already & not yet

Everyone was filled with awe… – Acts 2:43

A sense of wonder has always been one of the hallmarks of God’s people. Even at this embryonic stage in the life of the church, a sense of wonder and amazement propelled the earliest believers to move and minister in the name of Christ. Selling all their possessions, giving freely to the poor, living out the ideals of Jesus within a community of love and worship…Luke paints a beautiful picture of the life of the early church. These believers were no doubt awed by the miraculous power of the Holy Spirit conferred upon the apostles. But within the larger context of Acts 2, one could say with certainty that these people were equally amazed at the revelation: God came to earth and dwelled among us! His death affords us life! And His resurrection is the promise of eternal life for all who believe! It is precisely this attitude that drove thousands to respond the moment Peter spoke Gospel into their hearts on the day of Pentecost.

But what happens when God’s people lose this sense of wonder?

What happens when the story grows cold to us?

It’s surely a tool of Satan’s, to profane the holy by making it mundane. Let’s be honest. It’s sometimes difficult to engage the Great Story with the same sense of enthusiasm we once did. When you’ve heard the story so often and for so long, that’s the risk. I’m a young man, but I’ve heard 3 sermons a week for nearly 30 years. What do you do to keep the story fresh?

I’m not proposing we have to return to some kind of idyllic, child-like innocence with regard to the story. That’s hardly possible. I’m simply asking what it would be like to live in perpetual wonder at the activity of God.

I think it’s in the remembering that the wonder is brought back to us.

I tell Sunny I love her multiple times every day. Before I go to work, I say, “I love you.” When I come home from work, “I love you.” Before we go to bed…you get the idea. Those words roll quickly and freely off my tongue. And I mean them every single time I say them. But it does me good to remember the first time I told Sunny I loved her.

She was a freshman at Freed-Hardeman University; I was a sophomore at Lipscomb. We’d been dating for over a year, but we still hadn’t said those words to each other. But what had not been articulated had long been confirmed in our hearts. I guess we were both just waiting for that special moment to say those important words. I planned to come visit her for a weekend and as we were talking on the phone the week leading up to my visit, she began to drop little hints, like, “I have something that I want to tell you this weekend.” In typical oblivious male fashion, I said, “Well, why don’t you just tell me?” Sunny replied, “I can’t just tell you over the phone.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s something VERY SPECIAL. And you might have something that you want to tell me, too.”

Ahh…I’m reading your signals, now.

She made me say it first. I was so scared and so nervous and my chest was pounding so hard. I’d never said those words to anybody that wasn’t related to me, so this was a big deal. I remember my head was kind of spinning when I uttered “I…LOVE…YOU.” It was like some kind of out of body experience. But it felt so good to be able to say that to her and just put it out there and let her know how I felt about her. And, of course, she responded by telling me how much she loved me, too. And I felt like Jesus could just come on back and take us home in that moment, because everything was perfect in my little world. I suppose I’ll never forget that night.

It’s good for me to remember that story. Something is brought back to me when I remember that story, something is restored to me in the re-telling. It makes the next “I love you” a little sweeter, a little more meaningful. It’s good for us to remember.

I think Jesus knew that. I think that’s why He said, “Do this in remembrance of me.” When I remember the Story…when I remember all that He’s done for me…when I think about those things, it brings wonder back to my soul. And that’s a good thing.

What gives you a sense of wonder?

When was the last time you were in awe of something?

What stirs your soul with a sense of fear and amazement?

When I was a child, my parents would often read to me from my “Child’s Story Bible”. Our bedtime ritual consisted of the recollection of these ancient stories: Samson’s feats of strength and daring, Noah’s persistent faith amid the throngs of mocking voices, Daniel’s heroism in the lion’s den. My all-time favorite: the story of Moses. I loved hearing of his life & the special relationship he shared with God. I would beg my parents to read me his story every night. (I was such a fan, I even dressed up as Moses for Halloween one year!) It was through this Children’s Bible that the stories of old were brought to me in vivd fashion.

Somewhere along the way, at around 8 or 9, something began to happen. It was probably in the 100th reading of these stories, but it was at that age that things began to click with me. I began to see these stories not simply as individual episodes but rather, as part of a larger narrative — threads in a tapestry — with a greater purpose. These stories became real to me and I personalized them. I read of Adam & Eve’s deliberate, willful sin in the Garden and how it pained God — and I began to understand that my own sin pained my God in much the same way. I read of Noah and I understood what my father meant when he said being a man means standing up for what’s right, even if you stand alone. I read of these heroes of old — Elijah, David, Abraham — and I understood God was the common denominator in each narrative.

And then I came to the New Testament and I read about Jesus and my love for him was sudden and certain. I loved his way of speaking, and when he talked about turning the other cheek and loving your neighbor as yourself, it resonated with me. He said “Blessed are the pure in heart for they will see God,” and I knew I wanted to claim that promise. I read about his miracles: turning water to wine, healing the lame, feeding the poor. I read about those men whom he called, those who followed Him: Simon, the fisherman turned fisher-of-men; his brother, Andrew, who wouldn’t stop bringing people to Jesus; John, the one called beloved. And I wanted to be like these men; I, too, wanted to follow Jesus. But I read of one who betrayed Jesus — Judas — who turned him over to the ones who didn’t like the things Jesus did and taught. I read that they tried him, made false accusations against him. They turned him over to Pilate, who sentenced him to die. They beat him, they spit upon him, they traipsed him up a hill and they nailed him to a tree. And they killed him.

And at just that moment…when the story seemed so dark…when all hope seemed to be lost…the greatest miracle of all occurred. Sunday morning came. The stone rolled away. And Jesus walked out of the tomb…ALIVE! He arose, victorious over death. He’d taken Satan’s best shot and he came out on top! He lives! And at that moment, I believed! Took this story for all it was worth. I couldn’t believe He did it! And then in the reading came the sweetest revelation of all: He did it for me. He bled and died, enduring pain and scorn for me. He who had been without sin became sin on my account. His death took care of my sin and His victory over death was promised to me, too! And I believed the fuller at this understanding, for how could I resist the One who loved me so dearly and so completely as to die for me?

Do you remember that feeling, the hour you first believed? Do you remember the sense of awe & wonder at the moment of initial comprehension, that Jesus died for you! What a beautiful moment, when a soul gains the understanding of this Truth! What a wonder-full God we have, who loves us so much!