Tag: Jesus

It Was Love, Not Nails

nails-cross

When Jesus walked the Via Dolorosa to His execution, it was an intensely intentional act. There was no fear in being crucified. He carried His cross like a well earned trophy. Jesus understood perfectly what was going to happen. He was going to die for His friends.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd sacrifices his life for the sheep.”

John 10:11, NLT

It was love, and not nails that held Him on that cruel cross. He didn’t need to be fastened on it, His love for you and I would have held Him there. But nailed and splayed up before all, naked and alone, Jesus would “endure the shame.” And He would do this because we are His sheep. We belong to Him.

There is an immense amount of theology in all of this:

  • He was our substitution
  • He was our atonement
  • He was our redeemer.

I have hundreds of books full of information that tell me this. (They often just give me a headache.)

 “And when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself.”

John 12:32, NLT

The fear of death has nipped our heels. It is a formidable and persistent enemy. But as our Lord was dying Himself, He destroyed death, dismantling its entire apparatus. It has been said, “For the believing Christian, the grave is just a doorway into eternity.”

The deep confidence of Jesus, approaching a hideous death, can now be ours. In a sense we can “piggyback” our faith on His. We can die with an assurance that our life is now eternal. In a sense, it’s like getting on an elevator, the doors close and we move up (or down). The doors open and we’re in an entirely different place. The elevator has only done what it is supposed to do, nothing more.

Dear one, I implore you to understand what has been done for you. It is a mighty act of God to assemble all of this for us. “Be glad” (Ps. 32.)

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A Cup of Cold Water in Jesus’ Name— by Jonathan Coe

Not everyone who is wounded is a wounded healer. Put another way, it’s possible to be wounded and suffer significant loss and not use that wound to minister healing to others. Much of this is related to how we go through the grieving process associated with our wound and loss. I learned this when I went through a divorce in 2008–2009. Not everyone agrees with how many stages of grief there are, but everyone agrees that it involves working through different phases of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance and often sorting through accompanying feelings of pain, guilt, loneliness, and hope.

I didn’t go through the grieving process associated with my divorce perfectly. There were missteps, stumbles, and things I wish I could do over. However, by the grace of God, I reached acceptance and hope and noticed that I was able to help other people who were working through broken relationships. Out of my wounds others were receiving healing and comfort.

In changing metaphors, rather than speaking in terms of wounds and healing, I’d like to talk in terms of water and refreshment: out of my experience I was able to, in an imperfect way, give thirsty people a cup of cold water. However, I’ve noticed that in both giving and receiving water over the years, how we go through the grieving process affects both the volume and quality of the water we give to others.

Before we drink it, water travels through rock and soil and can pick up large amounts of calcium and magnesium and becomes what we call “hard water.” If I grieve about a broken relationship and my forgiveness of the person who hurt me is incomplete, then I become hardened and end up giving hard water to those I share with about my experience. It may help a thirsty person, but God is calling me to buy a “water softener” and finish the forgiveness process so I can give better water to people I know and love.

If significant depression linked to my divorce still plagues me years after the dissolution of the marriage, that would definitely affect the volume of  water I can give to others. When I’m depressed, I can barely take care of me so how can I give you a cup of refreshing water for what you’re going through? The volume of water I can give is greatly reduced. I will need to revisit my grieving process and do some “emotional detective work,” perhaps with a therapist, to find out why I’m still depressed.

This is not a condemnation of those who have depression because of a chemical imbalance or some other issue. My heart goes out to you and I rejoice that there are medications that can help you find an emotional equilibrium and enable you to give others a cup of cold, clean water in the name of Jesus. Your fight with depression is a different fight than mine and I’m rooting for you as God upholds you through a difficult trial.

For many, the most dangerous stage in the grieving process is the one involving anger. We may be angry at someone who hurt us and how we feel they let us down. We may be angry at God because we thought life was going to be “X” and it turned out to be “Y.”

Anger, for a season, is a healthy response for someone who has been wounded and suffered loss. The Bible says, “Be angry and sin not” (Ephesians 4:26). But if the anger devolves into bitterness, then we have a major problem. The Bible also warns us against missing the grace of God and allowing a bitter root to grow up, cause trouble, and defile many (Hebrews 12:15). Sometimes water supplies get poisoned by arsenic, radon, or uranium. This is a grave matter because the water we have has been poisoned and will poison others.

In Exodus 15: 22–25, the Israelites had traveled three days without finding water. When they finally did find water at Marah, it was bitter. God told Moses to throw a particular piece of wood in the water. When he did this, the water became sweet. We have hope because in brokenness and in a radical dependence on Christ (the Piece of Wood), our waters too can be made sweet.

If you liked this post by Jonathan Coe, you might also like his new book, Letters from Fawn Creek, that is now available at this link:

https://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=9781628542035

Letters from Fawn Creek

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Melancholy Beckons Me

melancholy-tree

Objectively speaking, my life is pretty good, for the most part. I have a good job, been married 25 years, have a wonderful creative son, a terrific church home and family, blood family that I love, a cute loveable dog, a nice house, plenty to eat — I could go on and on about the blessings in my life, and I do try to focus on the greatest blessing of all, my dear Jesus.

And yet melancholy beckons me. It bids me turn my gaze from the Lord and my blessings, and instead focus on the one thing that is not as I would like it to be.

I feel a bit like Peter must have felt when he looked down at the crashing waves instead of at Jesus. Yes, there was a storm all about Peter, but he was standing safely above it as long as he kept his eyes on Jesus. Looking at the scene with the benefit of hindsight, I know that Jesus eventually calmed Peter’s storm. It was only when Peter looked away that he began to sink into the deep.

I know, too, that He will calm my storm. As the tempest rages and melancholy beckons, I know it is essential to keep my eyes on my Savior lest I sink into the deep. I know that I must trust in Jesus, and trust I do.

Still trust is so hard when tears well up behind sad eyes, when nothing changes and the storm continues to howl all around me. But in fact, upon closer examination, something has changed, and that is the tempest within. It is me He has changed as He strengthens my faith. He has changed violent anger and indignation to sadness and compassion, to melancholy.

Standing in the wings is indifference, worse even than melancholy, because indifference means giving up hope. It clings to pride and indignation, not wanting to let go. Indifference means a deliberate decision to not care about another, only self. But the change my Lord has wrought in my heart bids me stay clear of indifference. Melancholy is at least useful for self-examination and for reminding me of how desperately I need Jesus.

The Psalms are wonderful for times like this. Just this morning as I began my prayer time, I read Psalm 28 and came to these words of encouragement:

Blessed be the Lord,
Because He has heard the voice of my supplications!
The Lord is my strength and my shield;
My heart trusted in Him, and I am helped;
Therefore my heart greatly rejoices,
And with my song I will praise Him.
Psalm 28:6-7 (NKJV).

Melancholy beckons me, but though I succumb for a while I remember that my Redeemer will never leave me. Though my mind reflects with melancholy on what I pray He will change, my heart rejoices that He is faithful to keep His promises.

http://lindakruschke.wordpress.com/

 

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Instant Breakfast

“Always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.”

2 Cor. 4:10, ESV

Somebody has been pulling your leg!  There isn’t any provision added to your contract with the Father that releases you from “any pain or duress while acting as a disciple while in this dark world.”  This “rider clause” doesn’t work, it has no validity or legal precedent–it simply is not true.

Not everyone agrees with me on this point.  But becoming a saint is not an automatic or a painless process.  Discipleship is like being mashed until you are soft and gracious inside, and that my friend, takes a lot of time and tears, in equal proportions.  Painless Christianity and spontaneous sainthood is definitely fiction.  It is a lie, and a crooked one at that.

Just pour a little water on it, and presto-chango!  And stand back and watch it grow.

Perhaps our “hi-tech” culture gives us false expectations.  We have the microwave, high-def  TV, fast food places and the computer/internet (my fave.)  I guess that I’m trying to say is that we think that there is a corresponding effect into spiritual things.  But there isn’t.

Spiritual growth or discipleship is a definite growth process.  The incredible redwood forests of Northern California where all once tiny, vulnerable seeds.  But something happened!  They grew and grew.  It took centuries to attain their amazing heights.  We see them in the present, the “now” –and never what they used to be.

Unquestionably, the life-giving, Holy Spirit can accelerate growth.  But the standard set in the Word is more like “slow and steady.”  Even God’s favorites in scripture had periods of waiting and testing.  I suppose that’s where faith comes in to play. All too often we look for a formula when we should be seeking an obedience.  (But honestly, formulas are fun– and nice, and clean and quick.)

Formula-istic faith isn’t really real, we just insist that it has to be.  But the Father has different plans for raising his children.  No shortcuts or detours, we walk through the floods and then we take a lap (or two) through the fire (my theory, this is to dry us off after the floods, lol.)  Otherwise, he would have to write an apology to the martyrs that came before us.

But I beg, and plead for you, to accept the real terms of your discipleship.  You will only fool yourself if you think instant is better then real.  But to accept the foolish may seem to be faith to some; but to walk through the darkness with just a candle takes real faith.  I’m not a “palm reader,” but I predict you are going to face hard times and challenges that will “rock your world.”

“Paul and Barnabas preached the good news in Derbe and won some people to the Lord. Then they went back to Lystra, Iconium, and Antioch in Pisidia. 22 They encouraged the followers and begged them to remain faithful. They told them, “We have to suffer a lot before we can get into God’s kingdom.”

Acts 14:21-22, CEV

Wendy & Mary—Instant Breakfast