Learn to Listen to God
“The young man completed his form and sat down with seven other waiting applicants. After a few minutes, the young man stood up, crossed the room to the door of the inner office, and walked right in. Naturally the other applicants perked up, wondering what was going on. Why had this man been so bold? They muttered among themselves that they hadn’t heard any summons yet. They took more than a little satisfaction in assuming the young man who went into the office would be reprimanded for his presumption and summarily disqualified for the job.
“Within a few minutes, the young man emerged from the inner office, escorted by the interviewer, who announced to the other applicants, ‘Gentlemen, thank you very much for coming, but the job has been filled by this young man.’
“The other applicants began grumbling to each other, and then one spoke up, ‘Wait a minute—I don’t understand. He was the last one to come in, and we never even got a chance to be interviewed. Yet he got the job. That’s not fair.’
“The employer responded, ‘All the time you’ve been sitting here, the telegraph has been ticking out the following message in Morse code: “If you understand this message, then come right in. The job will be yours.” None of you heard it or understood it. This young man did. So the job is his.’”
Something similar happened in Judah around 911 B.C. A man named Asa, whose name means Healer, ascended to the throne amidst a great cacophony of noises from false worship, but he was able to tune out the distractive voices of false worship and listen to the voice of God, and to respond to the voice of God. 2 Chronicles 14:2-4 reports, “Asa did what was good and right in the sight of the Lord his God. He took away the foreign altars and the high places, broke down the pillars, hewed down the sacred poles, and commanded Judah to seek the Lord, the God of their ancestors, and to keep the law and the commandment.”
Neale Donald Walsch remarks, “God is speaking to us, all the time. [Like the telegraph kept tapping out the message to walk right in.] The question is not: To whom does God talk? The question is: Who listens?”
Asa listened. Because Asa listened, he lived up to his name and brought healing to Judah. 2 Chronicles 14:5 reports, “He also removed from all the cities of Judah the high places and the incense altars. And the kingdom had rest under him.”
No less than during the time of Asa, our nation and our world need to learn how to tune out the cacophony of noises that distract us from hearing the voice of God, for it is the voice of God that we most desperately need to hear.
F.F. Bruce put it succinctly, “The soul’s deepest thirst is for God himself, who has made us so that we can never be satisfied without him.” There is nothing that our soul needs more than to seek God.
In his autobiography Time Bends, Arthur Miller writes about his wife, Marilyn Monroe, “One night, as I looked down on her, I couldn’t help thinking to myself, ‘How I wish I still had my faith and she still had hers. What if I could say to her, ‘Darling, God loves you,’ and what if she could believe it?’ I wished so much that some miracle could happen for her. But I had no saving mystery to offer her.”
If only they could have or would have tuned out the cacophony of other noises and attended to the voice of God! If only we would do so!
For over three decades, Asa sought God’s leading in his life. But at the end of his life, Asa became distracted by other voices. Sadly, the healing he had brought to the nation dissolved. 2 Chronicles 16:9 reports, “For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the entire earth, to strengthen those whose heart is true to him. You have done foolishly in this; for from now on you will have wars.”
May Asa’s life be an inspiration, and a warning, to us to tune our attention to the voice of God, and to seek the Lord with the whole of our heart.
Meaningful Fellowship: The Supreme Happiness of Life
Psalm 133 declares, “How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity! It is like the precious oil on the head, running down the beard of Aaron, running down over the collar of his robes. It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion. For there the Lord ordained his blessing, life forevermore.”
The word translated here as good—tob in Hebrew—is the same word found in Genesis 2:18 when it was announced that it was not good for Adam to be alone. To be alone is not good, but it is wonderfully good “when kindred live together in unity.”
The word translated here as pleasant—na’im in Hebrew—can be translated as lovely, good, attractive, pleasant, friendly or joyous. It is joyous “when kindred live together in unity.” Meaningful connection with others is what we were made for. It fills us with vitality and joy.
Psalm 133 compares the joy of meaningful fellowship with one another to “precious oi on the head, running down upon the beard of Aaron, running down over the collar of his robes.” The picture presented here is not of a little bit of oil that being dabbed on Aaron’s head, but of so much oil poured upon him that it runs down his head to his beard, and down his beard to his robe. In other words, the benefits of meaningful fellowship with one another result in tremendous richness to our lives.
Moreover, it was not just spare oil that happened to be lying around that was put on Aaron. It was the “precious oil” for the priests. Exodus 30:22-33 describes this oil as a special blend of the finest spices: olive oil, myrrh, cinnamon, cassia and cane. Meaningful fellowship with one another brings such overflowing richness to our souls.
Genuine care in a community of faith is life-giving. Therefore, this psalm concludes, “It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion. For there the Lord ordains his blessing, life forevermore.”
If you are not familiar with the geography of Israel, this verse might lead you to assume that Hermon and Zion are close to each other, and that Hermon’s dew naturally runs down onto Mount Zion. That, however, is not the case. Mount Hermon is in the northern portion of Israel, along the border with Lebanon and Syria; Mount Zion is in the south. Mount Hermon is covered with snow during the winter and stays lush and green throughout the summer; Mount Zion is like a desert in comparison. The message of this verse is metaphorical. When people of faith live together in unity, it is like bringing refreshing, life-giving dew to the desert.
Victor Hugo once remarked, “The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved.” This is the joy of kindred living together in unity: the assurance that we are loved, the supreme happiness of life.
A Lesson from King Rehoboam
Thirty operators and firemen died within three months due to radiation poisoning. Many more died over time. And the area around Chernobyl became a wasteland for the next several decades.
This tragedy happened because two men took more interest in their own entertainment than in the wellbeing of multitudes of people who worked or lived around them.
When concern for others is lacking, horrible things happen.
King Solomon did many great things. He expanded the borders of Israel to the largest they have ever been. He built a magnificent temple to honor God. He established strong fortresses in every corner of the nation. He constructed beautiful buildings. But Solomon’s great accomplishments came at a heavy price. The people were taxed steeply, and people were conscripted into Solomon’s labor force. It was a difficult time for the common person in Israel.
When Solomon died, his 41-year-old son Rehoboam succeeded him as King of Israel. The weary citizens of the land came to him and pleaded with him, “Your father made our yoke heavy. Now therefore lighten the hard service of your father and his heavy yoke that he placed on us, and we will serve you” (2 Chronicles 10:4). Rehoboam turned to the older persons who had attended Solomon, and he asked them, “How do you advise me to answer this people?” They answered him, “If you will be kind to this people and please them, and speak good words to them, then they will be your servants forever.” That, however, is not what Rehoboam wanted to hear, so he turned, instead, to young men who had grown up with him. They told Rehoboam, “Thus you should speak to the people who said to you, ‘Your father made our yoke heavy, but you must lighten it for us’; tell them, ‘My little finger is thicker than my father’s loins. Now, whereas my father laid on you a heavy yoke, I will add to your yoke. My father disciplined you with whips, but I will discipline you with scorpions’” (verses 6-11).
Like the men who overrode the computer-driven alarm system at Chernobyl, Rehoboam overrode the wisdom of the older advisers. The consequences were as tragic. Ten northern tribes rebelled against Rehoboam, dividing the nation of Israel forever.
When concern for others is lacking, horrible things happen.
General Norman Schwarzkopf observed, “The main ingredient of good leadership is good character. This is because leadership involves conduct, and conduct is determined by values. You may call these values by many names. ‘Ethics,’ ‘morality,’ and ‘integrity’ come to mind, but this much is clear: Values are what makes us who we are.”
Rehoboam valued the expansion of his wealth over concern for his people. What he got from this was the anger of the citizens and the collapse of the nation.
Mark Labberton points out, “Biblical wisdom is:
- The truth and character of God
- Lived
- In context.
When all three of those elements converge, we have the makings of wisdom. When any of them is lacking, we have the beginnings of folly.”
It leaves us wondering: What great things might have happened in the nation of Israel if the truth and character of God had been lived out in context in the life of Rehoboam. As it was, though, integrity and compassion were lacking in the heart of the king. As a result, folly abounded and tragedy ensued.
If we can learn anything from the life of King Rehoboam, let it be this: Compassion and integrity are needed in the character of a leader. When compassion for others is lacking, horrible things happen.
Don’t Try to Impress God
We live in a world in which we think that we can make something of ourselves by impressing others. Indeed, we put ourselves under great pressure to adequately impress people. We even live under the illusion that we ought to find some way to impress God. But what could we do that would adequately impress the Creator of the universe?
Former Poet Laureate of the United States, Billy Collins, writes of a lanyard he made at summer camp one summer and gave to his mother, imagining, at the time, that it would impress her. The poem concludes with these stanzas:
She gave me life and milk from her breasts, and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart, strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now, is a smaller gift-not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother-
but the rueful admission that when she took the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was sure as a boy could be that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
Psalm 132 reflects a similar dynamic. The psalm opens by recalling how King David wanted to build a house for God. From David’s perspective, a temple would be the kind of gift that would adequately impress God. But the truth is that the most magnificent temple anyone could build is really no more impressive to God than a child’s lanyard. The gold which lined the walls of the temple failed to impress God, for the book of Revelation informs us that the roadways of heaven are paved with gold. Carved doors, ornate designs upon the walls, bronze pillar, and even golden cherubim that filled the temple with beauty are no better than a preschooler’s art project compared to God’s awesome masterpieces like Antelope Canyon, Half Dome in Yosemite, the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, or Angel Falls in Venezuela.
Like Billy Collin’s Lanyard poem, Psalm 132 faces the huge discrepancy between the gifts we give to God, and the gifts God gives to us. Though David sought to build a fabulous house for “the Mighty One of Jacob,” verse 7 admits that this fabulous house is but a “footstool” for God’s feet. The great gifts mentioned in this psalm are not the things we give to God, trying to impress God, but the things God gives to us out of love.
It starts with David. David had wanted to build a house (a building) for God, but God turns it around and makes David and his descendants into a great house (a great lineage). Verses 11-12 tell us, “The Lord swore to David a sure oath from which he will not turn back: ‘One of the sons of your body I will set on your throne. If your sons keep my covenant and my decrees that I shall teach them, their sons also, forevermore, shall sit on your throne.’”
The Israelites, too, may have thought they were giving an impressive gift to God by making pilgrimages to Jerusalem to bless God with their presence at the temple (“Let us go to his dwelling place; let us worship at his footstool”—verse 7). But the truly great gift is that God commits to live among his people (“For the Lord has chosen Zion; he has desired it for his habitation: ‘This is my resting place forever; here I will reside, for I have desired it’”—verses 13-14).
Our gifts to God are like plastic lanyards. God’s gifts to us are astronomically greater, for they flow to us out of the fullness of God’s love and goodness! The essence of our faith is far more about what God pours out to us than about what we give to God.
Strength for What Purpose?
Many years ago, on a day-time television show, Merv Griffen, the host of the show, interviewed a professional body-builder, and Merv asked him, “Why do you develop those particular muscles?”
The body-builder simply stepped forward and flexed a series of well-defined muscles from chest to calf. The audience applauded, but Merv pressed his question, “What do you use all those muscles for?”
Again, the muscular specimen flexed, and his biceps and triceps sprouted to enormous proportions. “But what do you use those muscles for?” Merv persisted.
The body-builder never provided an answer other than to display his well-developed frame.
Sadly, some Christians have developed such spiritual muscles. They can step forward and spout a multitude of Bible verses; and they can belt out the words of a horde of Christian songs; and they can show off a library full of Christian books, but they don’t have any idea how to live our their faith with compassion, integrity, humility or joy. All they know how to do is to stand there and flex their muscles.
God is more interested in us developing a courage and strength that enables us to love the Lord our God with the whole of our being and to love our neighbor as we love ourselves.
In verse 13, Paul also instructs them, “Keep alert; stand firm in your faith.”
On April 17, 1521, the son of a German coal miner stood trial for heresy before an assembly of church and state rulers. As the Imperial/Ecclesiastical Inquisition began, this coal miner’s son, Martin Luther, was asked if he had written the books that were stacked beside him. He replied in a whisper, “The books are all mine, and I have written more.”
Then came the decisive question, “Are you willing to recant of what you teach in them?”
He whispered his response, “I beg you, give me time to think it over.”
He was given twenty-four hours.
That night, he prayed, “O God, Almighty Everlasting! How dreadful is the world! behold how its mouth opens to swallow me up, and how small is my faith in Thee…. If I am to depend upon any strength of this world, all is over…. O Lord, help me…. Forsake me not.”
Late the next day, Martin Luther returned to the assembly. At first, he tried to answer his inquisitors by giving a speech, but he was cut off. A simple answer was demanded of him: “I ask you, Martin, answer candidly and without horns, do you, or do you not, repudiate your books and the errors which they contain?”
With a strong voice, Luther replied, “Since your Majesty and lordships desire a simple reply, I will answer without horns and without teeth…. My conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and I will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise. God help me!”
Can we, too, stand firm in our faith?
In verse 14, Paul instructs the believers, “Let all that you do be done in love.”
In his first letter to scattered Christians, John stresses, “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them” (1 John 4:16). If we desire to abide in God, and if we long for God to abide in us, let all that we do be done in love!
C. Neil Strait observes, “Love is the ingredient that makes every relationship in life, whatever it is, a little better. Love has a capacity to mend the broken, heal the hurting, and inspire the despairing. Love that reaches beyond the misunderstandings and the failures is a love that unites and encourages. Such a love is one of our world’s greatest needs.” If we hope to make the world around us a little better, let all that we do be done in love!
The great challenge and goal of the Christian life is to become more and more like Jesus. Is it possible to name one thing that Jesus did that was not motivated by love? I can think of none! Therefore, if we want to become more and more like Jesus, let all that we do be done in love!
A Rested Soul
Psalm 131 presents a beautiful image of a soul at rest: “I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.”
A beautiful picture—but what this psalm leaves unsaid is the struggle involved in getting to the point of being a weaned child resting quietly on the mother’s lap.
Babies are needy creatures. They want their mother’s milk. They want it passionately; they want it demandingly. They are expressive, persistent, and loud in making those needs known. If a baby does not get its mother’s milk, the child expresses its need with a piercing shriek that seems to have been designed by God to be one of the most irritating sounds on earth—guaranteed to grab our attention.
When a baby wants milk, it cries; it grabs; it screams; it demands. But as a child grows, it must learn the painful lesson that it does not always get what it wants when it wants it.
To a child, weaning is a series of unhappy experiences of deprivation—of not getting what it screams for. To a mother, weaning involves the heartache of withstanding a child’s fussing, grabbing, demanding, and screaming. It is only by going through this process of painful deprivation that a child is weaned and becomes content to sit upon its mother’s lap for love more than for milk.
Ray Fowler notices the connection between weaning a child and our own growth in faith. He writes, “Weaning is a child’s first experience of loss. It is a difficult but important lesson that you can’t always get what you want in life, and that you can’t always have your own way. Unfortunately some of us are still trying to learn that lesson. You’d think we would have learned it back when we were weaned! But weaning is a process. It’s a battle to wean a child, and it’s a battle for God to bring us to this place of quiet contentment and rest.”
Since weaning is a challenge to a child, what makes us think that it will be easy for us to develop a restful soul? We only develop a peaceful soul by going through the same process as a weaned child. If we come to God only with demands, or with a wish list of things we want God to do for us, our souls will perennially be driven by want, by expectation, by dissatisfaction at not getting all that we ask for, and by agitation. By learning, like a weaned child, to give up our desperate cry to get what we want when we want it, we learn to come to God to rest in and to bask in God’s overflowing motherly love for us.
Artur Weiser puts it this way: “Just as the child gradually breaks off the habit of regarding his mother only as a means of satisfying his own desires and learns to love her for her own sake, so the worshiper—after a struggle—has reached an attitude of mind in which he desires God for Himself and not as a means of fulfillment of his own wishes. His life’s center of gravity has shifted. He now rests no longer in himself but in God.”
No wonder this psalm begins with a renewed commitment to humbleness: “O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me.”
A baby begins life self-centeredly: I am hungry. I want milk. If I don’t get it when I want it I scream for it, and it is the duty of the milk-provider to give it to me right away. Humbleness, however, is the wonderful discovery of the child who is weaned. Humbleness, for the weaned child, is the discovery that Mom is not merely a fountain of milk and that she is not simply here to meet my demands. Humbleness, for the weaned child, is looking up to Mom not merely as the child’s personal milk-dispenser but as the source of its peace and joy and security, and as the object of its deepest love.
Likewise, humbleness is the wonderful discovery of the person of faith. Humbleness, for the person of faith, is the discovery that our lives are lacking in the things that God alone can give: forgiveness, serenity, charity, courage, hope, lasting joy, and eternal life. It is humbleness that draws us toward God. It is in humbleness that we learn to rest our soul in God.
Melinda Cousins comments, “A weaned child…lies in its mother’s arms not for food, but for relationship, content purely to be held and to know the peace and security that comes from being loved.” That’s what Psalm 131 wants us to find with God.
Should We Give to the Lord’s Work?
Why should anyone give to a church or a Christian organization?
Near the end of his first letter to Christians in Corinth, Paul writes, “Now concerning the collection for the saints: you should follow the directions I gave to the churches of Galatia” (1 Corinthians 16:1). The concern Paul expresses here, that prompts his call to the Corinthians to take a collection, is the need of the “saints” in Palestine who were suffering from severe famine. The first reason for us to give is out of concern for others, and with a desire to meet a need. If a church or Christian organization is meeting a need you care about, then give to support it. That’s what love calls us to do. Harold Morris stresses, “How can we say we love Jesus if we do not care about the suffering people whom Jesus loves? We have excess wealth, yet refuse to share it with those who are starving. Being Christlike is caring about the hungry, the naked, the sick, and the imprisoned.”
In the next verse, Paul instructs them, “On the first day of every week, each of you is to put aside and save whatever extra you earn, so that collections need not be taken when I come” (1 Corinthians 16:2). In other words, Paul tells them that when they come together to worship on the first day of the week, as a part of their worship, they are to set aside a contribution. Giving is an aspect of our worship. Our English word worship is shortened from the word worth-ship. To worship someone is to acknowledge someone’s worth. How can we declare what God is worth to us while at the same time clinging selfishly and protectively to what we have? Giving to God is an expression of what God is worth to us, and it is a declaration of our trust in God.
The call to the Corinthians to give “on the first day of every week…so that collections need not be taken when I come” is a call to them not to take up a special collection the next time he is in town, but to make giving a habit of their lives. Paul encourages us to make giving a natural part of our lifestyle. Indeed, those who make generosity part of their lifestyle live more contentedly. Erich Fromm asserts, “Greed is a bottomless pit which exhausts the person in an endless effort to satisfy the need without ever reaching satisfaction.” Harry Emerson Fosdick points out, “The Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea are made of the same water. It flows down, clear and cool, from the heights of Hermon and the roots of the cedars of Lebanon. The Sea of Galilee makes beauty of it, for the Sea of Galilee has an outlet. It gets to give. It gathers in its riches that it may pour them out again to fertilize the Jordan plain. But the Dead Sea with the same water makes horror. For the Dead Sea has no outlet. It gets to keep.”
An unknown writer offers this perspective on the matter of giving:
“I’m a reasonable person, Lord. You know I work hard for my money, and I’m doing pretty well. Yet, I’m not as young as I used to be, and old age can be expensive. If I give you shares of all my blessings now, how will it come out for me at the end?
“‘Freely ye have received, freely give.’
“Well, if you look at it that way, I have received much:
- Life and breath (in this time and space),
- Help and hope (when all else failed),
- Grace and mercy (on such a sinner).
“And I have given:
- Grudgingly (when I had plenty to spare),
- Unevenly (holding back the best),
- Selfishly (for I am number one).
“Lord, you are serious about giving. Make me serious in giving like you, not a share, but myself, lavishly and wholly, in the name of Christ who gave everything for us.”
No Pit Is Too Deep for God’s Presence
The opening words of Psalm 130 seem to crawl out of the soul of one who is drowning in agony, hopelessness, and despair: “Out of the depths, I cry to You, O Lord.”
The cry of Psalm 130 matches what Ginger Zee confides about her struggle with depression: “Depression, for me, has been a couple of different things—but the first time I felt it, I felt helpless, hopeless, and things I had never felt before. I lost myself and my will to live.”
“Out of the depths I cry to You, O Lord. O Lord, hear my voice. Let Your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy.”
Depression can sneak up on us from various directions. Verses 3-4 suggest that it may have been guilt that provoked depression in the heart of this psalmist, but no matter what the source may be, the devastation it brings can be debilitating. (It may be vital for a person to seek professional help when one’s soul is being pummeled by depression.)
One of the great things about Psalm 130 is that it invites us to pour out to God whatever frustration, agony, or depression may be wallowing in our souls. In his assessment of this psalm, Eugene Peterson writes, “By setting the anguish out in the open and voicing it as a prayer, the psalm gives dignity to our suffering. It does not look on suffering as something slightly embarrassing which must be hushed up and locked in a closet (where it finally becomes a skeleton) because this sort of thing shouldn’t happen to a real person of faith. And it doesn’t treat it as a puzzle that must be explained, and therefore turn it over to theologians or philosophers to work out an answer. Suffering is set squarely, openly, passionately before God. It is acknowledged and expressed. It is described and lived.” (A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, p. 134)
Psalm 130 is a lament (“a passionate expression of grief or sorrow”), and, because God cares deeply for us, God pays careful attention to our laments. In his book Bounce: Learning to Thrive through Loss, Tragedy, and Heartache. Aaron Fruh shares, “When my son, Nathan, was five years old, my wife and I were drinking coffee in the living room early one morning when we heard a cry coming from his bedroom. When Sharon went into his room, she screamed out to me because Nathan was having a seizure. She came running down the hall carrying the twitching and flailing body with his little brown eyes rolled back in their sockets. I ran into the kitchen to call 911, slid across the kitchen tile, and scraped my knee. The ambulance took my son to a children’s hospital, and I slept next to him in his room for the next five days while the pediatric neurologists treated him.
“When he had his seizure, Nathan was afraid…so he cried out for his mother and father. It was a lament, a complaint: ‘Help me! Something isn’t right! Come quick! I’m afraid!’ And what did I do as a father? I ran across the kitchen floor and skinned my knee. In the hospital I drew closer to my son in his distress. That’s what a father does because of the covenant bond he has with his child. A lament is a form of speech that releases us, even encourages us to complain about injustice and call on God to hear our cries of suffering. And what does our Father in heaven do when we raise a lament His way? He runs across the kitchen floor and skins His knee.”
Not only does Psalm 130 free us to pour out our lament to God, it also invites us to lean toward God in our troubles. Verses 5-6 tell us, “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I put my hope. My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.”
The Hebrew word for watchman is tsaphah. Literally the word has to do with leaning forward to peer into the distance. Historically watchmen were appointed to keep vigil upon the city walls throughout the night. The watchmen would lean forward at their post, peering into the darkness, watching for any sign of danger, and waiting for the sun to rise in the east. They could do nothing to hasten the rising of the sun, but they leaned forward, looking ahead to the arrival of a new day that would relieve the darkness.
Psalm 130 begins with a cry from the depths. Verse 7, near the end of the psalm, gives us the affirmation that God’s love is unfailing, reaching all the way to the depths and beyond: “O Israel, put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with Him is full redemption.”
The depths are agonizing, but we never face them alone. God’s unfailing love meets us even in the depths. Corrie ten Boom, who lived in the depths of a German prison camp during World War II stressed, “There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.”
Death is but the Route from Earth to Heaven
His son said to him, “No, no, Father. You are dreaming.”
“No,” said Moody. “I am not dreaming. I have been within the gates. I have seen the children’s faces.”
A short time later he spoke again, “This is my triumph. This is my coronation day. It is glorious.”
When the time comes for each of us to die, will death be dreaded or welcomed?
Many believers in the city of Corinth seemed to be afraid of death. They feared that there was nothing more to look forward to when death should call their name. But Paul spends 58 verses in 1 Corinthians 15 establishing the argument that Jesus rose from the dead and that we will, too.
One of the great messages Paul shares with us in these verses is that death is but the means by which we make the vital transition from a world of pain and suffering and sin to a world of glory.
In verse 50, Paul writes, “What I am saying, brothers and sister, is this: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable.”
The word translated here as “perishable” is the Greek word phthora. It has to do with decay, corruption, ruin. Phthora is the root word in the disease diptheria, which is a deadly disease caused by a bacterium (Corynebacterium diphtheria) that produces a toxin causing inflammation of the heart and nervous system.
Paul applies phthora to us, implicating not only that our bodies are prone to die but that there is sickness, brokenness and corruption that fills us and fills this world. Such sickness, brokenness and corruption do not fit in heaven. These things must be left behind on earth and not be carried into heaven. Death is the means by which sickness, brokenness and corruption are left behind on earth so that we can enter the glory of heaven unencumbered.
Max Lucado offers a helpful illustration of this in his book He Still Moves Stones: “As a young boy I had two great loves – playing and eating. Summers were made for afternoons on the baseball diamond and meals at Mom’s dinner table. Mom had a rule, however. Dirty, sweaty boys could never eat at the table. Her first words to us as we came home were always, ‘Go clean up and take off those clothes if you want to eat.’
“Now no boy is fond of bathing and dressing, but I never once complained and defied my mom by saying, ‘I’d rather stink than eat!’ In my economy a bath and a clean shirt were a small price to pay for a good meal.
“And from God’s perspective death is a small price to pay for the privilege of sitting at his table. ‘Flesh and blood cannot have a part in the kingdom of God…. This body that can be destroyed must clothe itself with something that can never be destroyed. And this body that dies must clothe itself with something that can never die’ (1 Corinthians 15:50, 53, emphasis added).
“God is even more insistent than my mom was. In order to sit at his table, a change of clothing must occur. And we must die in order for our body to be exchanged for a new one. So, from God’s viewpoint, death is not to be dreaded; it is to be welcomed….
“When we see death, we see disaster. When Jesus sees death, he sees deliverance.”
Benjamin Franklin had a similar perspective. He chose carefully the words that appear at his grave: “The body of Benjamin Franklin, Printer, like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out, stripped of its lettering and gilding, lies here, food for worms. Yet the work itself shall not be lost; for it will, as he believed, appear once more in a new and more beautiful edition, corrected and amended by the Author.”
Because of what Jesus did between the cross and the emptied tomb, death need not be feared but can be welcomed, for it is through death that we come into the glory of heaven.
We Need Not Sugarcoat our Pain
Psalm 129 is not the most uplifting of psalms. One writer remarked that she could not find a single verse in the psalm that she would want to embroider on a pillow case. Yet Psalm 129 has been given a vital place in the canon of Scripture, for Psalm 129 deals honestly with the painful reality of injustice and injury. The psalm opens with a disturbing portrayal of the suffering Israel has endured: “‘Often have they attacked me from my youth’—let Israel say—‘often have they attacked me from my youth, yet they have not prevailed against me. The plowers plowed on my back; they made their furrows long.”
Commenting on these verses in his book A Long Journey in the Same Direction, Eugene Peterson writes, “Picture Israel…lying stretched out, prone. The enemies hitch up their oxen and plows and begin cutting long furrows in the back of Israel. Long gashes cut into the skin and flesh, back and forth systematically, like a farmer working a field. Imagine the whole thing: the blood, the pain, the back-and-forth cruelty.”
Throughout their history and into the present, when Jewish worshipers make their pilgrimage to Jerusalem and sing this psalm along the way, they recall the price they have paid for their faith in God. They have been persecuted for their faith. They have been exiled for their faith. They have been oppressed for their faith. They have been killed for their faith.
Yet this psalm (with no verse that one would embroider on a pillow case) offers us consolation and hope by teaching us two key lessons:
1: We should not sugarcoat our pain or glaze over injustice.
This psalm addresses injustice as what it truly is: The infliction of cruelty and pain upon another, like plowers plowing on your back, making their furrows long. Injustice should never be ignored, excused or rationalized. It should be confronted for what it is.
German pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who observed and confronted the injustices of Nazi Germany, at the cost of his own life, stated, “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil. God will not hold us guiltless. Not to act is to act.”
Elie Wiesel stresses, “We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must—at that moment—become the center of the universe.”
This psalm does not keep silent about the emotional trauma injustice thrusts upon those who are injured. Every verse in this psalm cries out over the pain of injustice.
2: Pour out to God what is in your heart. Express to God your hurt, your anger, your fear, and your resentment.
Psalm 129 is bold enough to offer an anti-blessing on those who mistreated Israel: “May all who hate Zion be put to shame and turned backward. Let them be like the grass on the housetops that withers before it grows up, with which reapers do not fill their hands or binders of sheaves their arms, while those who pass by do not say, ‘the blessing of the Lord be upon you! We bless you in the name of the Lord!’”
This is not the psalm of one who chose his words carefully in order to sound holy enough or sufficiently forgiving. This is the prayer of one who takes the pain and frustration of his heart, and simply shakes it out before God. And that’s okay. We don’t have to sanitize and deodorize our heart before approaching God. He knows what is actually in us anyway, so there is no point in dressing up our feelings in prettier clothes. The most effective prayers are the most genuine prayers. When I bring to God what is really in me, then God is able to do His good work on the real me.
Tim Stafford counsels, “Don’t deny that you are angry. God gave me my emotions, and they are good if handled properly. To pretend I don’t feel anything when someone hurts me or takes advantage of me is to live in an unreal world and to deny [the emotions] God has given. The Bible says, ‘In your anger do not sin’ (Ephesians 4:26), so it must be possible to be angry without going against God…. People end up with ulcers because they pretend nothing is bothering them and bottle up angry feelings. If I admit I feel angry, it releases the pressure.” (Unhappy Secrets of the Christian Life, p.85-86)
In the crying out, relief is found.
tomtrippblog 