Jesus's Identity and Mine

I’ve been reading John in preparation for Easter, and I found Jesus’s worldview beautifully pictured in John 13:3-5 (ESV):

Image by falco from Pixabay

Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him. 

Jesus knew who He was, the Son of God and possessor of all things. He knew where He came from and where He was going, and He acted on this truth by serving His disciples. Then in the greatest act of love, He died for us.

His death and resurrection are the ultimate declaration of His identity. He is the Righteous Judge who won’t ignore the tangled mess of my sin. He is the Merciful Savior who paid the penalty for me. And He is God incarnate, life itself, so He couldn’t stay in the grave.

Now He invites me to find my identity in Him. He tells me where I came from, from His loving heart (Psalm 139:13-14). He guarantees my destiny in heaven if I accept His gift by faith (Ephesians 2:8-9). And He offers to remake me in the moment, taking away my sin and filth and giving me His holy, blameless heart (Colossians 1:22).

Then He calls me to go out and serve like He did.

If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet.  For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. John 13:14-15 ESV

When God Doesn't Speak

Image by skeeze from Pixabay

As we muddle our way through the coronavirus pandemic, I wish God would speak out loud. Should I cancel everything and stay home? Love says I shouldn't expose myself to germs and share them with the vulnerable people in my life. But are some activities safe? How can I know? God, just speak!

When King Ahab wanted to kill Elijah, God spoke clearly, "Hide yourself" (1 Kings 17:3). Elijah hid by the brook, not from fear but from a heart of obedience. When God said, "Show yourself to Ahab," Elijah immediately obeyed (1 Kings 18:1-2).

But God wasn't always that clear. The next time Elijah's life was in danger, he was afraid and ran. The Bible doesn't tell us whether this was God's will. God miraculously provided food for Elijah's journey, but when he arrived at Mount Horeb, God asked him, "What are you doing here, Elijah?"

Was Elijah right or wrong? Does it matter? God in His mercy gave food and comfort to this faithful prophet. God spoke to Elijah in a still small voice, and in the silence Elijah could hear.

I wonder if fear of the coronavirus is forcing us to face our greater fear--our fear of silence. I didn't do too well my first couple days of self-imposed confinement. I couldn't stop. I emailed assignments to my students. I hunted for music to practice. I cleaned. I chatted with friends online. I left little space for God to speak.

Can I learn to embrace the silence? Can I stop to listen? It won't be easy, but I'll do it. I'll learn because it's the one thing I'm sure God is saying to me.

"Be still, and know that I am God..." Psalm 46:10

The Stinking Gifts of Christmas

Image by AgnesR from Pixabay

After a whir of concerts, recitals, and Christmas gigs, I was drained. I might play “Silver Bells” with its dream of “children laughing, people passing, meeting smile after smile,” but that wasn’t happening in my heart. I was being irritable with the people I love the most, and I was irritated with myself for being that way.


If I paused and painted a picture of Christmas, you wouldn’t see a “Holly, Jolly Christmas.” When I strip away the veneer of the carols, my soul goes back to the Bible in Isaiah 1:5b-6 (ESV):

The whole head is sick,
    and the whole heart faint.
From the sole of the foot even to the head,
    there is no soundness in it,
but bruises and sores
    and raw wounds;
they are not pressed out or bound up
    or softened with oil. 

That’s me this Christmas. I reached the end of myself, and it wasn’t pretty, but then God came down. He painted for me a picture of Christmas in Isaiah, setting the stage in chapter 1.

His people were laden with iniquity (Isaiah 1:4). Their evil deeds weighed them down and broke their backs, yet they stubbornly plodded on. They were wounded and suffering (Isaiah 1:5-6), yet they refused to seek help from the God who wanted to heal them. Instead, they offered sacrifices and celebrated their religious feasts, pretending everything was okay.

“Enough!” God cried.

Your new moons and your appointed feasts
    my soul hates;
they have become a burden to me;
    I am weary of bearing them. (Isaiah 1:14 ESV)

This empty religiosity was one load God refused to carry. “Give Me everything else,” God said. “Give Me your sin, your pain, your sorrow. Just don’t make Me carry your hypocritical ceremonies.” We find this promise in Isaiah 53:4-6 (ESV) where God foretold the coming of His Son Jesus:

Surely he has borne our griefs
    and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
    smitten by God, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions;
    he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
    and with his wounds we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray;
    we have turned—every one—to his own way;
and the Lord has laid on him
    the iniquity of us all. 

God doesn’t want me to pretend I have it all together. He yearns for me to be honest with Him that I’m broken and I need Him to heal me and fill my heart. So when I wrap my gifts for God this Christmas, I’m not putting great deeds of righteousness under His tree. I’m giving Him my sin and my sickness because I trust Him. He came to earth for this reason, to carry my yuck, to receive my stinking gifts of Christmas. He loves me that much.

Embracing Turkey Day

Image by PublicDomainImages from Pixabay

The grocery store was a zoo Monday evening. With snow coming everyone needed their Thanksgiving shopping done immediately. What would Turkey Day be without a turkey?

Our national day of thanksgiving has turned into a day of food and football, but I'm not fighting it this year. I'm embracing it, the food part at least.

Worship in the Old Testament seldom happened without food. The Israelites took their sacrifices to the temple, offered them to God, and then ate of the sacrifices. If the offering was particularly holy, only the priests could eat. The food was sacred.

Jesus's death on the cross has ended the Old Testament sacrifices, but God invites us to celebrate every meal as a holy offering to Him. In 1 Timothy 4:3-5 God tells us we may eat anything we want. There are no longer forbidden foods "for everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer" (ESV).

I always read these verses as permission to eat bacon, one of the forbidden foods in the Old Testament. I missed the significance of the words made holy. This is the same term used in the Old Testament to describe the grain and sin offerings--they were so holy that anything which touched them would be made holy (Leviticus 6:18, 27).

We find the word again in the Lord's Prayer: "Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name." Our food can be holy like the name of God. This changes the way I think about turkey.

There is no dividing line between Thanksgiving and Turkey Day. When I receive my food as a gift from my holy Father, eating it is a sacred act, just as sacred as eating food from the altar.

So enjoy the feast, add bacon if you want, but do it all as an act of worship to the God who daily showers us with blessings. And may you have a very happy Turkey Day.

So whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God. 1 Corinthians 10:31 ESV

The Lost Art of Sitting

Conservatory Coffee from Pixabay

Facebook is a necessary evil in my life. I'm thankful I can stay in touch with friends around the world, but when my loved ones are hurting, social media isn't enough.

Too often I click on Message and find I have no words. Words are hollow in the middle of our pain.

As I hunt for an acceptable sentence or two to reach out and share my love, I think of Job in the Bible. His friends did well for a week. They cried. They tore their clothes and sprinkled dust on their heads. Most importantly, they sat with him and didn't say a word. Only after a week did they open their mouths and fail completely.

That's how I feel on Facebook. If you're hurting right now, I wish I could sit with you. I don't want to say anything. I just want you to know my love.

The Monotony of Worship

I was sipping coffee and reading a few chapters in my Bible Saturday morning when I came to Hebrews 10:11 (ESV), "And every priest stands daily at his service, offering repeatedly the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins."

Photo by thesuccess at morguefile.com

"How monotonous!" I thought. Can you imagine going through the same rituals day after day and wondering if they did any good?

Instead of beautiful moments of worship, this verse reminds me of the Greek myth of Sisyphus, forever struggling to roll a boulder up the hill only to watch it tumble back down. But maybe that's the point.

Maybe God wanted them to glimpse the pointlessness of it all, so they would understand none of their good works or rituals could make them right with Him. They needed something greater. They needed Someone greater, as the very next verse states, "But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God" (ESV).

So the next time I'm too tired to feel anything during a worship service, when my mind is a fog and my heart is numb, I'll accept the feeling as a gift. A reminder that it doesn't depend on me. God has done it all.

The God who Runs, the God who Walks

Photo by ttronslien at morguefile.com

My pastor preached a moving sermon last Sunday about the prodigal son. He dramatized the shame this son brought on his family when he demanded his inheritance early. "Dad, I wish you were dead," the son implied.

Then came the moment when the the inheritance was spent, and the son found himself feeding pigs, unclean animals both physically and ceremonially. The son finally felt his own shame.

But his father didn't hold back. In a culture based on honor and respect where men don't run, the father did just that. He abandoned it all and ran to meet his returning son.

We see this as the epitome of love and grace, yet I seldom feel the impact of the story because I can't see myself in the prodigal son. That's not my personality. I follow the rules.

The grace that touches me most comes at the end of the story when the father walks out to his older son, who was fussing, "You never threw a party for me."

What greater shame could the father bear? Having to walk out and beg his unrepentant son to come in?

But that is what God did for me. I will forever be grateful to the God who walked out to me and said, "Jenny, I love you. I'm throwing a party, and I want you to be part of it. Will you come in?"