our own desires, and then discovering that we face a “tempest” and asking God’s help is identified by James as asking with “evil intentions.” It isn’t God that matters in our life. It is us.

Joy,

“Again the Lord called Samuel, so Samuel got up, went to Eli, and said, ‘I’m here. You called me?’” 1 Samuel 3:6 (Common English Bible)

Here is a startling story of a young boy named Samuel who had trouble sleeping one night because of a voice that spoke to him from the darkness. Most of us know that story—a voice that comes to us in the darkness at that moment when we want nothing more than to sleep. The volume of the voice is usually immense. It is a clamorous tongue that disturbs the mind and stirs physical restlessness as we lay upon the mattress. For some, the voice that speaks addresses our personal finances, most often when our financial resources are running low and our commitments are racing in the opposite direction. For others, the voice reminds us of estranged relationships but offers no solutions for healing. Other voices that bombard the mind’s ear simply wish to generate anger at this or that political party and the absolute stupidity—or cruelty—of this or that policy out of Washington. Solutions rarely show up in the darkness of the bedroom. Neither does sound sleep.

Here, young Samuel is lying down in the Lord’s temple. We know it is the night hour because fifteen verses later we are informed, “Samuel lay there until morning.” But Samuel will not sleep that night. Before his mind drifts off to restful sleep, Samuel hears a voice. It is the Lord’s voice but Samuel doesn’t know that—not in the beginning. He believes the voice belongs to his mentor, Eli. Three times Samuel hears the voice and three times Samuel disturbs Eli to inquire what it is Eli wants. It is the third time that Eli grows suspicious that this is more than Samuel’s imagination. Nor is Samuel simply hearing the whistle of the wind. Samuel is instructed to make an inquiry if he hears the voice again; to say, “Speak, Lord. Your servant is listening.” And the voice does return.

This is precisely the point that Samuel makes a rather dramatic shift from simply jumping from his bed at the sound of a voice to careful listening. Samuel restrains his natural impulse to a quick response and practices alert and intentional discernment of the content of the voice that speaks. There is much all of us can learn from this simple act—pausing long enough to sincerely listen to the voice we hear, particularly if that voice is unsettling to us. What would happen in our nation if Republicans and Democrats were to exercise restraint from the vitriolic impulse they have for one another? Imagine the surprise if Evangelicals and liberals in the Christian church ever truly listened to one another. What might any of us discover in the darkness of the night if we calmly listened to all that unsettles us—personal finances, relationship difficulties, or concern for the health of those we love—and then, rather uncommonly, invited another voice to the conversation, “Speak, Lord. Your servant is listening.”

At any moment of the day or night, there are voices that clamor for our attention. Some voices long for an impulsive response from us, usually a response that multiplies anger and hurt and fears among those we know and love. Perhaps a voice asks from us indignation and puerile criticism of another point of view. The only contribution that voice makes is increased brokenness in an already broken world. Do not trust these voices. But Samuel’s story shows us another way. Eli counsels Samuel to “listen” rather than “jump” at the sound of the voice. If we listen and listen with humility and civility and respect, what we will discover is that the voices that clamor for an impulsive response will scatter and one will remain. It will be the loveliest voice of all. It will be a voice that asks for patience and love. Trust that voice. Ponder it. Respond to it. It will be then that you have in your heart neither doubt nor fear.

Joy,

“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,