Our friends own some sheep and they invited us out to spend some time feeding them this afternoon. If you’ve never had the chance to do this, you should really try it. It’s such a great way to decompress from the stress of everyday life. I’m thinking we typically miss out on these kinds of things that were more common for previous generations.
Today our family celebrates a special day in the life of a special person. Happy birthday, Sunny!
This is what I wrote about Sunny for her birthday last year:
She pursues goodness and exudes quiet strength.
In her love, she hopes all things.
She is unwavering in her commitments and gracious in her ways.
She is joyful and playful; a compassionate teacher and a steadfast encourager; a faithful friend, a tender mother, and a very, very, very patient wife. (She’s still waiting on that new couch! Haha!)
In short, she is the best person I’ve ever known and her loving presence makes me a better man.
Two things:
Several years ago, I figured out that Sunny’s quintessential quality was her goodness. I’ve never known anyone who wants to do the right thing more consistently or more completely. She pursues goodness at every turn and this makes her the conduit of God’s goodness in the lives of so many people: her family, her students, her friends, and me. If I only had three words to describe her, I think I’d say, “She seeks goodness.” This is the truest thing I can say about Sunny.
But of course, we’re far more than any one quality, no matter how “quintessential” we might deem it to be. And such is the case for the woman I love. Sunny is also exceedingly joyful. Resiliently joyful. True joy is unwavering in any set of circumstances and such is the case with Sunny’s joy. Even as she has faced down the inevitable storm clouds of life, she remains steadfast and resolute in her joy. This is another essential facet of her character. Sunny came into my life in a time of personal darkness for me; we started dating a little more than a year after my mother died. And her joy helped me smile again. Contagiously joyful. “She seeks goodness…and joy.”
This is my favorite picture of us, taken by a friend in 2013. Seriously, I could look at this picture forever. I can’t remember what I said that made her laugh, but I know exactly what this picture sounds like. I know the laughter that follows when Sunny gets really tickled like this, tears welling up in her eyes. And it’s the sound of pure joy to me.
Sunny, today we celebrate and cherish you. I am most thankful for the fruit of God’s Spirit in you, particularly your goodness and your joy. These have made all the difference in the lives of your loved ones.
Happy birthday, Sunny!
In his book, The Skeptical Believer, Daniel Taylor offers these compass points for believers wrestling with doubt.
First, I remind myself that I have been invited not into an argument but into a story.
Second, I recall that this story gives me not just something to believe but something to do.
Third, I propose to myself that the real test of any story is what it asks me to love and what kind of life it requires me to live.
But some men came down from Judea and were teaching the brothers, “Unless you are circumcised according to the custom of Moses, you cannot be saved.” And after Paul and Barnabas had no small dissension and debate with them, Paul and Barnabas and some of the others were appointed to go up to Jerusalem to the apostles and the elders about this question. So, being sent on their way by the church, they passed through both Phoenicia and Samaria, describing in detail the conversion of the Gentiles, and brought great joy to all the brothers. When they came to Jerusalem, they were welcomed by the church and the apostles and the elders, and they declared all that God had done with them. But some believers who belonged to the party of the Pharisees rose up and said, “It is necessary to circumcise them and to order them to keep the law of Moses.”
Acts 15:1-5
When some people from Judea arrive and begin preaching a “gospel” of circumcision, Paul and Barnabas engage in a rigorous defense of the true gospel of Jesus Christ. I’m impressed by this as I read through Acts slowly: the early church is not soft on doctrine. Whereas we might be tempted to politely overlook someone’s unorthodox theology for the sake of unity and peace, the early church was quick to dissent and debate these matters. It is clear that there was a desire to adhere to apostolic teaching on the core doctrines of the faith, respecting the clear line of movement from Jesus (as origin of Gospel and doctrinal teaching) to the apostles (proclaimers and interpreters of the Gospel and its teaching) down to the church. This has been the position of the church for thousands of years and we see it in full form here in the description of the early church.
Paul and Barnabas have witnessed God’s saving work among the Gentiles firsthand. So naturally, they oppose the circumcision gospel, knowing it to be falsehood. This debate prompts the church in Antioch to send a delegation to Jerusalem. It seems as though Antioch is asking the pillars of the faith to weigh in on this matter and give a ruling. But this is complicated by the fact that some of the earliest believers belong to the circumcision group – the Pharisees!
It’s discouraging that some of these believers hold this view. But at the same time, we can draw encouragement from the fact that some of the Pharisees came to believe in Jesus!
This sets the stage for the important Jerusalem council which will dominate the rest of Acts 15.
“But the word of God is not bound!”
Paul, 2 Timothy 2:9
Paul tells Timothy about the chains he endures for the sake of the gospel. In this brief letter, he names Phygelus and Hermogenes as two have turned away from him (1:15); Hymenaeus and Philetus as having swerved from the truth (2:17-18); Demas (4:10) as one who has loved the present world too much; and Alexander the coppersmith (4:14) as someone who harmed Paul greatly. Paul draws strength from the knowledge that even the great leader Moses faced opposition from Jannes and Jambres (3:8). And even though he is “a prisoner” (1:8), “bound with chains as a criminal” (2:9), Paul bears this indignity proudly.
How is this possible? I believe it has much to do with the way Paul has pondered the meaning of the resurrection. You cannot separate the glory of the empty tomb from the shame of the cross. Elsewhere Paul speaks of the cross as a scandal. We know that the ancient world considered it to be indelicate to even speak of crucifixion in polite company due to its savagery. The Romans engineered crucifixion to be the most painful, shameful way to die, truly the worst of human imagination. And yet, this barbaric act of exposure is central to the Christian gospel. What does this say about our God? What does this reveal about how far He’s willing to go to secure our redemption? And after suffering on the cross, absorbing the worst we have to offer, Jesus rises three days later, victorious over sin and death and the devil himself.
This transformative story has radically altered the way Paul understands suffering, particularly suffering for the cause of Christ. He teaches Timothy what he himself has learned: “Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel by the power of God…” (2 Tim. 1:8). Whereas others might abandon the cause because of the shame of this suffering, Paul remains adamant: “But I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that Day what has been entrusted to me,” (2 Tim. 1:12). Paul is supremely confident that the empty tomb has changed everything. The eternal power of God on display in the resurrection has given Paul a thoroughly temporary view of human suffering in the present.
This much is evident in his words in 2 Timothy 2:
Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David, as preached in my gospel, for which I am suffering, bound with chains as a criminal. But the word of God is not bound! Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, that they also may obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory.
2 Timothy 2:8-10
Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead.
And you will obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory.
Remember the cross and you’ll experience the empty tomb.
With this in mind, you can endure everything, even chains.
Because you know that it all ends in glory.
Even though Paul’s freedom has been restricted, he sees that that the word of God cannot be contained. It’s power is alive in the world, transforming hearts and minds with the Good News of Jesus. Take one mouthpiece off the board and it will be replaced by ten more — because the Spirit is on the move, igniting the hearts of men with the holy fire of eternity. This is why Paul commissions Timothy to the important work of entrusting the gospel message to faithful men who will continue to pass it down in the church throughout the ages.
No jail cell can keep the word of God bound.
No empty tomb can ever hold it back.
Another apostle, John, refers to Jesus as the logos, the preincarnate Word who was with the Father in the beginning (John 1:1). Jesus is the faithful incarnation of God’s Word, spoken and brought to life. And by recording the death and resurrection of Jesus, John reaches the same conclusion: the Word of God is not bound! The Word has come to life on the other side of death — and this is our hope of glory!
May these words of Good News encourage you today.
The Word of God is not bound.
Augustine (354-430) wrote this beautiful prayer to the Holy Spirit:
Breathe in me, O Holy Spirit,
That my thoughts may all be holy,
Act in me, O Holy Spirit,
That my work, too, may be holy.
Draw my heart, O Holy Spirit,
That I love but what is holy.
Strengthen me, O Holy Spirit,
To defend all that is holy.
Guard me, then, O Holy Spirit,
That I always may be holy.
Isaiah 61:1-3
The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion —
to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
the oil of joy instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
Isaiah anticipated a coming day of the Lord comprised of good news for the poor and liberation for the captives. The heavy burdens of the brokenhearted will be lifted, he says; those who mourn will find comfort. In dramatic fashion, Isaiah piles up images of reversal: God’s people will be adorned with songs of praise rather than despair as the ashes and sackcloth of sorrow are exchanged for a glorious crown. Such promises have funded Messianic expectation for each successive generation of God’s people throughout the ages.
In Luke 4, Jesus claims to be the fulfillment of all that is promised here. Those who heard his words in the synagogue in Nazareth were scandalized, as evidenced by their attempt to kill him for heresy. But the bold claim stands to this day: those who claim Him as Messiah and Lord are anointed in the oil of joy instead of mourning.
This is not to say that we will not mourn. “In this world you will have trouble,” (John 16:33). But the work of Jesus is redefine our understanding of suffering in light of eternal hope. “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” Much of the work of the Holy Spirit is to groan alongside of us — alongside creation itself — as we are confronted with the sorrows and troubles of this world. But in that groaning, fruit is also born, the fruit of love and joy and peace. And this necessarily bears witness.
How can people be loving and joyful and peaceful amid atrocities like murder and apartheid and genocide and torture? One option is to be blissfully ignorant, to “tiptoe through the tulips” with the proverbial rose-colored glasses — which prove to be no glasses at all. This amounts to sticking one’s head in the sand and ignoring the plight of the disenfranchised and the brokenhearted. This type of easy convenience is indicative of a certain level of privilege in the world.
The other option — the approach favored by Jesus and His followers — is to hold space alongside the people mentioned in Isaiah 61: the poor, the grieving, the prisoner, the brokenhearted. These terms are simply shorthand for all who find themselves on the margins. The down and out. The vulnerable. The downtrodden. In Jesus’s words, “the least of these.” Jesus never overlooks the reality of brokenness in us. He sees our pain and does not flinch. In the words of the prophecy, He binds broken hearts. We may bear the scars of our past pain, but every scar tells a story of healing and redemption.
And when this happens, we experience the kind of joy Isaiah anticipated all those centuries ago. And the overflow of this joy is — inevitably — ministry. Glory be to God.
I believe that your greatest ministry as a follower of Christ will come out of your deepest pain. Not that any of us are necessarily looking for a ministry. I would be willing to bet most of us would still consider trading that ministry if it meant we never had to endure the pain. But nevertheless, ministry flows out of this place of pain because it’s the place where we’ve experienced the most redemption. This is the redemption story you can tell with the most credibility. Every scar tells a story.
In Tyler Staton’s excellent book on the Holy Spirit, The Familiar Stranger, he talks about how the Spirit uses our wounds to mold us, making us “wounded healers” (borrowing the phrase from Henri Nouwen). In the words of another ancient Jewish prophecy, God’s Spirit animates these dead places in our lives like dry bones being brought back from the grave (Ezekiel 37). As a pastor, I have heard the stories of people who have endured the most heartbreaking of circumstances: crippling anxiety; years of infertility; sexual abuse; abandonment; slander; domestic violence; the sudden death of a loved one. But there is a glorious transfiguring that the Spirit often works here, bringing something redemptive into the world — if not as a direct result of the tragedies, then by the faithful witness of the ones who have endured them.
Staton quotes from Brennan Manning in Ruthless Trust:
Anyone God uses significantly is always deeply wounded. We are, each and every one of us, insignificant people whom God has called and graced to use in a significant way. On the last day, Jesus will look us over not for medals, diplomas, or honors but for scars.
I like that image: a Savior who looks us over for scars.
With every scar there is a story.
And with Jesus, every scar tells a redemption story.
What’s your story?
Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
Psalm 30:5
Martyn-Lloyd Jones was a famous preacher in Great Britain during the 20th century. As he was dying of cancer, a physician friend tried to offer him a sedative to make him more comfortable. But Lloyd-Jones, who by this time was too feeble to speak, simply shook his head “no.” He wanted nothing that would dull his mind or his senses. The doctor commented that it really grieved him to see his friend so “weary, worn, and sad,” quoting a line from an old gospel hymn. That was too much for Lloyd-Jones, who mustered all of his strength to whisper an adamant protest: “Not sad!” he said. “Not sad.”
A few hours later, just before his death, he scribbled out a note to his wife and children. It said, “Do not pray for healing. Do not hold me back from glory.”
This is someone who understood the gospel truth that weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning. He understood the promise of Jesus when He says, I am the resurrection and the life.
John 11:1-4
Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. (This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.) So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.”
When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.”
According to Jesus, Lazarus’s sickness will not end in death. Rather, it will end in glory. Keep that word in mind.
Before Jesus can make it to Bethany, Lazarus passes away.
John 11:17-27
On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.
“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”
Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”
Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”
Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”
Jesus claims to be the resurrection and the life for those who believe, for those who have faith. But as language scholars have pointed out, the noun form of the word “faith” doesn’t occur in the original Greek of John’s Gospel. John uses the verb form of the word, which means hat according to John’s Gospel, faith is not something you have; faith is something you do.
This meaning is conveyed if we were to paraphrase these verses this way:
Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who faiths in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by faithing in me will never die. Do you faith this?”
And Martha replied, “Yes, Lord, I faith that you are the Messiah, the Son of God.”
Faith is the way to the resurrection life of Jesus. Faith is the way to glory.
John 11:38-44
Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. “Take away the stone,” he said.
“But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”
Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe [if you faith], you will see the glory of God?”
So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe [that they may faith] that you sent me.”
When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.
Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”
Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
Can you imagine the shouts of joy from the crowd when Lazarus comes walking out of that tomb? It’s the dawning of a new day, as new life takes the place of death. It is as David goes on to say in Psalm 30:11, You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.”
And I love that Jesus calls him by name: “Lazarus, come out!” With these words, Jesus commands a powerful moment of new creation — God’s glorious future breaking into the present.
Jesus says, “Did I not tell you that if you faith, you will see the glory of God?”
When Jesus says, I am the resurrection and the life, He is pointing beyond the raising of Lazarus to His own resurrection when God the Father will call Him back from death and breathe the breath of life into His battered body once more. This statement anticipates the fact that God will choose a graveyard to be the location of His greatest miracle. On that beautiful resurrection Sunday, Jesus will rise victorious over sin and death and the devil himself. His heart will start beating again, never to stop. He lives to this day and He is calling your name just as He called the name of Lazarus.
And by faithing in Him, we participate in this same glorious resurrection life. We become new creations. In the place of our failures, Jesus reigns victorious. Death becomes the place for new life as darkness gives way to His light.
According to God’s promises, it all ends in glory. The story of God ends in the glory of God for the people of God. For those who faith, it all ends in glory.
Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
Jesus says, “Take off the grave clothes.” A living person shouldn’t be wrapped in a shroud. Grave clothes won’t do — not when you’ve been raised from the dead. Not when you’re in the presence of the One who says, I am the resurrection and the life.
Take off the grave clothes. When He says this to you, what does He mean?
If you’re clothed in Christ’s resurrection victory, there’s no room for grave clothes. That person doesn’t exist any more. You’re a new creation!
Do you hear him calling you by name today? What grave clothes need to be removed in order for you to be clothed in His resurrection victory?
A few years ago, our family took a trip to Israel. While we were there, we visited the Church of the Resurrection in the village of Abu Ghosh. This church is over a thousand years old, built in a predominantly Muslim community that is one of the possible locations for the biblical village of Emmaus. I had a powerful experience in the lower level of this church. Our group was upstairs in the main chapel and we were taking in the history of this beautiful place. I noticed some steps leading downstairs so I decided to slip away from the group to see what was down there. Little did I know I was actually entering a crypt. The lower level of the church functioned as a crypt for many years.
Isn’t that the way death operates? We slip into its arms gradually and slowly, often without warning. The enemy is the master of lulling us into death, all the while letting us think we’re pursuing life.
After going downstairs, I was immediately aware that this place was probably supposed to be off limits. But I figured I was already down there, I might as well look around. The downstairs area was almost completely dark, but as my eyes adjusted, I was able to notice a few things.
The church was built on top of an old Roman cistern, so when you go downstairs into the crypt, you’re actually in the area of the original pool that would have served the garrison stationed here until the 3rd century. In the middle of the floor, I saw a rectangular water tank the Romans built to collect water from the nearby spring. After the Romans abandoned this garrison, the church was eventually built on top of it. But the spring continues to fill the cistern with water to this day.
I thought to myself, “What an odd thing to find in a crypt. Water is a source of life — and here it is in this place of death.” And Jesus said, Whoever believes in me [faiths in me] … out of his heart will flow rivers of living water, John 7:38.
There is also a small window cut out that allows a sliver of light to flow into the crypt. It struck me as so powerful that I had to take a picture of it. Here I was, enveloped in darkness, in this place of death — and yet, I was drawn to this beacon of light and life. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of connection with Jesus. There in that tomb, looking at the glorious light pouring into the darkness, I had a deeper appreciation for the resurrection of Christ. Like Lazarus, I felt the Lord calling to me. It was the most worshipful experience I had in my entire time in the Holy Land — and it occurred in the darkness of a tomb. As our group was upstairs, singing praises in the beautiful chapel above, I was below in the crypt, weeping and giving thanks.
In all my time in Israel, this was where I most fully experienced the hope of glory, the Risen One.
My prayer for you on this Easter Sunday is that you would have your own experience of the hope of glory. I hope that you will find Him in your own darkness, in whatever tomb might have taken you in at the moment.
The empty tomb declares to us that it all ends in glory — the story of God ends in the glory of God for the people of God. Remember: we’re talking about a God who raised a dead man back to life. Wouldn’t you like to have that same resurrection power at work in your life?
Do you hear him calling your name today?
He’s saying, “Take off the grave clothes, my child.”
Become a new creation. Be raised to walk in newness of life by being washed in the living water of Jesus!
Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
In the name of Jesus Christ, the Sovereign Lord who makes all things new, he who has ears, let him hear.
James Keating has some great thoughts on the practice of Lent from his book Crossing the Desert: Lent and Conversion. Here are a few excerpts:
The word “lent” originated in Middle English and means “springtime.” By turning from sin and embracing moral goodness, by this act of denial, we experience a moral “springtime.”
It is a call to discipline the selfish part of the self and develop selflessness. This selfish part of the self needs to fast and do penance by visiting the “desert” of Lent and thus foster a growing dependence upon God.
Throughout Lent we either do things or refrain from doing things in order to become detached from the selfish self and attached to God alone.
Will we give up our agenda when love and moral goodness require it? Or will we cling to the selfish self out of fear that our own demands will be unmet?
The need to trust God is so paramount to moral and spiritual growth that a powerful religious symbol developed and became enshrined in Scripture to characterize this trust. This symbol is the desert. the desert immediately brings to mind aridity and aloneness – a vast, dry, isolated experience. It is this symbol, however, that carries the strongest of all claims: if you dare to come into the desert and open your heart to God – invite God to be God in God’s full providence – you will know salvation. The desert becomes the stage for God to woo us, to call the Church into union with God’s own self.
The season of Lent becomes a desert experience for us so we will come to depend upon God.
God’s providence does not depend upon our ability to provide for ourselves and / or control the activities of others or ourselves. It only demands that we be available to God working in us.
Lent asks whether we trust in God alone. Can we abandon the illusion of human self-sufficiency and live in obedience to God alone?
In Lent, God encourages the beloved to look again, to feel again, to trust again. ‘You will lose nothing by seeking me and being with me. All of your heart’s desires will be satisfied; just abide with me now in trust.’ What appears at first as barren to the desert entrant, soon discloses itself to be filled with blooms of new life. Hence the paradox of the spring-desert image of Lent. Here is the power of God in its utmost: Where one thought there was no life, God brings life.
In this way, the desert is the end of self-sufficiency and the beginning of communion.
already & not yet 