starting off a new study in the new year...
18 January 2008
11.30am @ Top Floor
18 January 2008
11.30am @ Top Floor
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
WHEN I SAY I AM A CHRISTIAN (Maya Angelou)
-
WHEN I SAY I AM A CHRISTIAN
by Maya Angelou
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not shouting "I'm clean livin'."
I'm whispering "I was lost,
Now I'm found and forgiven."
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I don't speak of this with pride.
I'm confessing that I stumble
and need Christ to be my guide.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not trying to be strong.
I'm professing that I'm weak
And need His strength to carry on.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not bragging of success.
I'm admitting I have failed
And need God to clean my mess.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not claiming to be perfect,
My flaws are far too visible
But, God believes I am worth it.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I still feel the sting of pain.
I have my share of heartaches
So I call upon His name.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not holier than thou,
I'm just a simple sinner
Who received God's good grace, somehow!
Friday, November 7, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
MARTHA
Martha
by Max Lucado
Every church needs a Martha. Change that. Every church needs a hundred Marthas. Sleeves rolled and ready, they keep the pace for the church. Because of Marthas, the church budget gets balanced, the church babies get bounced, and the church building gets built. You don’t appreciate Marthas until a Martha is missing, and then all the Marys and Lazaruses are scrambling around looking for the keys and the thermostats and the overhead projectors.
Marthas are the Energizer bunnies of the church. They keep going and going and going. They store strength like a camel stores water. Since they don’t seek the spotlight, they don’t live off the applause. That’s not to say they don’t need it. They just aren’t addicted to it.
Marthas have a mission. In fact, if Marthas have a weakness, it is their tendency to elevate the mission over the Master. Remember when Martha did that? A younger Martha invites a younger Jesus to come for dinner. Jesus accepts and brings his disciples.
The scene Luke describes has Mary seated and Martha fuming. Martha is angry because Mary is, horror of horrors, sitting at the feet of Jesus. How impractical! How irrelevant! How unnecessary! I mean, who has time to sit and listen when there is bread to be baked, tables to be set, and souls to be saved? So Martha complained, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me alone to do all the work? Tell her to help me” (Luke 10:40).
All of a sudden Martha has gone from serving Jesus to making demands of Jesus. The room falls silent. The disciples duck their eyes. Mary flushes red. And Jesus speaks.
“Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things. Only one thing is important. Mary has chosen the better thing, and it will never be taken away from her” (Luke 10:41–42).
Apparently Martha got the point, for later we find her serving again.
“Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume” (John 12:2–3 NIV).
Is Mary in the kitchen? No she is worshiping, for that is what she loves to do. But this time Martha doesn’t object. She has learned that there is a place for praise and worship, and that is what Mary is doing. And what is Mary’s part in the dinner? She brings a pint of very expensive perfume and pours it on Jesus’ feet, then wipes his feet with her hair. The smell of the perfume fills the house, just like the sound of praise can fill a church.
An earlier Martha would have objected. Such an act was too lavish, too extravagant, too generous. But this mature Martha has learned that just as there is a place in the kingdom of God for sacrificial service, there is also a place for extravagant praise.
From
Cast of Characters
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2008) Max Lucado
Now Available
by Max Lucado
Every church needs a Martha. Change that. Every church needs a hundred Marthas. Sleeves rolled and ready, they keep the pace for the church. Because of Marthas, the church budget gets balanced, the church babies get bounced, and the church building gets built. You don’t appreciate Marthas until a Martha is missing, and then all the Marys and Lazaruses are scrambling around looking for the keys and the thermostats and the overhead projectors.
Marthas are the Energizer bunnies of the church. They keep going and going and going. They store strength like a camel stores water. Since they don’t seek the spotlight, they don’t live off the applause. That’s not to say they don’t need it. They just aren’t addicted to it.
Marthas have a mission. In fact, if Marthas have a weakness, it is their tendency to elevate the mission over the Master. Remember when Martha did that? A younger Martha invites a younger Jesus to come for dinner. Jesus accepts and brings his disciples.
The scene Luke describes has Mary seated and Martha fuming. Martha is angry because Mary is, horror of horrors, sitting at the feet of Jesus. How impractical! How irrelevant! How unnecessary! I mean, who has time to sit and listen when there is bread to be baked, tables to be set, and souls to be saved? So Martha complained, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me alone to do all the work? Tell her to help me” (Luke 10:40).
All of a sudden Martha has gone from serving Jesus to making demands of Jesus. The room falls silent. The disciples duck their eyes. Mary flushes red. And Jesus speaks.
“Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things. Only one thing is important. Mary has chosen the better thing, and it will never be taken away from her” (Luke 10:41–42).
Apparently Martha got the point, for later we find her serving again.
“Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume” (John 12:2–3 NIV).
Is Mary in the kitchen? No she is worshiping, for that is what she loves to do. But this time Martha doesn’t object. She has learned that there is a place for praise and worship, and that is what Mary is doing. And what is Mary’s part in the dinner? She brings a pint of very expensive perfume and pours it on Jesus’ feet, then wipes his feet with her hair. The smell of the perfume fills the house, just like the sound of praise can fill a church.
An earlier Martha would have objected. Such an act was too lavish, too extravagant, too generous. But this mature Martha has learned that just as there is a place in the kingdom of God for sacrificial service, there is also a place for extravagant praise.
From
Cast of Characters
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2008) Max Lucado
Now Available
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
YOUR PLACE IN GOD'S BAND
by Max Lucado
Two of my teenage years were spent carrying a tuba in my high school marching band. My mom wanted me to learn to read music, and the choir was full while the band was a tuba-tooter short, so I signed up. Not necessarily what you would describe as a call from God, but it wasn’t a wasted experience either.
I had a date with a twirler.
I learned to paint white shoe polish on school buses.
And I learned some facts about harmony that I’ll pass on to you.
I marched next to the bass-drum player. What a great sound. Boom. Boom. Boom. Deep, cavernous, thundering.
And at the end of my flank marched the flute section. Oh, how their music soared. Whispering, lifting, rising into the clouds.
Ahead of me, at the front of my line, was our first-chair trumpet. He could raise the spirit. He could raise the flag. He could have raised the roof on the stadium if we’d had one.
The soft flute
needs
the brash trumpet
needs
the steady drum
needs
the soft flute
needs
the brash trumpet.
Get the idea? The operative word is need. They need each other.
By themselves they make music. But together, they make magic.
Now, what I saw two decades ago in the band, I see today in the church. We need each other. Not all of us play the same instrument. Some believers are lofty, and others are solid. Some keep the pace while others lead the band. Not all of us make the same sound. Some are soft, and others are loud. And not all of us have the same ability. But each of us has a place.
Some play the drums (like Martha).
Some play the flute (like Mary).
And others sound the trumpet (like Lazarus).
Mary, Martha, and Lazarus were like family to Jesus. After the Lord raised Lazarus from the dead, they decided to give a dinner for Jesus. They decided to honor him by having a party on his behalf (see John 12:2).
They didn’t argue over the best seat. They didn’t resent each other’s abilities. They didn’t try to outdo each other. All three worked together with one purpose. But each one fulfilled that purpose in his or her unique manner. Martha served; she always kept everyone in step. Mary worshiped; she anointed her Lord with an extravagant gift, and its aroma filled the air. Lazarus had a story to tell, and he was ready to tell it.
Three people, each one with a different skill, a different ability. But each one of equal value.
From
Cast of Characters
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2008) Max Lucado
Two of my teenage years were spent carrying a tuba in my high school marching band. My mom wanted me to learn to read music, and the choir was full while the band was a tuba-tooter short, so I signed up. Not necessarily what you would describe as a call from God, but it wasn’t a wasted experience either.
I had a date with a twirler.
I learned to paint white shoe polish on school buses.
And I learned some facts about harmony that I’ll pass on to you.
I marched next to the bass-drum player. What a great sound. Boom. Boom. Boom. Deep, cavernous, thundering.
And at the end of my flank marched the flute section. Oh, how their music soared. Whispering, lifting, rising into the clouds.
Ahead of me, at the front of my line, was our first-chair trumpet. He could raise the spirit. He could raise the flag. He could have raised the roof on the stadium if we’d had one.
The soft flute
needs
the brash trumpet
needs
the steady drum
needs
the soft flute
needs
the brash trumpet.
Get the idea? The operative word is need. They need each other.
By themselves they make music. But together, they make magic.
Now, what I saw two decades ago in the band, I see today in the church. We need each other. Not all of us play the same instrument. Some believers are lofty, and others are solid. Some keep the pace while others lead the band. Not all of us make the same sound. Some are soft, and others are loud. And not all of us have the same ability. But each of us has a place.
Some play the drums (like Martha).
Some play the flute (like Mary).
And others sound the trumpet (like Lazarus).
Mary, Martha, and Lazarus were like family to Jesus. After the Lord raised Lazarus from the dead, they decided to give a dinner for Jesus. They decided to honor him by having a party on his behalf (see John 12:2).
They didn’t argue over the best seat. They didn’t resent each other’s abilities. They didn’t try to outdo each other. All three worked together with one purpose. But each one fulfilled that purpose in his or her unique manner. Martha served; she always kept everyone in step. Mary worshiped; she anointed her Lord with an extravagant gift, and its aroma filled the air. Lazarus had a story to tell, and he was ready to tell it.
Three people, each one with a different skill, a different ability. But each one of equal value.
From
Cast of Characters
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2008) Max Lucado
Thursday, October 23, 2008
HE IS WAITING IN THE MIDST OF THE STORM
by Max Lucado
Peter knows he is in trouble.
The winds roar down onto the Sea of Galilee like a hawk on a rat. Lightning zigzags across the black sky. The clouds vibrate with thunder. The rain taps, then pops, then slaps against the deck of the boat until everyone aboard is soaked and shaking. Ten-foot waves pick them up and slam them down again with bonejarring force.
These drenched men don’t look like a team of apostles who are only a decade away from changing the world. And you can be sure of one thing. The one with the widest eyes is the one with the biggest biceps—Peter. He’s seen these storms before. He’s seen the wreckage and bloated bodies float to shore. He knows what the fury of wind and wave can do. And he knows that times like this are not times to make a name for yourself; they’re times to get some help.
That is why, when he sees Jesus walking on the water toward the boat, he is the first to say, “Lord, if it’s you … tell me to come to you on the water.” (Matthew 14:28)
He is aware of two facts: He’s going down, and Jesus is staying up. And it doesn’t take him too long to decide where he would rather be.
Perhaps a better interpretation of his request would be, “Jeeeeeeeesus. If that is you, then get me out of here!”
“Come on” is the invitation.
And Peter doesn’t have to be told twice. It’s not every day that you walk on water through waves that are taller than you are. But when faced with the alternative of sure death or possible life, Peter knows which one he wants.
The first few steps go well. But a few strides out onto the water, and he forgets to look to the One who got him there in the first place, and down he plunges.
Peter’s response may lack class—it probably wouldn’t get him on the cover of Gentleman’s Quarterly or even Sports Illustrated—but it gets him out of some deep water:
“Help me!”
And since Peter would rather swallow pride than water, a hand comes through the rain and pulls him up.
The message is clear.
As long as Jesus is one of many options, he is no option. As long as you can carry your burdens alone, you don’t need a burden bearer. As long as your situation brings you no grief, you will receive no comfort. And as long as you can take him or leave him, you might as well leave him, because he won’t be taken half-heartedly.
But when you mourn, when you get to the point of sorrow for your sins, when you admit that you have no other option but to cast all your cares on him, and when there is truly no other name that you can call, then cast all your cares on him, for he is waiting in the midst of the storm.
From
The Applause of Heaven
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1999) Max Lucado
Peter knows he is in trouble.
The winds roar down onto the Sea of Galilee like a hawk on a rat. Lightning zigzags across the black sky. The clouds vibrate with thunder. The rain taps, then pops, then slaps against the deck of the boat until everyone aboard is soaked and shaking. Ten-foot waves pick them up and slam them down again with bonejarring force.
These drenched men don’t look like a team of apostles who are only a decade away from changing the world. And you can be sure of one thing. The one with the widest eyes is the one with the biggest biceps—Peter. He’s seen these storms before. He’s seen the wreckage and bloated bodies float to shore. He knows what the fury of wind and wave can do. And he knows that times like this are not times to make a name for yourself; they’re times to get some help.
That is why, when he sees Jesus walking on the water toward the boat, he is the first to say, “Lord, if it’s you … tell me to come to you on the water.” (Matthew 14:28)
He is aware of two facts: He’s going down, and Jesus is staying up. And it doesn’t take him too long to decide where he would rather be.
Perhaps a better interpretation of his request would be, “Jeeeeeeeesus. If that is you, then get me out of here!”
“Come on” is the invitation.
And Peter doesn’t have to be told twice. It’s not every day that you walk on water through waves that are taller than you are. But when faced with the alternative of sure death or possible life, Peter knows which one he wants.
The first few steps go well. But a few strides out onto the water, and he forgets to look to the One who got him there in the first place, and down he plunges.
Peter’s response may lack class—it probably wouldn’t get him on the cover of Gentleman’s Quarterly or even Sports Illustrated—but it gets him out of some deep water:
“Help me!”
And since Peter would rather swallow pride than water, a hand comes through the rain and pulls him up.
The message is clear.
As long as Jesus is one of many options, he is no option. As long as you can carry your burdens alone, you don’t need a burden bearer. As long as your situation brings you no grief, you will receive no comfort. And as long as you can take him or leave him, you might as well leave him, because he won’t be taken half-heartedly.
But when you mourn, when you get to the point of sorrow for your sins, when you admit that you have no other option but to cast all your cares on him, and when there is truly no other name that you can call, then cast all your cares on him, for he is waiting in the midst of the storm.
From
The Applause of Heaven
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1999) Max Lucado
Saturday, October 18, 2008
HE CAN HEAL THE HURT
by Max Lucado
Grudge is one of those words that defines itself. Its very sound betrays its meaning.
Say it slowly: “Grr-uuuud-ge.”
It starts with a growl. “Grr …” Like a bear with bad breath coming out of hibernation or a mangy mongrel defending his bone in an alley. “Grrr …”
Remove a GR from the word grudge and replace it with SL and you have the junk that grudge bearers trudge through. Sludge. Black, thick, ankle-deep resentment that steals the bounce from the step. No joyful skips through the meadows. No healthy hikes up the mountain. Just day after day of walking into the storm, shoulders bent against the wind, and feet dragging through all the muck life has delivered.
Is this the way you are coping with your hurts? Are you allowing your hurts to turn into hates? If so, ask yourself: Is it working? Has your hatred done you any good? Has your resentment brought you any relief, any peace? Has it granted you any joy?
Let’s say you get even. Let’s say you get him back. Let’s say she gets what she deserves. Let’s say your fantasy of fury runs its ferocious course and you return all your pain with interest. Imagine yourself standing over the corpse of the one you have hated. Will you now be free?
The writer of the following letter thought she would be. She thought her revenge would bring release. But she learned otherwise.
"I caught my husband making love to another woman. He swore it would never happen again. He begged me to forgive him, but I could not—would not. I was so bitter and so incapable of swallowing my pride that I could think of nothing but revenge. I was going to make him pay and pay dearly. I’d have my pound of flesh.
I filed for divorce, even though my children begged me not to.
Even after the divorce, my husband tried for two years to win me back. I refused to have anything to do with him. He had struck first; now I was striking back. All I wanted was to make him pay.
Finally he gave up and married a lovely young widow with a couple of small children. He began rebuilding his life—without me.
I see them occasionally, and he looks so happy. They all do. And here I am—a lonely, old, miserable woman who allowed her selfish pride and foolish stubbornness to ruin her life."
Unfaithfulness is wrong. Revenge is bad. But the worst part of all is that, without forgiveness, bitterness is all that is left.
The state of your heart dictates whether you harbor a grudge or give grace, seek self-pity or seek Christ, drink human misery or taste God’s mercy.
No wonder, then, the wise man begs, “Above all else, guard your heart.”
David’s prayer should be ours: “Create in me a pure heart, O God.”
From
The Applause of Heaven
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1999) Max Lucado
Grudge is one of those words that defines itself. Its very sound betrays its meaning.
Say it slowly: “Grr-uuuud-ge.”
It starts with a growl. “Grr …” Like a bear with bad breath coming out of hibernation or a mangy mongrel defending his bone in an alley. “Grrr …”
Remove a GR from the word grudge and replace it with SL and you have the junk that grudge bearers trudge through. Sludge. Black, thick, ankle-deep resentment that steals the bounce from the step. No joyful skips through the meadows. No healthy hikes up the mountain. Just day after day of walking into the storm, shoulders bent against the wind, and feet dragging through all the muck life has delivered.
Is this the way you are coping with your hurts? Are you allowing your hurts to turn into hates? If so, ask yourself: Is it working? Has your hatred done you any good? Has your resentment brought you any relief, any peace? Has it granted you any joy?
Let’s say you get even. Let’s say you get him back. Let’s say she gets what she deserves. Let’s say your fantasy of fury runs its ferocious course and you return all your pain with interest. Imagine yourself standing over the corpse of the one you have hated. Will you now be free?
The writer of the following letter thought she would be. She thought her revenge would bring release. But she learned otherwise.
"I caught my husband making love to another woman. He swore it would never happen again. He begged me to forgive him, but I could not—would not. I was so bitter and so incapable of swallowing my pride that I could think of nothing but revenge. I was going to make him pay and pay dearly. I’d have my pound of flesh.
I filed for divorce, even though my children begged me not to.
Even after the divorce, my husband tried for two years to win me back. I refused to have anything to do with him. He had struck first; now I was striking back. All I wanted was to make him pay.
Finally he gave up and married a lovely young widow with a couple of small children. He began rebuilding his life—without me.
I see them occasionally, and he looks so happy. They all do. And here I am—a lonely, old, miserable woman who allowed her selfish pride and foolish stubbornness to ruin her life."
Unfaithfulness is wrong. Revenge is bad. But the worst part of all is that, without forgiveness, bitterness is all that is left.
The state of your heart dictates whether you harbor a grudge or give grace, seek self-pity or seek Christ, drink human misery or taste God’s mercy.
No wonder, then, the wise man begs, “Above all else, guard your heart.”
David’s prayer should be ours: “Create in me a pure heart, O God.”
From
The Applause of Heaven
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1999) Max Lucado
Monday, October 13, 2008
HE CAN DO THE IMPOSSIBLE
by Max Lucado
The kingdom of heaven. Its citizens are drunk on wonder.
Consider the case of Sarai. She is in her golden years, but God promises her a son. She gets excited. She visits the maternity shop and buys a few dresses. She plans her shower and remodels her tent … but no son. She eats a few birthday cakes and blows out a lot of candles … still no son. She goes through a decade of wall calendars … still no son.
So Sarai decides to take matters into her own hands. (“Maybe God needs me to take care of this one.”)
She convinces Abram that time is running out. (“Face it, Abe, you ain’t getting any younger, either.”) She commands her maid, Hagar, to go into Abram’s tent and see if he needs anything. (“And I mean ‘anything’!”) Hagar goes in a maid. She comes out a mom. And the problems begin.
Hagar is haughty. Sarai is jealous. Abram is dizzy from the dilemma. And God calls the baby boy a “wild donkey”—an appropriate name for one born out of stubbornness and destined to kick his way into history.
It isn’t the cozy family Sarai expected. And it isn’t a topic Abram and Sarai bring up very often at dinner.
Finally, fourteen years later, when Abram is pushing a century of years and Sarai ninety … when Abram has stopped listening to Sarai’s advice, and Sarai has stopped giving it … when the wallpaper in the nursery is faded and the baby furniture is several seasons out of date … when the topic of the promised child brings sighs and tears and long looks into a silent sky … God pays them a visit and tells them they had better select a name for their new son.
Abram and Sarai have the same response: laughter. They laugh partly because it is too good to happen and partly because it might. They laugh because they have given up hope, and hope born anew is always funny before it is real.
They laugh at the lunacy of it all.
They laugh because that is what you do when someone says he can do the impossible. They laugh a little at God, and a lot with God—for God is laughing, too. Then, with the smile still on his face, he gets busy doing what he does best—the unbelievable.
He changes a few things—beginning with their names. Abram, the father of one, will now be Abraham, the father of a multitude. Sarai, the barren one, will now be Sarah, the mother.
But their names aren’t the only things God changes. He changes their minds. He changes their faith. He changes the number of their tax deductions. He changes the way they define the word impossible.
From
The Applause of Heaven
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1999) Max Lucado
The kingdom of heaven. Its citizens are drunk on wonder.
Consider the case of Sarai. She is in her golden years, but God promises her a son. She gets excited. She visits the maternity shop and buys a few dresses. She plans her shower and remodels her tent … but no son. She eats a few birthday cakes and blows out a lot of candles … still no son. She goes through a decade of wall calendars … still no son.
So Sarai decides to take matters into her own hands. (“Maybe God needs me to take care of this one.”)
She convinces Abram that time is running out. (“Face it, Abe, you ain’t getting any younger, either.”) She commands her maid, Hagar, to go into Abram’s tent and see if he needs anything. (“And I mean ‘anything’!”) Hagar goes in a maid. She comes out a mom. And the problems begin.
Hagar is haughty. Sarai is jealous. Abram is dizzy from the dilemma. And God calls the baby boy a “wild donkey”—an appropriate name for one born out of stubbornness and destined to kick his way into history.
It isn’t the cozy family Sarai expected. And it isn’t a topic Abram and Sarai bring up very often at dinner.
Finally, fourteen years later, when Abram is pushing a century of years and Sarai ninety … when Abram has stopped listening to Sarai’s advice, and Sarai has stopped giving it … when the wallpaper in the nursery is faded and the baby furniture is several seasons out of date … when the topic of the promised child brings sighs and tears and long looks into a silent sky … God pays them a visit and tells them they had better select a name for their new son.
Abram and Sarai have the same response: laughter. They laugh partly because it is too good to happen and partly because it might. They laugh because they have given up hope, and hope born anew is always funny before it is real.
They laugh at the lunacy of it all.
They laugh because that is what you do when someone says he can do the impossible. They laugh a little at God, and a lot with God—for God is laughing, too. Then, with the smile still on his face, he gets busy doing what he does best—the unbelievable.
He changes a few things—beginning with their names. Abram, the father of one, will now be Abraham, the father of a multitude. Sarai, the barren one, will now be Sarah, the mother.
But their names aren’t the only things God changes. He changes their minds. He changes their faith. He changes the number of their tax deductions. He changes the way they define the word impossible.
From
The Applause of Heaven
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1999) Max Lucado
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
HE WANTS TO COMFORT YOU
by Max Lucado
My child’s feelings are hurt. I tell her she’s special. My child is injured. I do whatever it takes to make her feel better.
My child is afraid. I won’t go to sleep until she is secure.
I’m not a hero. I’m not a superstar. I’m not unusual. I’m a parent. When a child hurts, a parent does what comes naturally. He helps.
And after I help, I don’t charge a fee. I don’t ask for a favor in return. When my child cries, I don’t tell her to buck up, act tough, and keep a stiff upper lip. Nor do I consult a list and ask her why she is still scraping the same elbow or waking me up again.
I’m not a prophet, nor the son of one, but something tells me that in the whole scheme of things the tender moments described above are infinitely more valuable than anything I do in front of a computer screen or congregation. Something tells me that the moments of comfort I give my child are a small price to pay for the joy of someday seeing my daughter do for her daughter what her dad did for her.
Moments of comfort from a parent. As a father, I can tell you they are the sweetest moments in my day. They come naturally. They come willingly. They come joyfully.
If all of that is true, if I know that one of the privileges of fatherhood is to comfort a child, then why am I so reluctant to let my heavenly Father comfort me?
Why do I think he wouldn’t want to hear about my problems? (“They are puny compared to people starving in India.”)
Why do I think he is too busy for me? (“He’s got a whole universe to worry about.”)
Why do I think he’s tired of hearing the same old stuff?
Why do I think he groans when he sees me coming?
Why do I think he consults his list when I ask for forgiveness and asks, “Don’t you think you’re going to the well a few too many times on this one?”
Why do I think I have to speak a holy language around him that I don’t speak with anyone else?
Why do I not take him seriously when he questions, “If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:11)
Why don’t I let my Father do for me what I am more than willing to do for my own children?
I’m learning, though. Being a parent is better than a course on theology. Being a father is teaching me that when I am criticized, injured, or afraid, there is a Father who is ready to comfort me. There is a Father who will hold me until I’m better, help me until I can live with the hurt, and who won’t go to sleep when I’m afraid of waking up and seeing the dark.
Ever. And that’s enough.
From
The Applause of Heaven
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1999) Max Lucado
My child’s feelings are hurt. I tell her she’s special. My child is injured. I do whatever it takes to make her feel better.
My child is afraid. I won’t go to sleep until she is secure.
I’m not a hero. I’m not a superstar. I’m not unusual. I’m a parent. When a child hurts, a parent does what comes naturally. He helps.
And after I help, I don’t charge a fee. I don’t ask for a favor in return. When my child cries, I don’t tell her to buck up, act tough, and keep a stiff upper lip. Nor do I consult a list and ask her why she is still scraping the same elbow or waking me up again.
I’m not a prophet, nor the son of one, but something tells me that in the whole scheme of things the tender moments described above are infinitely more valuable than anything I do in front of a computer screen or congregation. Something tells me that the moments of comfort I give my child are a small price to pay for the joy of someday seeing my daughter do for her daughter what her dad did for her.
Moments of comfort from a parent. As a father, I can tell you they are the sweetest moments in my day. They come naturally. They come willingly. They come joyfully.
If all of that is true, if I know that one of the privileges of fatherhood is to comfort a child, then why am I so reluctant to let my heavenly Father comfort me?
Why do I think he wouldn’t want to hear about my problems? (“They are puny compared to people starving in India.”)
Why do I think he is too busy for me? (“He’s got a whole universe to worry about.”)
Why do I think he’s tired of hearing the same old stuff?
Why do I think he groans when he sees me coming?
Why do I think he consults his list when I ask for forgiveness and asks, “Don’t you think you’re going to the well a few too many times on this one?”
Why do I think I have to speak a holy language around him that I don’t speak with anyone else?
Why do I not take him seriously when he questions, “If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:11)
Why don’t I let my Father do for me what I am more than willing to do for my own children?
I’m learning, though. Being a parent is better than a course on theology. Being a father is teaching me that when I am criticized, injured, or afraid, there is a Father who is ready to comfort me. There is a Father who will hold me until I’m better, help me until I can live with the hurt, and who won’t go to sleep when I’m afraid of waking up and seeing the dark.
Ever. And that’s enough.
From
The Applause of Heaven
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1999) Max Lucado
Friday, October 3, 2008
PERFECT LOVE
by Max Lucado
Isn’t it good to know that even when we don’t love with a perfect love, he does? God always nourishes what is right. He always applauds what is right. He has never done wrong, led one person to do wrong, or rejoiced when anyone did wrong. For he is love, and love “does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth” (1 Cor. 13:6 NASB).
God passes the test of 1 Corinthians 13:6. Well, he should; he drafted it.
So where does this leave us? Perhaps with a trio of reminders. When it comes to love:
Be careful.
Until love is stirred, let God’s love be enough for you. There are seasons when God allows us to feel the frailty of human love so we’ll appreciate the strength of his love. Didn’t he do this with David? Saul turned on him. Michal, his wife, betrayed him. Jonathan and Samuel were David’s friends, but they couldn’t follow him into the wilderness. Betrayal and circumstances left David alone. Alone with God. And, as David discovered, God was enough. David wrote these words in a desert: “Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you.… My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods” (Ps. 63:3, 5 NIV).
Be prayerful.
What if it’s too late? Specifically, what if you’re married to someone you don’t love—or who doesn’t love you? Many choose to leave. That may be the step you take. But if it is, take at least a thousand others first. And bathe every one of those steps in prayer. Love is a fruit of the Spirit. Ask God to help you love as he loves. “God has given us the Holy Spirit, who fills our hearts with his love” (Rom. 5:5 CEV). Ask everyone you know to pray for you. Your friends. Your family. Your church leaders. Get your name on every prayer list available. And, most of all, pray for and, if possible, with your spouse. Ask the same God who raised the dead to resurrect the embers of your love.
Be grateful.
Be grateful for those who love you. Be grateful for those who have encouraged you to do what is right and applauded when you did. Do you have people like that in your world? If so, you are doubly blessed. Be grateful for them. And be grateful for your Father in heaven.
From
A Love Worth Giving
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
Isn’t it good to know that even when we don’t love with a perfect love, he does? God always nourishes what is right. He always applauds what is right. He has never done wrong, led one person to do wrong, or rejoiced when anyone did wrong. For he is love, and love “does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth” (1 Cor. 13:6 NASB).
God passes the test of 1 Corinthians 13:6. Well, he should; he drafted it.
So where does this leave us? Perhaps with a trio of reminders. When it comes to love:
Be careful.
Until love is stirred, let God’s love be enough for you. There are seasons when God allows us to feel the frailty of human love so we’ll appreciate the strength of his love. Didn’t he do this with David? Saul turned on him. Michal, his wife, betrayed him. Jonathan and Samuel were David’s friends, but they couldn’t follow him into the wilderness. Betrayal and circumstances left David alone. Alone with God. And, as David discovered, God was enough. David wrote these words in a desert: “Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you.… My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods” (Ps. 63:3, 5 NIV).
Be prayerful.
What if it’s too late? Specifically, what if you’re married to someone you don’t love—or who doesn’t love you? Many choose to leave. That may be the step you take. But if it is, take at least a thousand others first. And bathe every one of those steps in prayer. Love is a fruit of the Spirit. Ask God to help you love as he loves. “God has given us the Holy Spirit, who fills our hearts with his love” (Rom. 5:5 CEV). Ask everyone you know to pray for you. Your friends. Your family. Your church leaders. Get your name on every prayer list available. And, most of all, pray for and, if possible, with your spouse. Ask the same God who raised the dead to resurrect the embers of your love.
Be grateful.
Be grateful for those who love you. Be grateful for those who have encouraged you to do what is right and applauded when you did. Do you have people like that in your world? If so, you are doubly blessed. Be grateful for them. And be grateful for your Father in heaven.
From
A Love Worth Giving
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
Sunday, September 28, 2008
LOVE ALWAYS PROTECTS
by Max Lucado
Genesis 3:21 has been called the first gospel sermon. Preached not by preachers, but by God himself. Not with words, but with symbol and action.
“The LORD God made clothes from animal skins for the man and his wife and dressed them” (Gen. 3:21).
God covers them. He protects them.
Love always protects.
Hasn’t he done the same for us? We eat our share of forbidden fruit. We say what we shouldn’t say. Go where we shouldn’t go. Pluck fruit from trees we shouldn’t touch.
So what does God do? Exactly what he did for our parents in the garden. He sheds innocent blood. He offers the life of his Son. And from the scene of the sacrifice the Father takes a robe—not the skin of an animal—but the robe of righteousness. And does he throw it in our direction and tell us to shape up? No, he dresses us himself. He dresses us with himself. “You were all baptized into Christ, and so you were all clothed with Christ” (Gal. 3:26–27).
God has clothed us. He protects us with a cloak of love. Can you look back over your life and see instances of God’s protection? I can too. My junior year in college I was fascinated by a movement of Christians several thousand miles from my campus. Some of my friends decided to spend the summer at the movement’s largest church and be discipled. When I tried to do the same, every door closed. Problem after problem with finances, logistics, and travel.
A second opportunity surfaced: spending a summer in Brazil. In this case, every door I knocked on swung open. Two and one half decades later I see how God protected me. The movement has become a cult—dangerous and oppressive. Time in Brazil introduced me to grace—freeing and joyful. Did God protect me? Does God protect us?
And you? Did he keep you from a bad relationship? Protect you from the wrong job? Insulate you from _______________ (you fill in the blank)? “Like hovering birds, so will [the LORD Almighty] protect Jerusalem” (Isa. 31:5 JB). “He will strengthen and protect you” (2 Thess. 3:3 NIV). “He will command his angels … to guard you” (Ps. 91:11 NIV). God protects you with a cloak of love.
From
A Love Worth Giving
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
Genesis 3:21 has been called the first gospel sermon. Preached not by preachers, but by God himself. Not with words, but with symbol and action.
“The LORD God made clothes from animal skins for the man and his wife and dressed them” (Gen. 3:21).
God covers them. He protects them.
Love always protects.
Hasn’t he done the same for us? We eat our share of forbidden fruit. We say what we shouldn’t say. Go where we shouldn’t go. Pluck fruit from trees we shouldn’t touch.
So what does God do? Exactly what he did for our parents in the garden. He sheds innocent blood. He offers the life of his Son. And from the scene of the sacrifice the Father takes a robe—not the skin of an animal—but the robe of righteousness. And does he throw it in our direction and tell us to shape up? No, he dresses us himself. He dresses us with himself. “You were all baptized into Christ, and so you were all clothed with Christ” (Gal. 3:26–27).
God has clothed us. He protects us with a cloak of love. Can you look back over your life and see instances of God’s protection? I can too. My junior year in college I was fascinated by a movement of Christians several thousand miles from my campus. Some of my friends decided to spend the summer at the movement’s largest church and be discipled. When I tried to do the same, every door closed. Problem after problem with finances, logistics, and travel.
A second opportunity surfaced: spending a summer in Brazil. In this case, every door I knocked on swung open. Two and one half decades later I see how God protected me. The movement has become a cult—dangerous and oppressive. Time in Brazil introduced me to grace—freeing and joyful. Did God protect me? Does God protect us?
And you? Did he keep you from a bad relationship? Protect you from the wrong job? Insulate you from _______________ (you fill in the blank)? “Like hovering birds, so will [the LORD Almighty] protect Jerusalem” (Isa. 31:5 JB). “He will strengthen and protect you” (2 Thess. 3:3 NIV). “He will command his angels … to guard you” (Ps. 91:11 NIV). God protects you with a cloak of love.
From
A Love Worth Giving
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
HAND DELIVERED BOUQUETS
by Max Lucado
A Love Worth Giving
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
Through Christ, God has accepted you. Think about what this means. You cannot keep people from rejecting you. But you can keep rejections from enraging you.
Rejections are like speed bumps on the road. They come with the journey. You’re going to get cut, dished, dropped, and kicked around. You cannot keep people from rejecting you. But you can keep rejections from enraging you. How? By letting his acceptance compensate for their rejection.
Think of it this way. Suppose you dwell in a high-rise apartment. On the window sill of your room is a solitary daisy. This morning you picked the daisy and pinned it on your lapel. Since you have only one plant, this is a big event and a special daisy.
But as soon as you’re out the door, people start picking petals off your daisy. Someone snags your subway seat. Petal picked. You’re blamed for the bad report of a coworker. Three petals. The promotion is given to someone with less experience but USC water polo looks. More petals. By the end of the day, you’re down to one. Woe be to the soul who dares to draw near it. You’re only one petal-snatching away from a blowup.
What if the scenario was altered slightly? Let’s add one character. The kind man in the apartment next door runs a flower shop on the corner. Every night on the way home he stops at your place with a fresh, undeserved, yet irresistible bouquet. These are not leftover flowers. They are top-of-the-line arrangements. You don’t know why he thinks so highly of you, but you aren’t complaining. Because of him, your apartment has a sweet fragrance, and your step has a happy bounce. Let someone mess with your flower, and you’ve got a basketful to replace it!
The difference is huge. And the interpretation is obvious.
God will load your world with flowers. He hand-delivers a bouquet to your door every day. Open it! Take them! Then, when rejections come, you won’t be left short-petaled.
God can help you get rid of your anger. He made galaxies no one has ever seen and dug canyons we have yet to find. “The LORD … heals all your diseases” (Ps. 103:2–3 NIV). Do you think among those diseases might be the affliction of anger?
Do you think God could heal your angry heart?
Do you want him to? This is not a trick question. He asks the same question of you that he asked of the invalid: “Do you want to be well?” (John 5:6). Not everyone does. You may be addicted to anger. You may be a rage junkie. Anger may be part of your identity. But if you want him to, he can change your identity. Do you want him to do so?
Do you have a better option? Like moving to a rejection-free zone? If so, enjoy your life on your desert island.
Take the flowers. Receive from him so you can love or at least put up with others.
FromA Love Worth Giving
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
Thursday, September 18, 2008
TAKE EVERY THOUGHT CAPTIVE
by Max Lucado
Today’s thoughts are tomorrow’s actions.
Today’s jealousy is tomorrow’s temper tantrum.
Today’s bigotry is tomorrow’s hate crime.
Today’s anger is tomorrow’s abuse.
Today’s lust is tomorrow’s adultery.
Today’s greed is tomorrow’s embezzlement.
Today’s guilt is tomorrow’s fear.
Could that be why Paul writes, “Love … keeps no record of wrongs” (1 Cor. 13:5 NIV)?
Some folks don’t know we have an option.
Paul says we do: “We capture every thought and make it give up and obey Christ” (2 Cor. 10:5).
Do you hear some battlefield jargon in that passage—“capture every thought,” “make it give up” and “obey Christ”? You get the impression that we are the soldiers and the thoughts are the enemies.
It was for Jesus. Remember the thoughts that came his way courtesy of the mouth of Peter? Jesus had just prophesied his death, burial, and resurrection, but Peter couldn’t bear the thought of it. “Peter took Jesus aside and told him not to talk like that.… Jesus said to Peter, ‘Go away from me, Satan! You are not helping me! You don’t care about the things of God, but only about the things people think are important’” (Matt. 16:22–23).
See the decisiveness of Jesus?
What if you did that? What if you took every thought captive? What if you took the counsel of Solomon: “Be careful what you think, because your thoughts run your life” (Prov. 4:23).
You are not a victim of your thoughts. You have a vote. You have a voice. You can exercise thought prevention. You can also exercise thought permission.
Change the thoughts, and you change the person. If today’s thoughts are tomorrow’s actions, what happens when we fill our minds with thoughts of God’s love? Will standing beneath the downpour of his grace change the way we feel about others?
Paul says absolutely! It’s not enough to keep the bad stuff out. We’ve got to let the good stuff in. It’s not enough to keep no list of wrongs. We have to cultivate a list of blessings. The same verb Paul uses for keeps in the phrase “keeps no list of wrongs” is used for think in Philippians 4:8: “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (RSV). Thinking conveys the idea of pondering—studying and focusing, allowing what is viewed to have an impact on us.
Rather than store up the sour, store up the sweet.
From
A Love Worth Giving
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
Today’s thoughts are tomorrow’s actions.
Today’s jealousy is tomorrow’s temper tantrum.
Today’s bigotry is tomorrow’s hate crime.
Today’s anger is tomorrow’s abuse.
Today’s lust is tomorrow’s adultery.
Today’s greed is tomorrow’s embezzlement.
Today’s guilt is tomorrow’s fear.
Could that be why Paul writes, “Love … keeps no record of wrongs” (1 Cor. 13:5 NIV)?
Some folks don’t know we have an option.
Paul says we do: “We capture every thought and make it give up and obey Christ” (2 Cor. 10:5).
Do you hear some battlefield jargon in that passage—“capture every thought,” “make it give up” and “obey Christ”? You get the impression that we are the soldiers and the thoughts are the enemies.
It was for Jesus. Remember the thoughts that came his way courtesy of the mouth of Peter? Jesus had just prophesied his death, burial, and resurrection, but Peter couldn’t bear the thought of it. “Peter took Jesus aside and told him not to talk like that.… Jesus said to Peter, ‘Go away from me, Satan! You are not helping me! You don’t care about the things of God, but only about the things people think are important’” (Matt. 16:22–23).
See the decisiveness of Jesus?
What if you did that? What if you took every thought captive? What if you took the counsel of Solomon: “Be careful what you think, because your thoughts run your life” (Prov. 4:23).
You are not a victim of your thoughts. You have a vote. You have a voice. You can exercise thought prevention. You can also exercise thought permission.
Change the thoughts, and you change the person. If today’s thoughts are tomorrow’s actions, what happens when we fill our minds with thoughts of God’s love? Will standing beneath the downpour of his grace change the way we feel about others?
Paul says absolutely! It’s not enough to keep the bad stuff out. We’ve got to let the good stuff in. It’s not enough to keep no list of wrongs. We have to cultivate a list of blessings. The same verb Paul uses for keeps in the phrase “keeps no list of wrongs” is used for think in Philippians 4:8: “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (RSV). Thinking conveys the idea of pondering—studying and focusing, allowing what is viewed to have an impact on us.
Rather than store up the sour, store up the sweet.
From
A Love Worth Giving
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
Thursday, September 11, 2008
GOD BELIEVES IN YOU
by Max Lucado
The tale involves a wealthy father and a willful son. The boy prematurely takes his inheritance and moves to Las Vegas and there wastes the money on slot machines and call girls. As fast as you can say “blackjack,” he is broke. Too proud to go home, he gets a job sweeping horse stables at the racetrack. When he finds himself tasting some of their oats and thinking, H’m, a dash of salt and this wouldn’t be too bad, he realizes enough is enough. It’s time to go home. The gardener at his father’s house does better than this. So off he goes, rehearsing his repentance speech every step of the way.
But the father has other ideas. He “had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him.”
We don’t expect such a response. We expect crossed arms and a furrowed brow. At best a guarded handshake. At least a stern lecture. But the father gives none of these. Instead he gives gifts. “Bring out the best robe … a ring … sandals.… And bring the fatted calf … and let us eat and be merry” (Luke 15:11–23 NKJV). Robe, sandals, calf, and … Did you see it? A ring.
Before the boy has a chance to wash his hands, he has a ring to put on his finger. In Christ’s day rings were more than gifts; they were symbols of delegated sovereignty. The bearer of the ring could speak on behalf of the giver. It was used to press a seal into soft wax to validate a transaction. The one who wore the ring conducted business in the name of the one who gave it.
Would you have done this? Would you have given this prodigal son power-of-attorney privileges over your affairs? Would you have entrusted him with a credit card? Would you have given him this ring?
Before you start questioning the wisdom of the father, remember, in this story you are the boy. When you came home to God, you were given authority to conduct business in your heavenly Father’s name.
When you speak truth, you are God’s ambassador.
As you steward the money he gives, you are his business manager.
When you declare forgiveness, you are his priest.
As you stir the healing of the body or the soul, you are his physician.
And when you pray, he listens to you as a father listens to a son. You have a voice in the household of God. He has given you his ring.
God believes in you. And, I wonder, could you take some of the belief that he has in you and share it with someone else?
You and I have the privilege to do for others what God does for us. How do we show people that we believe in them?
Do not withhold encouragement from the discouraged. Do not keep affirmation from the beaten down! Speak words that make people stronger. Believe in them as God has believed in you.
From
A Love Worth Giving
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
The tale involves a wealthy father and a willful son. The boy prematurely takes his inheritance and moves to Las Vegas and there wastes the money on slot machines and call girls. As fast as you can say “blackjack,” he is broke. Too proud to go home, he gets a job sweeping horse stables at the racetrack. When he finds himself tasting some of their oats and thinking, H’m, a dash of salt and this wouldn’t be too bad, he realizes enough is enough. It’s time to go home. The gardener at his father’s house does better than this. So off he goes, rehearsing his repentance speech every step of the way.
But the father has other ideas. He “had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him.”
We don’t expect such a response. We expect crossed arms and a furrowed brow. At best a guarded handshake. At least a stern lecture. But the father gives none of these. Instead he gives gifts. “Bring out the best robe … a ring … sandals.… And bring the fatted calf … and let us eat and be merry” (Luke 15:11–23 NKJV). Robe, sandals, calf, and … Did you see it? A ring.
Before the boy has a chance to wash his hands, he has a ring to put on his finger. In Christ’s day rings were more than gifts; they were symbols of delegated sovereignty. The bearer of the ring could speak on behalf of the giver. It was used to press a seal into soft wax to validate a transaction. The one who wore the ring conducted business in the name of the one who gave it.
Would you have done this? Would you have given this prodigal son power-of-attorney privileges over your affairs? Would you have entrusted him with a credit card? Would you have given him this ring?
Before you start questioning the wisdom of the father, remember, in this story you are the boy. When you came home to God, you were given authority to conduct business in your heavenly Father’s name.
When you speak truth, you are God’s ambassador.
As you steward the money he gives, you are his business manager.
When you declare forgiveness, you are his priest.
As you stir the healing of the body or the soul, you are his physician.
And when you pray, he listens to you as a father listens to a son. You have a voice in the household of God. He has given you his ring.
God believes in you. And, I wonder, could you take some of the belief that he has in you and share it with someone else?
You and I have the privilege to do for others what God does for us. How do we show people that we believe in them?
Do not withhold encouragement from the discouraged. Do not keep affirmation from the beaten down! Speak words that make people stronger. Believe in them as God has believed in you.
From
A Love Worth Giving
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
THANK YOU
Dear brothers & sisters in Christ..
I would like to take this opportunity to express heartfelt thanks and gratitude on behalf of my family for your kind concern during my hospitalization.
It is said that you will know your true friends in your hour of need, and I count it my rich blessing to have your encouragement and prayers during my moment of infirmity.
I thank the Lord for seeing my family and I through this week and though the sequence of events that happened, I believe that it has worked together for good in the end.
-
Bretheren..
There is always a silver lining in every cloud and I have learned to take this time to rest and reflect. Sometimes life gets so hectic and out of control that *God forbid* a spanner is thrown into the works just to halt everything for a moment. It's as though God is saying ''have a break, have a Kit Kat''.
He does have a sense of humour, after all.
-
On a more serious note, the near-fatality of this incident has hit home a very important truth. Life is fragile. We are like the morning mist. Our lifespan is but a breath compared to the eternity of God's timing. All the more we should make our lives count by living for our Lord Jesus Christ and serving Him wholeheartedly.
But be encouraged that He has us in the palm of His hand and nothing will befall us except with His permission and His grace is sufficient to see all of us through.
-
Brothers & sisters in the Lord.
I also take this opportunity to encourage you to stay faithful in running the race together. The leaders, the congregation, the shepherd, the sheep, the young and the young at heart. None should be left out or left behind as we take a page from Paul:
A fellow servant,
SK Sim
I would like to take this opportunity to express heartfelt thanks and gratitude on behalf of my family for your kind concern during my hospitalization.
It is said that you will know your true friends in your hour of need, and I count it my rich blessing to have your encouragement and prayers during my moment of infirmity.
I thank the Lord for seeing my family and I through this week and though the sequence of events that happened, I believe that it has worked together for good in the end.
-
Bretheren..
There is always a silver lining in every cloud and I have learned to take this time to rest and reflect. Sometimes life gets so hectic and out of control that *God forbid* a spanner is thrown into the works just to halt everything for a moment. It's as though God is saying ''have a break, have a Kit Kat''.
He does have a sense of humour, after all.
-
On a more serious note, the near-fatality of this incident has hit home a very important truth. Life is fragile. We are like the morning mist. Our lifespan is but a breath compared to the eternity of God's timing. All the more we should make our lives count by living for our Lord Jesus Christ and serving Him wholeheartedly.
But be encouraged that He has us in the palm of His hand and nothing will befall us except with His permission and His grace is sufficient to see all of us through.
-
Brothers & sisters in the Lord.
I also take this opportunity to encourage you to stay faithful in running the race together. The leaders, the congregation, the shepherd, the sheep, the young and the young at heart. None should be left out or left behind as we take a page from Paul:
''Forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth untothose things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus''Phil 3 : 13-14
A fellow servant,
SK Sim
Friday, September 5, 2008
HIS WING SHELTERS YOU
by Max Lucado
“He will shield you with his wings. He will shelter you with his feathers.”
(Psalm 91:4)
My college friends and I barely escaped a West Texas storm before it pummeled the park where we were spending a Saturday afternoon. As we were leaving, my buddy brought the car to a sudden stop and gestured to a tender sight on the ground. A mother bird sat exposed to the rain, her wing extended over her baby who had fallen out of the nest. The fierce storm prohibited her from returning to the tree, so she covered her child until the wind passed.
From how many winds is God protecting you? His wing, at this moment, shields you. A slanderous critic heading toward your desk is interrupted by a phone call. A burglar en route to your house has a flat tire. A drunk driver runs out of gas before your car passes his. God, your guardian, protects you from
“every trap” (Ps. 91:3);
“the fatal plague” (Ps. 91:3);
“the plague that stalks in darkness” (Ps. 91:6);
“the terrors of the night…the dangers of the day” (Ps. 91:5).
One translation boldly promises: “Nothing bad will happen to you” (Ps. 91:10 NCV).
“Then why does it?” someone erupts. “Explain my job transfer. Or the bum who called himself my dad. Or the death of our child.” If God is our guardian, why do bad things happen to us?
Have they? Have bad things really happened to you? You and God may have different definitions for the word bad.
God views your life the way you view a movie after you’ve read the book. When something bad happens, you feel the air sucked out of the theater. Everyone else gasps at the crisis on the screen. Not you. Why? You’ve read the book. You know how the good guy gets out of the tight spot. God views your life with the same confidence. He’s not only read your story…he wrote it. His perspective is different, and his purpose is clear.
God uses struggles to toughen our spiritual skin.
Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way. (James 1:2–4)
Trust him. “But when I am afraid, I put my trust in you” (Ps. 56:3). Join with Isaiah, who resolved, “I will trust in him and not be afraid” (Isa. 12:2).
God is directing your steps and delighting in every detail of your life (Ps. 37:23–24). In fact, that’s his car pulling over to the side of the road. That’s God opening the door. And that’s you climbing into the passenger seat.
There now, don’t you feel safer knowing he is in control?
From
Come Thirsty
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
“He will shield you with his wings. He will shelter you with his feathers.”
(Psalm 91:4)
My college friends and I barely escaped a West Texas storm before it pummeled the park where we were spending a Saturday afternoon. As we were leaving, my buddy brought the car to a sudden stop and gestured to a tender sight on the ground. A mother bird sat exposed to the rain, her wing extended over her baby who had fallen out of the nest. The fierce storm prohibited her from returning to the tree, so she covered her child until the wind passed.
From how many winds is God protecting you? His wing, at this moment, shields you. A slanderous critic heading toward your desk is interrupted by a phone call. A burglar en route to your house has a flat tire. A drunk driver runs out of gas before your car passes his. God, your guardian, protects you from
“every trap” (Ps. 91:3);
“the fatal plague” (Ps. 91:3);
“the plague that stalks in darkness” (Ps. 91:6);
“the terrors of the night…the dangers of the day” (Ps. 91:5).
One translation boldly promises: “Nothing bad will happen to you” (Ps. 91:10 NCV).
“Then why does it?” someone erupts. “Explain my job transfer. Or the bum who called himself my dad. Or the death of our child.” If God is our guardian, why do bad things happen to us?
Have they? Have bad things really happened to you? You and God may have different definitions for the word bad.
God views your life the way you view a movie after you’ve read the book. When something bad happens, you feel the air sucked out of the theater. Everyone else gasps at the crisis on the screen. Not you. Why? You’ve read the book. You know how the good guy gets out of the tight spot. God views your life with the same confidence. He’s not only read your story…he wrote it. His perspective is different, and his purpose is clear.
God uses struggles to toughen our spiritual skin.
Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way. (James 1:2–4)
Trust him. “But when I am afraid, I put my trust in you” (Ps. 56:3). Join with Isaiah, who resolved, “I will trust in him and not be afraid” (Isa. 12:2).
God is directing your steps and delighting in every detail of your life (Ps. 37:23–24). In fact, that’s his car pulling over to the side of the road. That’s God opening the door. And that’s you climbing into the passenger seat.
There now, don’t you feel safer knowing he is in control?
From
Come Thirsty
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2004) Max Lucado
Sunday, August 31, 2008
HARD HEARTED
by Max Lucado
From 3:16, The Numbers of Hope
Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2007) Max Lucado
Hardhearted people are hopelessly confused. Their minds are full of darkness; they wander far from the life God gives because they have closed their minds and hardened their hearts against him. They have no sense of shame. They live for lustful pleasure and eagerly practice every kind of impurity. (Eph. 4:17-19)
A hard heart ruins, no only your life, but the lives of your family members. As an example, Jesus identified the hard heart as the wrecking ball of a marriage. When asked about divorce, Jesus said, “Moses permitted you to divorce your wives because our hearts were hard. But it was not this way from the beginning.” (Matt. 19:8) When one or both people in a marriage stop trusting God to save it, they sign its death certificate. They reject the very one who can help them.
My executive assistant, Karen Hill, saw the result of such stubbornness in a pasture. A cow stuck her nose into a paint can and couldn’t shake it off. Can-nosed cows can’t breathe very well, and they can’t drink or eat at all. Both the cow and her calf were in danger. A serious bovine bind.
Karen’s family set out to help. But when the cow saw the rescuers coming, she set out for pasture. They pursued, but the cow escaped. They chased that cow for three days! Each time the posse drew near, the cow ran. Finally, using pickup trucks and ropes, they cornered and de-canned the cow.
Seen any can-nosed people lately? Malnourished souls? Dehydrated hearts? People who can’t take a deep breath? All because they stuck their noses where they shouldn’t, and when God came to help, they ran away.
When billions of us imitate the cow, chaos erupts. Nations of bull-headed people ducking God and bumping into each other. We scamper, starve, and struggle.
Can-nosed craziness. Isn’t this the world we see? This is the world God sees.
Yet, this is the world God loves. “For God so loved the world…” This hard-hearted, stiff-necked world. We stick our noses where we shouldn’t; still, he pursues us. We run from the very one who can help, but he doesn’t give up. He loves. He pursues. He persists. And, every so often, a heart starts to soften.
Let yours be one of them.
When my daughters were small, they liked to play with Play-Doh. They formed figures out of the soft clay. If they forgot to place the lid on the can, the substance hardened. When it did, they brought it to me. My hand were bigger. My fingers stronger. I could mold the stony stuff into putty.
Is your heart hard? Take it to your Father. You’re only a prayer away from tenderness. You live in a hard world, but you don’t have to live with a hard heart.From 3:16, The Numbers of Hope Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2007) Max Lucado
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
WHAT MAKES HEAVEN HEAVENLY?
by Max Lucado
You will be you at your best forever. Even now you have your good moments. Occasional glimpses of your heavenly self. When you change your baby’s diaper, forgive your boss’s temper, tolerate your spouse’s moodiness, you display traces of saintliness. It’s the other moments that sour life. Tongue, sharp as a razor. Moods as unpredictable as Mount Saint Helens. This part wearies you.
From 3:16, The Numbers of Hope
Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2007) Max Lucado
You will be you at your best forever. Even now you have your good moments. Occasional glimpses of your heavenly self. When you change your baby’s diaper, forgive your boss’s temper, tolerate your spouse’s moodiness, you display traces of saintliness. It’s the other moments that sour life. Tongue, sharp as a razor. Moods as unpredictable as Mount Saint Helens. This part wearies you.
Just think what Satan has taken from you, even in the last few hours. You worried about a decision and envied someone’s success, dreaded a conversation and resented an interruption. He’s been prowling your environs all day, pickpocketing peace, joy, belly laughs, and honest love. Rotten freebooter.
But his days are numbered. Unlike he did in the Garden of Eden, Satan will not lurk in heaven’s gardens. “There shall be no more curse” (22:3 NKJV). He will not tempt; hence, you will not stumble. You will be you at your best forever!
Christ will have completed his redemptive work. All gossip excised and jealousy extracted. He will suction the last drop of orneriness from the most remote corners of our souls. You’ll love the result. No one will doubt your word, question your motives, or speak evil behind your back. God’s sin purging discontinues all strife.
No sin means no thieves, divorce, heartbreak, and no boredom. You won’t be bored in heaven, because you won’t be the same you in heaven. Boredom emerges from soils that heaven disallows. The soil of weariness: our eyes tire. Mental limitations: information overload dulls us. Self-centeredness: we grow disinterested when the spotlight shifts to others. Tedium: meaningless activity siphons vigor.
But Satan will take these weedy soils to hell with him, leaving you with a keen mind, endless focus, and God-honoring assignments.
We might serve in the capacity we serve now. Couldn’t earthly assignments hint at heavenly ones? Architects of Moscow might draw blueprints in the new Liverpool. We will feast in heaven; you may be a cook on Saturn. God filled his first garden with plants and animals. He’ll surely do the same in heaven. If so, he may entrust you with the care and feeding of an Africa or two.
One thing is for sure: you’ll love it. Never weary, selfish, or defeated. Clear mind, tireless muscles, unhindered joy. Heaven is a perfect place of perfected people with our perfect Lord.From 3:16, The Numbers of Hope Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2007) Max Lucado
Thursday, August 21, 2008
HEAVEN'S "WHOEVER" POLICY
by Max Lucado
“. . . whoever believes in him shall not perish . . .”
Some years ago I took a copy of God’s “whoever” policy to California. I wanted to show it to my Uncle Billy. He’d been scheduled to visit my home, but bone cancer had thwarted his plans.
My uncle reminded me much of my father: squared like a blast furnace, ruddy as a leather basketball. They shared the same West Texas roots, penchant for cigars, and blue-collar work ethic. But I wasn’t sure if they shared the same faith. So after several planes, two shuttles, and a rental-car road trip, I reached Uncle Billy’s house only to learn he was back in the hospital. No visitors. Maybe tomorrow.
He felt better the next day. Good enough to come home. I went to see him. Cancer had taken its toll and his strength. The recliner entombed his body. He recognized me yet dozed as I chatted with his wife and friends. He scarcely opened his eyes. People came and went, and I began to wonder if I would have the chance to ask the question.
Finally the guests stepped out onto the lawn and left me alone with my uncle. I slid my chair next to his, took his skin-taut hand, and wasted no words. “Bill, are you ready to go to heaven?”
His eyes, for the first time, popped open. Saucer wide. His head lifted. Doubt laced his response: “I think I am.”
“Do you want to be sure?”
“Oh yes.”
Our brief talk ended with a prayer for grace. We both said “amen,” and I soon left. Uncle Billy died within days. Did he wake up in heaven? According to the parable of the eleventh hour workers, he did.
Some struggle with such a thought. A last-minute confessor receives the same grace as a lifetime servant? Doesn’t seem fair. The workers in the parable complained too. So the landowner, and God, explained the prerogative of ownership: “Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me?” (v. Matt. 20:15 RSV).
Request grace with your dying breath, and God hears your prayer. Whoever means “whenever.”
And one more: whoever means “wherever.” Wherever you are, you’re not too far to come home.
bookFrom 3:16, The Numbers of Hope
Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2007) Max Lucado
“. . . whoever believes in him shall not perish . . .”
Some years ago I took a copy of God’s “whoever” policy to California. I wanted to show it to my Uncle Billy. He’d been scheduled to visit my home, but bone cancer had thwarted his plans.
My uncle reminded me much of my father: squared like a blast furnace, ruddy as a leather basketball. They shared the same West Texas roots, penchant for cigars, and blue-collar work ethic. But I wasn’t sure if they shared the same faith. So after several planes, two shuttles, and a rental-car road trip, I reached Uncle Billy’s house only to learn he was back in the hospital. No visitors. Maybe tomorrow.
He felt better the next day. Good enough to come home. I went to see him. Cancer had taken its toll and his strength. The recliner entombed his body. He recognized me yet dozed as I chatted with his wife and friends. He scarcely opened his eyes. People came and went, and I began to wonder if I would have the chance to ask the question.
Finally the guests stepped out onto the lawn and left me alone with my uncle. I slid my chair next to his, took his skin-taut hand, and wasted no words. “Bill, are you ready to go to heaven?”
His eyes, for the first time, popped open. Saucer wide. His head lifted. Doubt laced his response: “I think I am.”
“Do you want to be sure?”
“Oh yes.”
Our brief talk ended with a prayer for grace. We both said “amen,” and I soon left. Uncle Billy died within days. Did he wake up in heaven? According to the parable of the eleventh hour workers, he did.
Some struggle with such a thought. A last-minute confessor receives the same grace as a lifetime servant? Doesn’t seem fair. The workers in the parable complained too. So the landowner, and God, explained the prerogative of ownership: “Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me?” (v. Matt. 20:15 RSV).
Request grace with your dying breath, and God hears your prayer. Whoever means “whenever.”
And one more: whoever means “wherever.” Wherever you are, you’re not too far to come home.
bookFrom 3:16, The Numbers of Hope
Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2007) Max Lucado
From RBC Ministries' Discover The Word Series:
Improving Our Work Ethics
Download the MP3
What Motives You ?
Download the MP3
Working In A Way That's Commendable
Download the MP3
PURPOSE: To help Christian workers understand that there is significance in their labor.
Do you enjoy your work?
We sometimes think that other people have dream jobs and that work for them is a constant delight, but that is seldom the case.
Paderewski was one of the most diligent concert pianists about practicing. He once played before Queen Victoria. She said, "Mr. Paderewski, you are a genius." He replied, "That may well be, but before I was a genius, I was a drudge."
It’s not what we do, but the attitude with which we do it that can make a difference in our jobs.
In Ephesians 6:5-8, Paul gives Christians a new way to look at their jobs.
I. Your job is a calling.
Studs Terkel, in his book Working, reminds folks that most people find their jobs confining and stifling. He illustrates that with Nora Watson, an editor, who put her concern this way: "I think most of us are looking for a calling, not a job. Most of us, like the assembly line worker, have jobs that are too small for our spirit, jobs that are not big enough for people."
What is a calling?
A calling is a place in which we sense we are doing the will of God.
In the film Chariots of Fire, Eric Liddell remarks, "When I run, I feel His pleasure."
II. Think of your job as service rendered to Jesus Christ.
Look again at Ephesians 6:5-8 and look at the attitude that comes when you are serving Jesus Christ on the job.
We do our work as sacred service with fear and trembling (with reverence and awe, with respect and trembling) (v.5). We fear and tremble before whom?
We do our work in sincerity of heart (v.5).
We do our work with integrity, not with eye-service as men-pleasers, but as bondservants of Christ (v.6).
What picture comes to mind when you think of "eye-service"? Paul coins this word.
We do it with goodwill, a good spirit (v.7).
We do it with goodness (v.8).
You do good for your employer, you do good for those who get your product, you do good for those around you by the way you work.
Improving Our Work Ethics
Download the MP3
What Motives You ?
Download the MP3
Working In A Way That's Commendable
Download the MP3
PURPOSE: To help Christian workers understand that there is significance in their labor.
Do you enjoy your work?
We sometimes think that other people have dream jobs and that work for them is a constant delight, but that is seldom the case.
Paderewski was one of the most diligent concert pianists about practicing. He once played before Queen Victoria. She said, "Mr. Paderewski, you are a genius." He replied, "That may well be, but before I was a genius, I was a drudge."
It’s not what we do, but the attitude with which we do it that can make a difference in our jobs.
In Ephesians 6:5-8, Paul gives Christians a new way to look at their jobs.
I. Your job is a calling.
Studs Terkel, in his book Working, reminds folks that most people find their jobs confining and stifling. He illustrates that with Nora Watson, an editor, who put her concern this way: "I think most of us are looking for a calling, not a job. Most of us, like the assembly line worker, have jobs that are too small for our spirit, jobs that are not big enough for people."
What is a calling?
A calling is a place in which we sense we are doing the will of God.
In the film Chariots of Fire, Eric Liddell remarks, "When I run, I feel His pleasure."
II. Think of your job as service rendered to Jesus Christ.
Look again at Ephesians 6:5-8 and look at the attitude that comes when you are serving Jesus Christ on the job.
We do our work as sacred service with fear and trembling (with reverence and awe, with respect and trembling) (v.5). We fear and tremble before whom?
We do our work in sincerity of heart (v.5).
We do our work with integrity, not with eye-service as men-pleasers, but as bondservants of Christ (v.6).
What picture comes to mind when you think of "eye-service"? Paul coins this word.
We do it with goodwill, a good spirit (v.7).
We do it with goodness (v.8).
You do good for your employer, you do good for those who get your product, you do good for those around you by the way you work.
Working For A Boss Who's Always Around
From RBC Ministries' Discover The Word Series:
Working For A Boss Who's Always Around
Download the MP3
PURPOSE: To help listeners see the dignity in their work.
There was a factory in England where the workers pushed their wheelbarrows, except for one slow worker: he pulled his wheelbarrow. A visitor asked the foreman why this man was so different from the others. "Oh, him!? He hates the sight of the bloomin' thing!"
Do you think many people feel what that worker felt about his job?
What are the consequences of being in a job you hate?
It’s a tragedy when you spend the greater part of your life doing something you despise.
It affects your family, your attitude toward recreation, free time, etc.
What are some of the changes Christians can make as they look at their job?
I. If you can’t change your job, you can change your attitude.
Paul demonstrates this in Ephesians 6:5-8.
You can understand that your job is the will of God for you: ". . . doing the will of God from the heart."
What difference does that make?
II. Realize that on the job you serve Jesus Christ.
Look at what Paul writes to Christian slaves and masters.
Look at the way the workers and the owners are to think about what they do.
Whom are they serving?
What is the vision of God in this passage? Jesus Christ is your employer.
In the passage, what difference should it make if you know that when you’re doing your work, you’re really doing it for your Lord or Master, Jesus Christ?
III. Do you think the church has really underlined this truth for workers?
For example, if you think of a carpenter or plumber or housewife going to church, what do they hear about their Christian duty?
What should we have told these people?
If in the work we do, we fail to do it up to its own standard, the work becomes a living lie.
Working For A Boss Who's Always Around
Download the MP3
PURPOSE: To help listeners see the dignity in their work.
There was a factory in England where the workers pushed their wheelbarrows, except for one slow worker: he pulled his wheelbarrow. A visitor asked the foreman why this man was so different from the others. "Oh, him!? He hates the sight of the bloomin' thing!"
Do you think many people feel what that worker felt about his job?
What are the consequences of being in a job you hate?
It’s a tragedy when you spend the greater part of your life doing something you despise.
It affects your family, your attitude toward recreation, free time, etc.
What are some of the changes Christians can make as they look at their job?
I. If you can’t change your job, you can change your attitude.
Paul demonstrates this in Ephesians 6:5-8.
You can understand that your job is the will of God for you: ". . . doing the will of God from the heart."
What difference does that make?
II. Realize that on the job you serve Jesus Christ.
Look at what Paul writes to Christian slaves and masters.
Look at the way the workers and the owners are to think about what they do.
Whom are they serving?
What is the vision of God in this passage? Jesus Christ is your employer.
In the passage, what difference should it make if you know that when you’re doing your work, you’re really doing it for your Lord or Master, Jesus Christ?
III. Do you think the church has really underlined this truth for workers?
For example, if you think of a carpenter or plumber or housewife going to church, what do they hear about their Christian duty?
What should we have told these people?
If in the work we do, we fail to do it up to its own standard, the work becomes a living lie.
Your Attitude and Your Job
From RBC Ministries' Discover The Word Series:
Your Attitude and Your Job
Download the MP3
Investing Your Life
Download the MP3
Looking at Your Job From God's Perspective
Download the MP3
Viewing Your Job As A Service To God
Download the MP3
PURPOSE: To help people evaluate the kind of work they do.
Did you ever have a call to ministry?
Do you believe that what you’re doing today is really doing God’s will? Why?
What do you mean by saying "a call"?
I. Every Christian needs to consider God’s call in their lives.
That doesn’t necessarily mean you have to consider becoming a pastor or a missionary. It does mean that you need to think seriously about how you invest your life.
Paul wrote to slaves in the Roman Empire and said, "Your job is the will of God for you." It’s always important to ask two things about a biblical passage:
In what ways are we like the people Paul is addressing?
In what ways do we differ from the people Paul is addressing?
How does a worker today differ from a slave in the first century?
II. The choices of a slave were limited. Ours may be much more varied.
We have a responsibility to think about the work we do. Where we have a choice, we have a responsibility.
What is the responsibility we have?
How do you go about making the choice for a career or for new employment opportunities?
Is the amount of money you make a legitimate criterion?
Is it the only one?
What makes your job the will of God for you?
Your Attitude and Your Job
Download the MP3
Investing Your Life
Download the MP3
Looking at Your Job From God's Perspective
Download the MP3
Viewing Your Job As A Service To God
Download the MP3
PURPOSE: To help people evaluate the kind of work they do.
Did you ever have a call to ministry?
Do you believe that what you’re doing today is really doing God’s will? Why?
What do you mean by saying "a call"?
I. Every Christian needs to consider God’s call in their lives.
That doesn’t necessarily mean you have to consider becoming a pastor or a missionary. It does mean that you need to think seriously about how you invest your life.
Paul wrote to slaves in the Roman Empire and said, "Your job is the will of God for you." It’s always important to ask two things about a biblical passage:
In what ways are we like the people Paul is addressing?
In what ways do we differ from the people Paul is addressing?
How does a worker today differ from a slave in the first century?
II. The choices of a slave were limited. Ours may be much more varied.
We have a responsibility to think about the work we do. Where we have a choice, we have a responsibility.
What is the responsibility we have?
How do you go about making the choice for a career or for new employment opportunities?
Is the amount of money you make a legitimate criterion?
Is it the only one?
What makes your job the will of God for you?
Your Work Is A Sacred Service To God
From RBC Ministries' Discover The Word
You Work Is A Sacred Service To God
Download the MP3
'Sacred Work' and 'Secular Work'
Download the MP3
PURPOSE: To help people realize that secular work is as significant to God as religious work.
Have you ever heard of the "bull’s-eye" theory of the will of God? Who would most religious people put in the center?
Basic to that whole concept is that we think of some occupations as being more central to God’s purposes than others.
I. People who have a bull’s-eye theory of the will of God might be upset by what Paul writes to slaves who lived in Ephesus (Ephesians 6:5-9).
Paul tells slaves that they are to do the will of God from the heart. When he talks about doing the will of God from the heart, what is it that he is referring to? Is it their work at the church?
He’s referring to their daily work. Does he imply that they were several points off-center?
II. The idea that only religious workers are in the center of God’s will was a heresy in the early church. It was called Docetism.
The heresy maintained that there was a distinct difference between the body and the spirit. They maintained that Christ was not a real human being who actually suffered and died on a cross, but who only seemed to do so. They could not believe that God would have anything to do with what is human. They denied the incarnation.
In wider terms, that led people to believe that God was concerned about the sacred, but not at all concerned about the secular. It was part of a Gnostic heresy.
III. The Church condemned the heresy.
The early church affirmed the incarnation of Jesus, that He really became a human being.
When you say that Jesus is human, what do you actually mean by that?
In affirming the incarnation of Jesus, they were saying that He is both human and divine.
In the wider realm, they were saying that there is not a difference between the sacred and the secular. There is not one realm in which we are more pleasing to God than in another realm. That is why Paul could say to slaves, "your job is the will of God for you."
You Work Is A Sacred Service To God
Download the MP3
'Sacred Work' and 'Secular Work'
Download the MP3
PURPOSE: To help people realize that secular work is as significant to God as religious work.
Have you ever heard of the "bull’s-eye" theory of the will of God? Who would most religious people put in the center?
Basic to that whole concept is that we think of some occupations as being more central to God’s purposes than others.
I. People who have a bull’s-eye theory of the will of God might be upset by what Paul writes to slaves who lived in Ephesus (Ephesians 6:5-9).
Paul tells slaves that they are to do the will of God from the heart. When he talks about doing the will of God from the heart, what is it that he is referring to? Is it their work at the church?
He’s referring to their daily work. Does he imply that they were several points off-center?
II. The idea that only religious workers are in the center of God’s will was a heresy in the early church. It was called Docetism.
The heresy maintained that there was a distinct difference between the body and the spirit. They maintained that Christ was not a real human being who actually suffered and died on a cross, but who only seemed to do so. They could not believe that God would have anything to do with what is human. They denied the incarnation.
In wider terms, that led people to believe that God was concerned about the sacred, but not at all concerned about the secular. It was part of a Gnostic heresy.
III. The Church condemned the heresy.
The early church affirmed the incarnation of Jesus, that He really became a human being.
When you say that Jesus is human, what do you actually mean by that?
In affirming the incarnation of Jesus, they were saying that He is both human and divine.
In the wider realm, they were saying that there is not a difference between the sacred and the secular. There is not one realm in which we are more pleasing to God than in another realm. That is why Paul could say to slaves, "your job is the will of God for you."
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
What The Bible Has To Say About Work
From RBC Ministries's Discover The Word:
What The Bible Has To Say About Work
Download the MP3
IDEA: We can find significance in work if we realize that our jobs are the will of God for us.
TEXT: "Bondservants, be obedient to those who are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in sincerity of heart, as to Christ; not with eyeservice, as men-pleasers, but as bondservants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart, with good will doing service, as to the Lord, and not to men, knowing that whatever good anyone does, he will receive the same from the Lord, whether he is a slave or free. And you, masters, do the same things to them, giving up threatening, knowing that your own Master also is in heaven, and there is no partiality with Him" (Ephesians 6:5-9).
PURPOSE: To help listeners feel the significance of their daily work.
We sometimes talk about "making a living." What is implied in that?
Is it possible to be glad you have a job but not see much significance in the job you have? For example, in a recession, people who get laid off are usually glad for any work they can get.
I. It is sometimes helpful to start with hard cases to establish principles.
Do you think it would be difficult to convince a physician or a nurse that their jobs are significant?
Do you think it would be more difficult to convince people flipping burgers in a fast food restaurant that their work is significant? Why?
II. When Paul talked about the significance of work for Christians, he made his strongest case when he wrote to slaves.
What do you know about slaves in the first century?
There were abut 60 million of them in the Roman Empire.
Roman citizens felt that work was beneath their dignity, so they turned most work over to slaves.
Slaves did all kinds of work: they served as teachers, scribes, physicians, manual laborers, farmers; they were also the garbage disposal system.
Slaves had no rights before the law. Aristotle referred to them as "living tools." He argued that a free man would not have a slave as a friend any more than he would make a friend out of a hammer or a saw.
The lot of the slave was not an easy one in the Roman society. Even though they did important work, they were still slaves.
III. Several times in the New Testament, Paul writes directly to slaves and gives them significance in their daily work.
Paul writes that "your job is the will of God for you."
When you think of the will of God, what does that mean?
If God had a missionary map in heaven, where do you think He would put the pins or markers? Why?
How does thinking about your job as "the will of God" give it significance?
What The Bible Has To Say About Work
Download the MP3
IDEA: We can find significance in work if we realize that our jobs are the will of God for us.
TEXT: "Bondservants, be obedient to those who are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in sincerity of heart, as to Christ; not with eyeservice, as men-pleasers, but as bondservants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart, with good will doing service, as to the Lord, and not to men, knowing that whatever good anyone does, he will receive the same from the Lord, whether he is a slave or free. And you, masters, do the same things to them, giving up threatening, knowing that your own Master also is in heaven, and there is no partiality with Him" (Ephesians 6:5-9).
PURPOSE: To help listeners feel the significance of their daily work.
We sometimes talk about "making a living." What is implied in that?
Is it possible to be glad you have a job but not see much significance in the job you have? For example, in a recession, people who get laid off are usually glad for any work they can get.
I. It is sometimes helpful to start with hard cases to establish principles.
Do you think it would be difficult to convince a physician or a nurse that their jobs are significant?
Do you think it would be more difficult to convince people flipping burgers in a fast food restaurant that their work is significant? Why?
II. When Paul talked about the significance of work for Christians, he made his strongest case when he wrote to slaves.
What do you know about slaves in the first century?
There were abut 60 million of them in the Roman Empire.
Roman citizens felt that work was beneath their dignity, so they turned most work over to slaves.
Slaves did all kinds of work: they served as teachers, scribes, physicians, manual laborers, farmers; they were also the garbage disposal system.
Slaves had no rights before the law. Aristotle referred to them as "living tools." He argued that a free man would not have a slave as a friend any more than he would make a friend out of a hammer or a saw.
The lot of the slave was not an easy one in the Roman society. Even though they did important work, they were still slaves.
III. Several times in the New Testament, Paul writes directly to slaves and gives them significance in their daily work.
Paul writes that "your job is the will of God for you."
When you think of the will of God, what does that mean?
If God had a missionary map in heaven, where do you think He would put the pins or markers? Why?
How does thinking about your job as "the will of God" give it significance?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
How Can I Find Satisfaction in My Work ?
From RBC Ministries' Discovery Series How Can I Find Satisfaction In My Work? :
Is there any way that I can find significance in a job that seems to be going nowhere? What if I feel overworked and underappreciated? Do I care too much or not enough about my job? What does God think about my work? Does my job really matter to Him?
These are the kinds of issues that staff writer Kurt De Haan addresses in this booklet. As you read these pages, you will be encouraged by what the Bible has to say about work and your attitude toward it.Friday, August 15, 2008
EVERY KNEE SHALL BOW
by Max Lucado
“. . . whoever believes in him shall not perish . . .”
How could a loving God send sinners to hell? He doesn’t. They volunteer.
Once there, they don’t want to leave. The hearts of damned fools never soften; their minds never change. “Men were scorched with great heat, and they blasphemed the name of God who has power over these plagues; and they did not repent and give Him glory” (Rev. 16:9 NKJV). Contrary to the idea that hell prompts remorse, it doesn’t. It intensifies blasphemy.
Remember the rich man in torment? He could see heaven but didn’t request a transfer. He wanted Lazarus to descend to him. Why not ask if he could join Lazarus?
The rich man complained of thirst, not of injustice.
He wanted water for the body, not water for the soul.
Even the longing for God is a gift from God, and where there is no more of God’s goodness, there is no longing for him. Though every knee shall bow before God and every tongue confess his preeminence (Rom. 14:11), the hard-hearted will do so stubbornly and without worship. There will be no atheists in hell (Phil. 2:10–11), but there will be no God-seekers either.
But still we wonder, is the punishment fair? Such a penalty seems inconsistent with a God of love—overkill. A sinner’s rebellion doesn’t warrant an eternity of suffering, does it? Isn’t God overreacting?
Who are we to challenge God? Only he knows the full story, the number of invitations the stubborn-hearted have refused and the slander they’ve spewed.
Accuse God of unfairness? He has wrapped caution tape on hell’s porch and posted a million and one red flags outside the entrance. To descend its stairs, you’d have to cover your ears, blindfold your eyes, and, most of all, ignore the epic sacrifice of history: Christ, in God’s hell on humanity’s cross, crying out to the blackened sky, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46). The supreme surprise of hell is this: Christ went there so you won’t have to.
bookFrom 3:16, The Numbers of Hope
Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2007) Max Lucado
“. . . whoever believes in him shall not perish . . .”
How could a loving God send sinners to hell? He doesn’t. They volunteer.
Once there, they don’t want to leave. The hearts of damned fools never soften; their minds never change. “Men were scorched with great heat, and they blasphemed the name of God who has power over these plagues; and they did not repent and give Him glory” (Rev. 16:9 NKJV). Contrary to the idea that hell prompts remorse, it doesn’t. It intensifies blasphemy.
Remember the rich man in torment? He could see heaven but didn’t request a transfer. He wanted Lazarus to descend to him. Why not ask if he could join Lazarus?
The rich man complained of thirst, not of injustice.
He wanted water for the body, not water for the soul.
Even the longing for God is a gift from God, and where there is no more of God’s goodness, there is no longing for him. Though every knee shall bow before God and every tongue confess his preeminence (Rom. 14:11), the hard-hearted will do so stubbornly and without worship. There will be no atheists in hell (Phil. 2:10–11), but there will be no God-seekers either.
But still we wonder, is the punishment fair? Such a penalty seems inconsistent with a God of love—overkill. A sinner’s rebellion doesn’t warrant an eternity of suffering, does it? Isn’t God overreacting?
Who are we to challenge God? Only he knows the full story, the number of invitations the stubborn-hearted have refused and the slander they’ve spewed.
Accuse God of unfairness? He has wrapped caution tape on hell’s porch and posted a million and one red flags outside the entrance. To descend its stairs, you’d have to cover your ears, blindfold your eyes, and, most of all, ignore the epic sacrifice of history: Christ, in God’s hell on humanity’s cross, crying out to the blackened sky, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46). The supreme surprise of hell is this: Christ went there so you won’t have to.
bookFrom 3:16, The Numbers of Hope
Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2007) Max Lucado
Sunday, August 10, 2008
HE'S BEEN THERE
by Max Lucado
“. . . shall not perish but have eternal life . . .”
On a trip to China, I rode past Tiananmen Square in a bus full of Westerners. We tried to recollect the causes and consequences of the revolt. Our knowledge of history was embarrassing. One gave one date; another gave a different one. One person remembered a certain death toll; someone else disagreed. All this time our translator remained silent.
Finally one of us asked her, “Do you remember anything about the Tiananmen Square revolt?”
Her answer was solemn. “Yes, I was a part of it.”
We quickly grew quiet as she gave firsthand recollections of the bloodshed and oppression. We listened, because she’d been there.
-
We who follow Christ do so for the same reason. He’s been there . . .
He’s been to Bethlehem, wearing barn rags and hearing sheep crunch. Suckling milk and shivering against the cold. All of divinity content to cocoon itself in an eight-pound body and to sleep on a cow’s supper. Millions who face the chill of empty pockets or the fears of sudden change turn to Christ. Why?
Because he’s been there.
He’s been to Nazareth, where he made deadlines and paid bills; to Galilee, where he recruited direct reports and separated fighters; to Jerusalem, where he stared down critics and stood up against cynics.
We have our Nazareths as well—demands and due dates. Jesus wasn’t the last to build a team; accusers didn’t disappear with Jerusalem’s temple. Why seek Jesus’s help with your challenges? Because he’s been there. To Nazareth, to Galilee, to Jerusalem.
But most of all, he’s been to the grave. Not as a visitor, but as a corpse. Buried amidst the cadavers. Numbered among the dead. Heart silent and lungs vacant. Body wrapped and grave sealed. The cemetery. He’s been buried there.
You haven’t yet. But you will be. And since you will, don’t you need someone who knows the way out?
-
bookFrom 3:16, The Numbers of Hope
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, Inc, 2007) Max Lucado
“. . . shall not perish but have eternal life . . .”
On a trip to China, I rode past Tiananmen Square in a bus full of Westerners. We tried to recollect the causes and consequences of the revolt. Our knowledge of history was embarrassing. One gave one date; another gave a different one. One person remembered a certain death toll; someone else disagreed. All this time our translator remained silent.
Finally one of us asked her, “Do you remember anything about the Tiananmen Square revolt?”
Her answer was solemn. “Yes, I was a part of it.”
We quickly grew quiet as she gave firsthand recollections of the bloodshed and oppression. We listened, because she’d been there.
-
We who follow Christ do so for the same reason. He’s been there . . .
He’s been to Bethlehem, wearing barn rags and hearing sheep crunch. Suckling milk and shivering against the cold. All of divinity content to cocoon itself in an eight-pound body and to sleep on a cow’s supper. Millions who face the chill of empty pockets or the fears of sudden change turn to Christ. Why?
Because he’s been there.
He’s been to Nazareth, where he made deadlines and paid bills; to Galilee, where he recruited direct reports and separated fighters; to Jerusalem, where he stared down critics and stood up against cynics.
We have our Nazareths as well—demands and due dates. Jesus wasn’t the last to build a team; accusers didn’t disappear with Jerusalem’s temple. Why seek Jesus’s help with your challenges? Because he’s been there. To Nazareth, to Galilee, to Jerusalem.
But most of all, he’s been to the grave. Not as a visitor, but as a corpse. Buried amidst the cadavers. Numbered among the dead. Heart silent and lungs vacant. Body wrapped and grave sealed. The cemetery. He’s been buried there.
You haven’t yet. But you will be. And since you will, don’t you need someone who knows the way out?
-
bookFrom 3:16, The Numbers of Hope
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, Inc, 2007) Max Lucado
Monday, August 4, 2008
THE BLACKSMITH'S SHOP
by Max Lucado
In the shop of a blacksmith, there are three types of tools.
There are tools on the junk pile:
outdated, broken, dull, rusty. They sit in the cobwebbed corner, useless to their master, oblivious to their calling.
There are tools on the anvil:
melted down, molten hot, moldable, changeable. They lie on the anvil, being shaped by their master, accepting their calling.
There are tools of usefulness:
sharpened, primed, defined, mobile. They lie ready in the blacksmith’s tool chest, available to their master, fulfilling their calling.
-
Some people lie useless:
lives broken, talents wasting, fires quenched, dreams dashed. They are tossed in with the scrap iron, in desperate need of repair, with no notion of purpose.
Others lie on the anvil:
hearts open, hungry to change, wounds healing, visions clearing. They welcome the painful pounding of the blacksmith’s hammer, longing to be rebuilt, begging to be called.
Others lie in their Master’s hands:
well tuned, uncompromising, polished, productive. They respond to their Master’s forearm, demanding nothing, surrendering all.
-
We are all somewhere in the blacksmith’s shop. We are either on the scrap pile, in the Master’s hands on the anvil, or in the tool chest. (Some of us have been in all three.)
From the shelves to the workbench, from the water to the fire…I’m sure that somewhere you will see yourself.
Paul spoke of becoming “an instrument for noble purposes.” And what a becoming it is! The rubbish pile of broken tools, the anvil of recasting, the hands of the Master- it’s a simultaneously joyful and painful voyage.
And for you who make the journey—who leave the heap and enter the fire, dare to be pounded on God’s anvil, and doggedly seek to discover your own purpose—take courage, for you await the privilege of being called “God’s chosen instruments.”
-
From On the Anvil:
Stories On Being Shaped Into God’s Imagebook cover
This is a new edition of Max’s first book.
It contains an updated forward, written by him, as well as thoughtful questions for each chapter.
© (Tyndale House, 1985, 2008) Max Lucado
In the shop of a blacksmith, there are three types of tools.
There are tools on the junk pile:
outdated, broken, dull, rusty. They sit in the cobwebbed corner, useless to their master, oblivious to their calling.
There are tools on the anvil:
melted down, molten hot, moldable, changeable. They lie on the anvil, being shaped by their master, accepting their calling.
There are tools of usefulness:
sharpened, primed, defined, mobile. They lie ready in the blacksmith’s tool chest, available to their master, fulfilling their calling.
-
Some people lie useless:
lives broken, talents wasting, fires quenched, dreams dashed. They are tossed in with the scrap iron, in desperate need of repair, with no notion of purpose.
Others lie on the anvil:
hearts open, hungry to change, wounds healing, visions clearing. They welcome the painful pounding of the blacksmith’s hammer, longing to be rebuilt, begging to be called.
Others lie in their Master’s hands:
well tuned, uncompromising, polished, productive. They respond to their Master’s forearm, demanding nothing, surrendering all.
-
We are all somewhere in the blacksmith’s shop. We are either on the scrap pile, in the Master’s hands on the anvil, or in the tool chest. (Some of us have been in all three.)
From the shelves to the workbench, from the water to the fire…I’m sure that somewhere you will see yourself.
Paul spoke of becoming “an instrument for noble purposes.” And what a becoming it is! The rubbish pile of broken tools, the anvil of recasting, the hands of the Master- it’s a simultaneously joyful and painful voyage.
And for you who make the journey—who leave the heap and enter the fire, dare to be pounded on God’s anvil, and doggedly seek to discover your own purpose—take courage, for you await the privilege of being called “God’s chosen instruments.”
-
From On the Anvil:
Stories On Being Shaped Into God’s Imagebook cover
This is a new edition of Max’s first book.
It contains an updated forward, written by him, as well as thoughtful questions for each chapter.
© (Tyndale House, 1985, 2008) Max Lucado
Monday, July 28, 2008
ON THE ANVIL
by Max Lucado
(I Peter 1:6-7)
From On the Anvil:
Stories On Being Shaped Into God’s Image
With a strong forearm, the apron-clad blacksmith puts his tongs into the fire, grasps the heated metal, and places it on the anvil. His keen eye examines the glowing piece. He sees what the tool is now and envisions what he wants it to be—sharper, flatter, wider, longer. With a clear picture in his mind, he begins to pound. His left hand still clutching the hot mass with the tongs, his right hand slams the two-pound sledge upon the moldable metal.
On the solid anvil, the smoldering iron is remolded.
The smith knows the type of instrument he wants. He knows the size. He knows the shape. He knows the strength.
Whang! Whang! The hammer slams. The shop rings with the noise, the air fills with smoke, and the softened metal responds.
But the response doesn’t come easily. It doesn’t come without discomfort. To melt down the old and recast it as new is a disrupting process. Yet the metal remains on the anvil, allowing the toolmaker to remove the scars, repair the cracks, refill the voids, and purge the impurities.
And with time, a change occurs: What was dull becomes sharpened, what was crooked becomes straight, what was weak becomes strong, and what was useless becomes valuable.
Then the blacksmith stops. He ceases his pounding and sets down his hammer. With a strong left arm, he lifts the tongs until the freshly molded metal is at eye level. In the still silence, he examines the smoking tool. The incandescent implement is rotated and examined for any mars or cracks.
There are none.
Now the smith enters the final stage of his task. He plunges the smoldering instrument into a nearby bucket of water. With a hiss and a rush of steam, the metal immediately begins to harden. The heat surrenders to the onslaught of cool water, and the pliable, soft mineral becomes an unbending useful tool.
“For a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”(I Peter 1:6-7)
From On the Anvil:
Stories On Being Shaped Into God’s Image
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
HE UNDERSTANDS
by Max Lucado
Cries of loneliness. Tune out the traffic and turn down the TV. The cry is there. You can hear their cries. You can hear them in the convalescent home among the sighs and the shuffling feet. You can hear them in the prisons among the moans of shame and the calls for mercy. You can hear them if you walk the manicured streets of suburban America, among the aborted ambitions and aging homecoming queens. Listen for it in the halls of our high schools where peer pressure weeds out the “have-nots” from the “haves.”
Many of you have been spared this cruel cry. Oh, you have been homesick or upset a time or two. But despair? Far from it. Suicide? Of course not. Be thankful that it hasn’t knocked on your door. Pray that it never will. If you have yet to fight this battle, you are welcome to read on if you wish, but I’m really writing to someone else.
I am writing to those who know this cry firsthand. I’m writing to those of you whose days are bookended with broken hearts and long evenings. I’m writing to those of you who can find a lonely person simply by looking in the mirror.
For you, loneliness is a way of life. The sleepless nights. The lonely bed. The distrust. The fear of tomorrow. The unending hurt.
When did it begin? In your childhood? At the divorce? At retirement? At the cemetery? When the kids left home?
Maybe you have fooled everyone. No one knows that you are lonely. On the outside you are packaged perfectly. Your smile is quick. Your job is stable. Your clothes are sharp. Your waist is thin. Your calendar is full. Your walk brisk. Your talk impressive. But when you look in the mirror, you fool no one. When you are alone, the duplicity ceases and the pain surfaces.
Or maybe you don’t try to hide it. Maybe you have always been outside the circle looking in, and everyone knows it. Your conversation is a bit awkward. Your companionship is seldom requested. Your clothes are dull. Your looks are common. Ziggy is your hero and Charlie Brown is your mentor.
Am I striking a chord? If I am, if you have nodded or sighed in understanding, I have an important message for you.
The most gut-wrenching cry of loneliness in history came not from a prisoner or a widow or a patient. It came from a hill, from a cross, from a Messiah.
“My God, my God,” he screamed, “why did you abandon me!” (Matthew 27:46)
Never have words carried so much hurt. Never has one being been so lonely.
Out of the silent sky come the words screamed by all who walk in the desert of loneliness. “Why? Why did you abandon me?”
I keep thinking of all the people who cast despairing eyes toward the dark heavens and cry “Why?”
And I imagine him. I imagine him listening. I picture his eyes misting and a pierced hand brushing away a tear. And although he may offer no answer, although he may solve no dilemma, although the question may freeze painfully in midair, he who also was once alone, understands.
From No Wonder They Call Him the Savior
© (W Publishing Group, 1986, 2004) Max Lucado
Cries of loneliness. Tune out the traffic and turn down the TV. The cry is there. You can hear their cries. You can hear them in the convalescent home among the sighs and the shuffling feet. You can hear them in the prisons among the moans of shame and the calls for mercy. You can hear them if you walk the manicured streets of suburban America, among the aborted ambitions and aging homecoming queens. Listen for it in the halls of our high schools where peer pressure weeds out the “have-nots” from the “haves.”
Many of you have been spared this cruel cry. Oh, you have been homesick or upset a time or two. But despair? Far from it. Suicide? Of course not. Be thankful that it hasn’t knocked on your door. Pray that it never will. If you have yet to fight this battle, you are welcome to read on if you wish, but I’m really writing to someone else.
I am writing to those who know this cry firsthand. I’m writing to those of you whose days are bookended with broken hearts and long evenings. I’m writing to those of you who can find a lonely person simply by looking in the mirror.
For you, loneliness is a way of life. The sleepless nights. The lonely bed. The distrust. The fear of tomorrow. The unending hurt.
When did it begin? In your childhood? At the divorce? At retirement? At the cemetery? When the kids left home?
Maybe you have fooled everyone. No one knows that you are lonely. On the outside you are packaged perfectly. Your smile is quick. Your job is stable. Your clothes are sharp. Your waist is thin. Your calendar is full. Your walk brisk. Your talk impressive. But when you look in the mirror, you fool no one. When you are alone, the duplicity ceases and the pain surfaces.
Or maybe you don’t try to hide it. Maybe you have always been outside the circle looking in, and everyone knows it. Your conversation is a bit awkward. Your companionship is seldom requested. Your clothes are dull. Your looks are common. Ziggy is your hero and Charlie Brown is your mentor.
Am I striking a chord? If I am, if you have nodded or sighed in understanding, I have an important message for you.
The most gut-wrenching cry of loneliness in history came not from a prisoner or a widow or a patient. It came from a hill, from a cross, from a Messiah.
“My God, my God,” he screamed, “why did you abandon me!” (Matthew 27:46)
Never have words carried so much hurt. Never has one being been so lonely.
Out of the silent sky come the words screamed by all who walk in the desert of loneliness. “Why? Why did you abandon me?”
I keep thinking of all the people who cast despairing eyes toward the dark heavens and cry “Why?”
And I imagine him. I imagine him listening. I picture his eyes misting and a pierced hand brushing away a tear. And although he may offer no answer, although he may solve no dilemma, although the question may freeze painfully in midair, he who also was once alone, understands.
From No Wonder They Call Him the Savior
© (W Publishing Group, 1986, 2004) Max Lucado
Sunday, July 20, 2008
THE DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY ARE DOING
by Max Lucado
From No Wonder They Call Him the Savior
© (W Publishing Group, 1986, 2004) Max Lucado
Anger. It’s a peculiar yet predictable emotion. It begins as a drop of water. An irritant. A frustration. Nothing big, just an aggravation. Someone gets your parking place. Someone pulls in front of you on the freeway. A waitress is slow and you are in a hurry. The toast burns. Drops of water. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Yet, get enough of these seemingly innocent drops of anger and before long you’ve got a bucket full of rage. Walking revenge. Blind bitterness. Unharnessed hatred. We trust no one and bare our teeth at anyone who gets near. We become walking time bombs that, given just the right tension and fear, could explode.
Yet, what do we do? We can’t deny that our anger exists. How do we harness it? A good option is found in Luke 23:34. Here, Jesus speaks about the mob that killed him. “‘Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.’”
Look carefully. It’s as if Jesus considered this bloodthirsty, death-hungry crowd not as murderers, but as victims. It’s as if he saw in their faces not hatred but confusion. It’s as if he regarded them not as a militant mob but, as he put it, as “sheep without a shepherd.”
“They don’t know what they are doing.”
And when you think about it, they didn’t. They hadn’t the faintest idea what they were doing. They were a stir-crazy mob, mad at something they couldn’t see so they took it out on, of all people, God. But they didn’t know what they were doing.
And for the most part, neither do we. We are still, as much as we hate to admit it, shepherdless sheep. All we know is that we were born out of one eternity and are frighteningly close to another. We play tag with the fuzzy realities of death and pain. We can’t answer our own questions about love and hurt. We can’t solve the riddle of aging. We don’t know how to heal our own bodies or get along with our own mates. We can’t keep ourselves out of war. We can’t even keep ourselves fed.
Paul spoke for humanity when he confessed, “I do not know what I am doing.” (Romans 7:15, author’s paraphrase.)
Now, I know that doesn’t justify anything. That doesn’t justify hit-and-run drivers or kiddie-porn peddlers or heroin dealers. But it does help explain why they do the miserable things they do.
My point is this: Uncontrolled anger won’t better our world, but sympathetic understanding will. Once we see the world and ourselves for what we are, we can help. Once we understand ourselves we begin to operate not from a posture of anger but of compassion and concern. We look at the world not with bitter frowns but with extended hands. We realize that the lights are out and a lot of people are stumbling in the darkness. So we light candles.From No Wonder They Call Him the Savior© (W Publishing Group, 1986, 2004) Max Lucado
Thursday, July 17, 2008
THUMP.. THUD.. THUMP.. THUD..
by Max Lucado
From On the Anvil:
Stories On Being Shaped Into God’s Image
This is a new edition of Max’s first book.
It contains an updated forward, written by him, as well as thoughtful questions for each chapter.
© (Tyndale House, 1985, 2008) Max Lucado
When a potter bakes a pot, he checks its solidity by pulling it out of the oven and thumping it. If it “sings,” it’s ready. If it “thuds,” it’s placed back in the oven.
The character of a person is also checked by thumping.
Been thumped lately?
Late-night phone calls. Grouchy teacher. Grumpy moms. Burnt meals. Flat tires. You’ve-got-to-be-kidding deadlines. Those are thumps. Thumps are those irritating inconveniences that trigger the worst in us. They catch us off guard. Flat-footed. They aren’t big enough to be crises, but if you get enough of them, watch out! Traffic jams. Long lines. Empty mailboxes. Dirty clothes on the floor. Even as I write this, I’m being thumped. Because of interruptions, it has taken me almost two hours to write these two paragraphs. Thump. Thump. Thump.
How do I respond? Do I sing, or do I thud?
Jesus said that out of the nature of the heart a man speaks (Luke 6:45). There’s nothing like a good thump to reveal the nature of a heart. The true character of a person is seen not in momentary heroics but in the thump-packed humdrum of day-to-day living.
If you have a tendency to thud more than you sing, take heart.
There is hope for us “thudders”:
Begin by thanking God for thumps. I don’t mean a half-hearted thank-you. I mean a rejoicing, jumping-for-joy thank-you from the bottom of your heart (James 1:2). Chances are that God is doing the thumping. And he’s doing it for your own good. So every thump is a reminder that God is molding you (Hebrews 12:5-8).
Learn from each thump. Face up to the fact that you are not “thump-proof.” You are going to be tested from now on. You might as well learn from the thumps—you can’t avoid them. Look upon each inconvenience as an opportunity to develop patience and persistence. Each thump will help you or hurt you, depending on how you use it.
Be aware of “thump-slump” times. Know your pressure periods. For me, Mondays are infamous for causing thump-slumps. Fridays can be just as bad. For all of us, there are times during the week when we can anticipate an unusual amount of thumping. The best way to handle thump-slump times? Head on. Bolster yourself with extra prayer, and don’t give up.
Remember no thump is disastrous. All thumps work for good if we are loving and obeying God.From On the Anvil:
Stories On Being Shaped Into God’s Image
This is a new edition of Max’s first book.
It contains an updated forward, written by him, as well as thoughtful questions for each chapter.
© (Tyndale House, 1985, 2008) Max Lucado
Monday, July 14, 2008
ANVIL TIME
by Max Lucado
From On the Anvil:
Stories On Being Shaped Into God’s Image
This is a new edition of Max’s first book.
It contains an updated forward, written by him, as well as thoughtful questions for each chapter.
© (Tyndale House, 1985, 2008) Max Lucado
On God’s anvil. Perhaps you’ve been there.
Melted down. Formless. Undone. Placed on the anvil for…reshaping? (A few rough edges too many.) Discipline? (A good father disciplines.) Testing? (Buy why so hard?)
I know. I’ve been on it. It’s rough. It’s a spiritual slump, a famine. The fire goes out. Although the fire may flame for a moment, it soon disappears. We drift downward. Downward into the foggy valley of question, the misty lowland of discouragement. Motivation wanes. Desire is distant. Responsibilities are depressing.
Passion? It slips out the door.
Enthusiasm? Are you kidding?
Anvil time.
It can be caused by a death, a breakup, going broke, going prayerless. The light switch is flipped off and the room darkens. “All the thoughtful words of help and hope have all been nicely said. But I’m still hurting, wondering…..”
On the anvil.
Brought face to face with God out of the utter realization that we have nowhere else to go. Jesus in the garden. Peter with a tear-streaked face. David after Bathsheba. Elijah and the “still, small voice.” Paul, blind in Damascus.
Pound, pound, pound.
I hope you’re not on the anvil. (Unless you need to be, and if so, I hope you are.) Anvil time is not to be avoided; it’s to be experienced. Although the tunnel is dark, it does go through the mountain. Anvil time reminds us of who we are and who God is. We shouldn’t try to escape it. To escape it could be to escape God.
God sees our life from beginning to end. He may lead us through a storm at age thirty so we can endure a hurricane at age sixty. An instrument is useful only if it’s in the right shape. A dull ax or bent screwdriver needs attention, and so do we. A good blacksmith keeps his tools in shape. So does God.
Should God place you on his anvil, be thankful. It means he thinks you’re still worth reshaping.From On the Anvil:
Stories On Being Shaped Into God’s Image
This is a new edition of Max’s first book.
It contains an updated forward, written by him, as well as thoughtful questions for each chapter.
© (Tyndale House, 1985, 2008) Max Lucado
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)