Revival for the Weary

            I’ve been praying and thinking about the revival meetings beginning this Sunday.  What exactly is revival and why should we desire it?  The human heart is so easily distracted as it continually latches onto whatever might contribute to its feelings of significance.  We need to believe we are OK, that we matter.  We live for our work, our kid's success, our reputation, our influence, our relationships—anything we can use to give our lives meaning.  

Our inner conversation goes something like this: “I know I matter because I’m successful.  I know my life has meaning because I live for my kids.  I know I have purpose because people respect me.  I know I’m worthwhile because someone loves me.” We can give all we have to these idols, building our lives around them, becoming a slave to them, unable to imagine life without them. 

The first problem with these sources of validation is they are notoriously unstable.  We can lose a job.  Kids can disappoint.  Reputations can be tainted, influence can diminish, and relationships can end.  And if those were the source of our identity, we won’t experience regular grief and sadness—we will feel like we can’t go on living. 

            This identity implosion and psychological despair can lead to suicide or various addictions, even violence toward whoever got between us and our functional savior.  And even though it was this idol that cursed us, we can become quite angry at God. 

            The deceptive nature of this kind of idolatry lies in one’s ability to simultaneously live very moral and even religious lives.  We can attend church, give to the poor, and lead other Christians, all the while thinking, “If only I could achieve this, then I would feel good about myself.  If only I can keep this relationship, then I will truly feel like I matter.”    

In college, my own sense of self-value was attached to academic performance.  Every exam, depending on how I did, could alter my mood for days.  My first B on a semester grade-report made me feel like a failure.  As long as I did well, I felt acceptable.

This is the glory of the gospel.  God will accept you perfectly because Jesus was rejected completely.  No need to seek validation and self-worth in our works and achievements.  When we choose to trust in Christ, we have approval and acceptance from the only One who matters. 

So how well do you know your own heart?  What do you depend on to give meaning to your life?  Whose approval comforts you as long as you have it?  What do you strive to accomplish so you can feel complete?  What is it you feel you have to get, or have to keep in order to feel acceptable?  Is it time for a revival?

            "Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light." --Matthew 11:28-30

Invitation to Revival

           You’re formally invited to the First Baptist Church of Allen, as we have scheduled February 16-19 as a time in which we will seek revival.  Much has been said about revivals.  Men have studied the great revivals and awakenings, trying to discern if a formula could be used to produce spiritual renewal.  Today, many still attempt different formulas to manufacture a revival, often only producing spiritual placebos.
          
            Ernest Gordon was a British soldier in World War II who was captured by the Japanese, and he was made to work with thousands of other POW’s on what was called the “Death Railroad.”  It ran along the valley of the Quai River in Thailand, conditions so awful that almost two-thousand prisoners died for every five miles of railroad built.  It got so bad, soon the prisoners were all at each other’s throats. 

Gordon writes:
            “Death was everywhere, and as conditions worsened our lives were poisoned by selfishness, hatred, and fear.  Formerly we had huddled together, believing there was safety in numbers, and still showing consideration for one another.  Now that was gone.  Existence had become so miserable, the odds so heavy against us, that nothing mattered except to survive.  We lived by the rule of the jungle, red in tooth and claw.  It was a case of, ‘I look out for myself, and to hell with everyone else.’  But one afternoon something happened.  A shovel was missing at the end of the day.  The officer in charge became enraged, demanding the missing shovel be produced or else.  When no one in the squadron had volunteered taking the shovel, the officer took out his gun and threated to shoot everyone on the spot.  Suddenly one man stepped forward.  “I took it,” he said.  The officer put away his gun, took a shovel and beat the man to death.  But at the second tool check, no shovel was missing.  The word spread like wildfire through the whole camp, ‘An innocent man had been willing to die to save everyone else.’  The incident had a huge effect.  We began to treat each other like brothers.  Another man was caught trading with the locals for medicine for a dying comrade, and was sentenced to death.  But he submitted to it, reading from a little Bible, then cheering up the chaplain right before his execution.  Death was still with us, no doubt about that.  But we were being slowly freed from its destructive grip.”

            It was sacrificial love, one man giving his life for others that changed independent survival into brotherhood.  And that was just a human being.  The Son of God gave himself for you.  Jesus Christ stepped forward and was beaten into the ground to save us from our sins.  When seeking revival, that’s the only formula that matters. 

 

            Please, I invite you join us.

 

          

Christmas for the Abandoned

I read last month about a prison inmate denied parole for the 16^th time.  He repeatedly stabbed young bartender, Kitty Genovese, in 1964 Queens, New York.  The attack made national headlines, as some 38 people heard her crying, "He's stabbing me!"  They looked down from apartment windows, watching the brutal assault of the 105-pound victim.  None risked coming down to save her.  None became vulnerable.

The Apostle John wrote, “The Word became flesh…”

In other words, the Creator joined his creation, becoming soft in the person of Christ, not only vulnerable to human frailty, but having that vulnerability exploited by friends and enemies. 

The Lord knew the pain of losing a parent, as it is appears Joseph died earlier in his life.  Christ knew the sting of criticism as his own family misunderstood him, and He knew the blunt reality of betrayal as his closest friends left him to violence. 

The best counselors aren't merely educated about pain and disappointment, but they've stood at the graveside, slept on tear-stained pillows, and given cries to their despair.  Isaiah referred to Christ as the Wonderful Counselor; one who knows your hurt by way of his own broken heart.  This is a Savior you can go to.

But you may say, “I do go to Him.  I do cry out, hoping God will hear, but He doesn’t answer my prayers.”  This gets to the heart of Christmas, for Christ experienced this as well. 

In the Garden of Gethsemane, Christ prayed for an alternative to the cross; one not subjecting him to the infinite crushing of his own heart.  He prayed with tears for that cup to pass from him.  His prayer was denied.   

Kitty Genovese’s attacker fled when lights came on in the windows above.  After a few minutes, when no one came down, he returned and stabbed her until she died. 

The Lord heard our cries and came down, vulnerable to human misery.  But the Lord’s temporal afflictions aren’t the reason we celebrate Christ’s birth, for they merely foreshadowed something more terminal.

Mark 15:34 says Jesus cried out from the cross, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" Christ submitted to the ultimate and infinite affliction of divine abandonment, separated from his Father.  This He did as a substitute for all who would be believe in Him.  Faith in Christ sees his birth as the first step on a path leading to his death, receiving the divine abandonment we deserve for longing for an identity apart from Him.

Kitty Genovese must have looked toward the front of her building, expecting her neighbors to come pouring out, rushing to her defense.  The feelings of abandonment must have been overwhelming. 

To trust in Christ as our substitute is to be assured God will never abandon us, even when it feels like He has. 

 

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Heroism

The latest installment of Superman was viewed by yours truly.  A good hero movie can occupy my DVD player any night of the week and twice on Sunday.  Many have speculated as to why the hero flicks keep coming, or more succinctly why throngs of people keep paying to see them.  What is it about these often conflicted champions that arrest our attention, especially considering the usual two-dimensionality of character and plot, as very few contemporary portrayals delve very deep into original moral or existential dilemmas?

But maybe it’s not the complexity of these characters that continue to arouse the anticipation of hopeful patrons.  Perhaps it’s much simpler, like the struggle for truth, justice, and the righteous way. It seems everyone is born with some foggy notion of right and wrong, as the human heart suspects that personal sacrifice for the greater good is indeed the greatest good.

One day a neighbor knocked on the door to tell me William had wrecked his bike and needed me.  I ran down the block to see a knee skinned up good and proper.  So I picked him up and carried him a block and a half home.  I never felt more heroic.  After doctoring him up, I asked him what he said to the neighbor when he had his wreck, and he replied, “I told them to go get Mom.”  This reminded me that I may be made in God's image, therefore capable of heroic acts, yet in no real sense am I a hero.

 Blaise Pascal said,

                       “Let man now judge his own worth, let him love himself, for there is within
                       him a nature capable of good; but that is no reason for him to love the vileness
                       within himself. . . Let him both love and hate himself; he has within him the
                       capacity for knowing truth and being happy, but he possesses no truth which is
                       either abiding or satisfactory.”

Our heroic acts are less heroic when considering the darkness of our motives. I did consider it my honor to carry my mildly wounded son home, but I also couldn’t help feel a bit exalted, even justified. Like most, I have previous volumes of very un-heroic engagements as well as the regrets that come with them. Yet, the last thing I need is noble behavior that makes me feel good about myself, because any heroics I perform are only an extension of a true Hero. The Apostle Paul said in Galatians 2:20, “And I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.”

Like fiction’s flawed heroes, the average person possesses the potential for noble heroics, but most recognize their own need for rescue. The insecure dream of being saved from the haunting feelings of inadequacy. The lonely hope to be liberated from the chains of solitude. The crushed spirit prays for someone to make them whole. And the sinner looks for deliverance from the coming Judgment.

The Christian Gospel proclaims the source of these needed provisions. Christ took our inadequacy upon himself, that we may know God’s acceptance; He was left alone by his Father, that we may have fellowship with God forever; He was crushed in spirit, that we may be made whole; and as Paul said in 2 Corinthians 5:21, “He made the One who did not know sin to be sin for us, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.”    

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The Cult at Westboro

Part of me hates to dignify the Westboro Cult with a blog post, but in light of the tragedy in Connecticut, the Mephistophelian fringe of Topeka has resurfaced, grinding on American consciousness. The inconsistencies between Westboro’s message and biblical Christianity are immediately evident, and much tedious effort could be given to their ill-informed use of scripture. But more fundamental errors are at work in Westboro.

The most observable trait of the group is its inflammatory speech, which by definition is designed to arouse anger and hostility. This seems to be completely antithetical to the rules of engagement exemplified by the Apostles. Paul wrote in Colossians 4:6, “Your speech should always be gracious, seasoned with salt.”

There’re generally two types of discourse on either side of controversy, seditious and conciliatory, both with different outcomes. One produces strife, the other curiosity. If Westboro had any God-ordained mission to win converts, they would heed Proverbs 16:21 which reminds us, “pleasant speech increases learning.”

But it’s not only the tenor of Westboro’s rhetoric that’s problematic, but also the content of their rant, or lack thereof. Not the faintest resemblance of the biblical gospel can be found in Westboro’s message, but rather they rail almost solely against homosexuality. They fail to communicate enough doctrine to even be accused of preaching a false gospel. As a result, there message only qualifies as the hateful raving of misguided souls, led by the Enemy himself. Truly a tragic masquerade.

Westboro is also unwilling to entertain offers of correction. Their website reportedly says, “Zero is the number of nanoseconds of sleep we lose over the opinions of others.” Being willfully unteachable is a dangerous state, even for true believers. Proverbs 19:27 says, “If you stop listening to instruction, my son, you will stray from the words of knowledge.”

So what needs to be said? Numbers 14:18 says, “The Lord is slow to anger and rich in faithful love, forgiving wrongdoing and rebellion. But He will not leave the guilty unpunished.”

Yes, God is good. He is so good, He will punish evil. If a man who breaks the law comes before a judge, and that judge fails to bring justice to bear upon the situation, he would be considered a poor judge. God is a perfect judge, and will bring perfect justice to bear upon the sin of mankind, which includes us all.

Yet, there is another dimension of God’s goodness which is displayed in His mercy. God offers the sinner forgiveness on the grounds that He himself provided a means for justice to be done. The message of Christmas is God becoming a man. This Jesus Christ lived the sinless life we should have lived, a life of perfect trust in the Father. Then He died on the cross, receiving in Himself all the Father’s wrath for our sins. Three days later, Jesus rose from the dead, displaying the sufficiency of His sacrifice to appease Divine justice, therefore validating His offer of mercy to the weary sinner.

“Therefore repent and turn back, that your sins may be wiped out so that seasons of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord,” Acts 3:19.

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Where I Learned Courage

The Oklahoma town crawled with a population of eight-hundred. Some enjoyed small town living, others tolerated it, and yet others didn’t know any different. One woman, navigating life a couple of clicks south of garden-variety dysfunction, shared low-income housing on the north side with a man her boys simply referred to as “him.”

Three years into her two-year degree, nursing textbook in her lap, wrestling with concepts and terminology foreign to a woman twenty years out of high school. Her chair was part of a matching living room suite which brought comments from his relatives, “He must really love you.” And now he and his brother towered over her, demanding her financial-aid.

The worst kind of abuse lingered in her past, and few understood the scope of its defilement, tainting every choice of employment, friendship, and romantic interest. Enrolling in junior college already called for a paradigm shift in her thinking about the future, and dropping out would only cement her legacy as a victim.

These defining moments aren’t made by the converging of events upon a point in time, but rather they leap into existence on the heels of a choice. Choices are generally mundane, but those that defy precedent come with risks, and sometimes violence. They challenge the status quo, forging a new standard, leaving behind the inescapable and lunging for the impossible.

She averted her eyes back to her studies and answered softly, “I can’t do that.” Such a refusal normally meant ignorance. But she knew him. The length of the next moment allowed the danger to become a tangible force in the room, but this night something else was present as well. Courage.

Breaking from years of conditioning and complex senses of self-preservation is wrought with fear. She may have feared him, or she may have feared leaving familiarity, but I suspect she had a revived fear of the Lord. For the courage to turn from such night comes from the dawning of conviction.

Mom finished her nursing degree when I was in boot camp and soon moved out. She has continued to display great courage right up to this day.

Reflections on Grief and Revelation

When someone close to us dies, they rarely fade from our lives, allowing us to grieve in manageable increments. Instead, it’s often a violent tearing, for death knows nothing of gentleness, nothing of grace, and nothing of our desperate bargaining. And like Martha we say, “Lord, if only you had been here…”

If only the Healer had been there, her brother wouldn’t have died, and she and her sister wouldn’t feel as if they were dying as well. And into their anguish Jesus speaks, “Your brother will rise again.”

A grander narrative of scripture culminated in a resurrection of the dead. Martha knew this. It lingered in the consciousness of many Jews, but Jesus was speaking of something a bit more imminent and much more revealing, as He states, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

The point is inescapable. There are depths of understanding achieved only when pain and grief are brought to bear on the human heart, for the deepest truths of Christ’s identity are never more relevant than when death is present.

Jesus explains, “The one who believes in Me, even if he dies, will live.” The Lord applies his identity directly to Martha’s grief over the physical death of her brother, but then Jesus reveals truth deeper still. “Everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die—ever.”

Just as physical death is a shadow of the greater reality of spiritual separation from the living God, Jesus’ raising of Lazarus would foreshadow a greater resurrection to a life that would span eternity.

The concept of forever-ness brings profound considerations, for when the pebble of momentary experience is dropped into the ocean of eternity, one’s perspective gains alarming clarity. Yet, despite these philosophically daunting themes, the question posed by Jesus is simply, “Do you believe this?” The act of believing is relational. For the One offering life without death could only have love as a motivation, and Martha’s act of believing moves the relationship forward.

Martha was feeling the pain of loss, and Jesus’ offer was simply more of Himself, for she no longer knew Jesus as a mere healer, but as the Son of God. She learned this as she hurt, and I wonder if she whispered Job 42:5, “I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear, But now my eye sees You.”

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