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Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Everyone has faith in something—not just religious people. I appreciate that Tim Keller relieves us with the converse: everyone has doubts too. A Christian who doesn’t doubt, wrestle, and struggle with his faith is in denial, since doubt is part of the very essence of faith.


I love Stephen in Acts, he has to be my favorite character in the Bible (ok, second favorite). It is written that he is a man “full of faith and of the Holy Spirit.” It is a daily prayer of mine that God would help my unbelief (give me faith); to this I’m now adding that he would fill me with the Holy Spirit. I too would like to be a man whom detractors could not stand up against because of wisdom or the Spirit within me. When others look at me I would like them also to see something like the face of an angel. I would like to boldly proclaim the faith as one completely unafraid of the response. I would like to be one, even in the face of death itself, who has so fixed his eyes on things above that I see my God and not my enemies. And most of all, I would like to be one who can say under the most severe persecution, perhaps even by friends or family, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.”

Thursday, December 11, 2008

A young man’s life is so dark, he doesn’t know where to turn, he doesn’t know what to do because of a relational breakup. A lady is distraught because a close family member is seriously ill and is all the way across the country—right before Christmas. A good friend just lost his job, and will likely lose his house—just after the birth of their first child. Christian or not, we all have periods of darkness and despair in our lives. And even those who trust in God through Christ often wonder where he is in those times, or how he can relate.

In an old war movie, a soldier has lost his leg in battle and is recovering in a field hospital. I don’t remember all the details, but he is furious. Furious at his commanding officer standing in front of him who sent him into battle. Furious because he can’t live, he can’t survive like this. This is the reaction in Isaiah 8 of those who “become enraged and, looking upward, curse their king and their God. Yet, Hebrews 4:15 tells us that “we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses. How in the world can Jesus help with a broken relationship? A loved one walking through the shadow of death? A lost job, home, or limb?

In the movie, the commanding officer was silent throughout this tirade. But at a certain point, he reached down and pulled up his own pant leg to reveal a prosthetic limb. It has been years since I watched this (I will again soon), but all I remember was the silence and understanding from the recently injured soldier. Here he was complaining to someone who had been through the same trial, yet had never once complained. If his leader survived through this, he could too.

What we forget is that Jesus didn’t just lose friend or house or job or limb. He lost his life—for our sakes. And he suffered infinitely beyond what we could imagine by taking the full wrath of God on his shoulders. Jesus suffered through, and conquered death that we might be freed from its power. Now, no matter the circumstance for those who trust in him, we can look to him our guide and counselor, we can look to him who suffered far worse, we can look to him who will walk through our trial with us, and when we can no longer walk, we can look to him who will carry us home.

Friday, December 5, 2008

White Man Can't Jump

This week at the grocery store I couldn’t quite see the contents on the sign for aisle six, so I jumped up over aisle five for a better look and found what I needed: pasta. I immediately thought: “I wouldn’t have done that a week ago. Even then, my vertical was only a few inches, but when I get a sinus or chest infection, I trudge through life as if going through the motions. I don’t do anything extra—I don’t want to do anything at all, least of all jump up in the air. For some reason, God puts me through the ringer when I am under the weather.

Psalm 119:71 tells us, “It was good for me to be afflicted.” I believe the past tense is indicated here for a reason. When King David was right in the middle of suffering, when I am a sick zombie, when any of us are in the middle of a trial, it is difficult to recognize any goodness. We want it to be over, we pray for it to be over, we sometimes get angry at God.

Here, it seems as if David is looking back at a trial, contemplating the outcome, the consequences, and what he learned, and he says, “It was good for me to be afflicted.” Can we not often do the same thing, though our attention spans are short, and we are quick to move back into the routine of life—speeding by the lessons of God’s sweet providence.
I realized this last month, I somehow feel more compassionate and loving toward others when I am sick. Perhaps it is because God is stripping away my activity, my works, my service which pops the bubble of my pride and shows me that I am no better than anyone else.


Father, show me how good it is that you afflict me. And not only after the fact, but may it be that in the midst of suffering I can sense your hand, your love, your protection, your good purposes, and say, “It is good for me to be afflicted.