Blood Speaks a Better Word

       One of my greatest sins is allowing myself to believe that my insufficiency is more powerful than God's love and forgiveness. This mindset is something I've fought against for as long as I can remember. It's manifested itself in different ways as I've gotten older, but it's always present in some form. When I was younger I was terrified of God's punishing me for being disrespectful to adults or speaking harshly to my siblings. In middle school and early high school, I sobbed after reading Jonathan Edwards' resolutions because I knew I could never be that good. I could never want those things or love Jesus as passionately as Edwards. In college I felt guilty for not being as open-handed with my life as those who were going into foreign missions. And now I find myself looking at my selfishness in my relationships, my easily agitated temperament, and my overall self-absorption, wondering why I can't be patient, giving, loving. Wondering why God would want anything to do with me. But that thought is what discourages me most. How proud am I to believe that my sin can keep God from working in me and through me? How much do I cheapen His grace by declaring I am beyond help and outside of His righteous reach?

       I've been constantly ruminating on these questions, these worries, the last several weeks. I've been sad and horrified with myself. But God has always refused to leave me to my lies. He proved this once again while I was reading Hebrews one evening. I got to chapter 12 and He gently unfolded the truth:

18-24 "For you have not come to the mountain that may be touched and that burned with fire, and to blackness and darkness and tempest, and the sound of a trumpet and the voice of words, so that those who heard it begged that the word should not be spoken to them anymore. (For they could not endure what was commanded: 'and if so much as a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned or shot with an arrow.' And so terrifying was the sight that Moses said, 'I am exceedingly afraid and trembling.') But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are registered in heaven, to God the Judge of all, to the spirits of just men made perfect, to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling that speaks better things than that of Abel." 

       Yes, I am riddled with sin. But God has not left me to that. He has not left me at Mount Sinai to suffer under the yoke of the Mosaic law. He does not demand I live in fear and vulnerability of His glory, which may strike me down at my next selfish action. Rather, He has led me to Zion, the city of His Son. Not because I earned it, but because I'm His.

       God further confronted me with this truth last Sunday at church. We sang "We Come to Jesus," which is based on the Hebrews passage above. I swear the song was written by an older and much, much wiser me. The song speaks so directly to my fears, it's uncanny. The first verse begins, "We have not come to the mountain of dreadful awe to tremble in darkness/But to the city of Zion, the house of God, the city of Jesus." I have exchanged trembling as an outsider for welcoming as a son. I reside no longer in the shadow of the fiery mountain, but rest and rejoice at the foot of the empty tomb. Jesus bought me that freedom. How can I still live in my fear?

       The song gets even better. The best comes in the second verse: "I turned to see my Lord/ . . . /And He spoke with power/'I am He who is alive/And behold I died/To save the ones I love/To raise them up to life/Now you are Mine/And I am yours/Night has passed/Let us go to greet the bright eternal morn/ . . . /Come stand with Me at last/Alive forevermore.'"

       Whoa. Just, whoa. What else can I say? Jesus Himself died to save me, whom He loves, for no reason that I can see, so I can be alive with Him. Whoa. This truth changes everything. I am His. I don't belong to sin anymore. How can I hear that and not rejoice? How can I wonder if God still accepts me when I wrong Him? He just told me He bought my life so I could be alive. That doesn't leave room for believing I am outside the power of His grace.

       God has been tossing pebbles of truth at my window: "Hey, I'm the one in charge. This isn't about how greatly or frequently you sin. This is about how radically I can change you and use you for My glory. Stop crippling yourself with doubt. It's time to come outside and see what I can do. It's time to live freely in My love."

       This invitation isn't one I plan to pass up. With his constant gentle coaxing and encouraging, God is showing me He's trustworthy. He's powerful and He's not letting me go, despite my shortcomings. I'm beginning to see more of Him and less of me. This is a good thing.

Stones and Shadows

       Sometimes I forget how to live. My body still breathes and moves and creates energy, but my mind refuses to hurdle obstacles or climb to a higher vantage point. When I encounter struggles or discomforts, my tendency is more often to freeze and crumble than to fight through. This bent has manifested itself fiercely in recent months. I have met hard things, and I have grown rocks into impossible mountains. The more I build my steep ascents the more I realize that I am the one crippling myself. My fear and hurt become too heavy for me to attempt the climb. Then I’m stuck, wallowing in self-loathing. It’s a dark and lonely place.

      But Jesus always parts the clouds so I can see that my mountains are stones and my weights are shadows. His most recent sunbeam came in the form of a recklessly powerful duo: the Apostle Paul and Keith Green. These two favorites of mine are faithful tools of my Savior in my sanctification and encouragement.  This past Sunday I heard a sermon on Galatians 2:15-21, a passage to which I turn frequently. Verses 20-21 resonate strongly: “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose.” Such encouragement to hear that I am not my own. My life and salvation are in Jesus, and I can’t destroy that with my shortcomings. One comment from Sunday’s sermon that I particularly liked went something like, “We work from faith and not for faith.” Any good I perform is motivated by the salvation freely provided from faith in Jesus and not by a need to gain that salvation. Jesus has secured my life, and that security moves me to action. I don’t have to be intimidated or weighted by difficulties because Jesus has taken care of those.

       Following Paul’s theme, Keith Green’s song “When I Hear the Praises Start” begins with the lines, “My child, My child, why are you striving?/You can’t add one thing to what’s been done for you/I did it all when I was dying/Rest in your faith; My peace with come to you.”  I can’t help but stop and rest when I imagine Jesus asking me that simple question: “Why are you striving? You know it’s pointless and exhausting. Just be still.” I too often forget that Jesus invites me to enjoy Him and not work for Him. The chorus of the song is also arresting: “For when I hear the praises start/Oh, and I want to rain upon you/Blessings that will fill your heart/I see no stain upon you/Because you are My child and you know me/To Me you’re only holy.” God doesn’t see me as the filthy sinner I am, but because of Jesus’ blood I am holy to Him. I am justified, free from guilt, cleansed of shame.  I find it miraculous that God sees me as holy. So miraculous that I can’t stay in a depression. God’s grace lifts me up and carries me through my obstacles. Jesus continually reminds me that because my life is in Him, I can live it well. My shackles are gone, and He has equipped me for much through faith in Him.  

 

       Jesus  always reminds me how to live.

A Furtherance of Hope

       The last several days have been difficult. Really, really difficult. The aftermath of visitations, endless pound cake, and seas of black have left me overwhelmed and ragged. I know I should say I feel overwhelmed with people's kindness, and I do, but today I am left wanting to avoid most human interaction. I won't let myself be completely emotional around others, and today has been my first slice of solitude since I received the bad news. Therefore, today has been the most tearful day I've had. But today has also been a day of learning what comfort looks like. Being a Christian does not make me numb to loss or blindly happy in the midst of hardship. I don't believe God promises that I will always be happy, and I don't believe He commands that I should always be happy. Rather, to feel the full weight of sin in the world I will be sad and I will hurt. Never being sad would be ignoring reality. However, I do believe God calls me to be joyful in every situation because my joy is rooted in Him, not in my circumstances. God is constant; therefore, my joy can be constant.

       I was reminded of this truth today as an instrumental version of a Natalie Grant song floated through the Christmas district of Hobby Lobby. I'm not generally a Natalie fan, but her song "Held" took on new meaning when I recognized the melody and sang the words to myself. I stopped my rummaging through the faux holly berries when I realized how much the message spoke to my current situation. I stopped and I cried in Hobby Lobby amid twinkle lights and jolly Santas and giant red bows. Through the song, God reminded me that He doesn't promise a perfect life free of heartache, but He does promise to be present through that heartache. He promises to hold His children. He promises to be their strength. That's what I felt more fully today--God holding on when I had nothing. Feeling His complete hold freed me to experience the full sorrow of my Uncle's absence. I didn't have to be strong anymore because I knew God was strong for me.

       Another way God has ministered to me over the weekend is through 2 Corinthians 4:7-12:

              "But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you." 
                
         This passage is a huge chunk to chew, and I won't delve into it as deeply as it deserves. However, I am exponentially encouraged by the fact that although I am imperfect in many ways, and although my body has been decaying since my birth, God has blessed me with the glorious knowledge of His Son becoming Man. God delights in putting this bright truth in broken, earthen vessels. His truth and power and love shine despite, and because of, my brokenness. This passage makes me think of dying in a different way.  Yes, I am dying every day, as is everyone, but in this dying I am being made more alive in Christ. My dying body resembles the death of sin and the death of Death that Christ accomplished on the cross and through His resurrection. I am dead to sin but alive in Christ. I am not under sin's power any longer, but I am free to become more Christlike everyday. Because of Jesus I have hope that one day Death's ultimate death will be manifested, and all will see the True King in His full majesty. What a day that will be.

       So though losing my uncle hurts, and though I know I will encounter much more sorrow in the years to come, I know that pain doesn't have to paralyze me. I have in Christ a treasure more powerful than any deadly scheme. To this hope I must cling, for I have no other.

        
              And as He stands in victory
              Sin's curse has lost its grip on me,
              For I am His and He is mine -
              Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

       

Hope in Hopelessness

       I don't know what to do with death. There's no answer for it, no remedy, no helpful platitude. Death is one of the few things that will not change. We don't live our lives with permanence in mind, rather we live seasonally. Most things we do have seasons. Teething, awkward middle school stage, college, the flu, pregnancy, some relationships. These are all things we know will end at some point. But not death. You don't think an absence can actually have a presence until you've lost someone. There's no explanation for someone you love dying, and it's hard, nearly impossible, to be content with that fact.

       These are the thoughts that have swarmed my family and I over the past few days as we mourn the loss of my Uncle Chris. He passed away unexpectedly Thursday, November 6. Though I'm not brave enough to speak at his funeral on Monday, the following is what I would have said in honor of him.

       I have always adored Uncle Chris, but Summer of 2013 I had the opportunity to live in Panama City and work for him at the family's Toyota dealership. Over the summer I witnessed Uncle Chris in many contexts: living with his family, joking with his friends, and interacting with his employees. I want to share the qualities that I was able to glimpse more fully while living in his world.

       One cannot ignore the way Uncle Chris loved his family. He and Aunt Kim had a precious relationship; they teased, laughed, argued, all with the most obvious affection for one another. As a visitor, I couldn't feel anything but admiration for them and the way they treated each other. Uncle Chris also fiercely loved his children, Kayla, Bronson and Mia,  and his granddaughter, Piper. He was always talking about Kayla's sweet and fun way with Piper, or Bronson's talent in his music career, or Mia's last cheer competition. He loved his children's interests because he loved his children, and he wanted them to feel supported in every way. His family felt the freedom of his love, and they loved him freely back.

       The love Uncle Chris showed his immediate family spilled over to his friends and extended family as well. I spent many lunch breaks with Uncle Chris, my great uncle, Mike, and one of Chris's best friends, Watson. The way those three harassed each other was always hysterical. Most days it was difficult to finish my meal between spurts of laughter brought on by their antics. Though the trio teased incessantly, they always did so with a loving undertone. Chris's love was also evident in his relationship with his parents, my Granny and Papa. I loved when he visited their house and we would sit and talk and laugh the whole evening. He always brought a pleasant presence into their home.

       Chris also extended his love to his employees. I would often see Chris walk through the dealership, headed somewhere to talk business, but stop and chat to one of the salesmen about surfing or sports or movies. He loved to talk. He loved to know and understand the people who worked for him. He was generous to his employees because he wanted to treat them well, not because he wanted applause. Chris worked behind the scenes because he wanted the good of everyone, not just his own good. I saw him give to charities because he wanted to make a difference. Chris wasn't in the business for the fame. He was in the business so he could change his corner of Panama City. And he did change it.

      Uncle Chris's absence is heavy on all of us. We will miss his humor, his zeal for surfing, his intellectual conversations, his nonsense conversations, and his love that he bestowed on so many. But God is good, as He always is. He has provided so many friends and family members who have been immensely supportive. My family and I have felt God's love so strongly through His children the past few days; it's been overwhelming. We are heartbroken, but we are not crushed. We are hurting, but we are not without hope because our hope is in something so much more permanent than our own lives. We look to Jesus, His life and death and resurrection, and we find our peace and eternal security.


      

I Sing, for I Cannot be Silent

       My favorite characteristic of music is that its magic transcends musicality. I am not musically proficient in any sense, but the combination of melody, harmony, and lyrics still constantly rattles and soothes me. I've realized this most recently while listening to Nathan Partain's "A Son of God." Somehow it has become my on-the-way-to-work anthem; nearly every weekday morning, I start my car and the first thing I want to hear is this song. Partain's interpretation of the gospel is simple, powerful, and transforming. Listen with me:
    
              I lie down and rest
              Cause I work no longer
              I breath in, refreshed,
              No more soiled in disgrace
              I look up at him
              To whom I am kneeling
              And I see delight, there in my Father's face.

       Yes, the opening doesn't quite meet the criteria for "pump-up song," but resting in Christ's work on the cross is precisely how I must start each day. I let these words wash over me, cleansing me of my need to be noticed and appreciated at my job. I remember I am free to do my best with Jesus' help because He gave me His righteousness. He has made me pure, so I don't have to be burdened by my failures. He died to rid me of both my pride and shame, and I can now work freely for His glory and the benefit of those for whom I work.

       The second verse closely follows the theme of the first:

              I am last and low
              Cause I fight no longer
              To be right or good
              Or to prove my own worth.
              I'm not driven or pushed
              Or weighed down with duty.
              I am filled with release that Christ did all for me.

       This stanza further solidifies the truth that I can do nothing, nor must I do anything to make myself agreeable to God. Jesus has made me His own, and I can rest in that assurance. Funnily, the understanding that I cannot improve my status before God is empowering, not discouraging. Because my salvation is not predicated upon my performance, I can accept being ignored, misunderstood, or mistreated at my job. I don't have to be everyone's favorite or the best at what I do. I can work diligently and fail gracefully knowing I am safe in Jesus.

       I love the paradox of the third stanza:

              I stand up in faith
              Cause I fear no longer
              And I pray and wait
              For God to provide
              I lean all of my weight
              On Him who is able
              And I set aside every effort of mine.

       I can stand up bravely but I can also lean dependently. In fact, these two cannot be separated. In order to stand up, I must lean on Him. How can something so counter-intuitive be so true? I am always slightly shocked by God's upside-down wisdom. So in light of this stanza, I have constructed a simple syllogism I like to speak to myself:

       I am not able.
       God is able.
       I am God's.
       Therefore, I am able.  

Words to bind on my heart, forehand, and hands.

       In the final verse, Partain hits me with eternity:
     
              I know now I'm safe
              Cause nothing can harm me
              Or break in and take
              What's stored up for me
              I need not to cling
              To dead, helpless idols
              They no longer can hold any comfort for me.

       Not only am I safe today, but God will keep me for the rest of my life and into eternity. No longer must I look for something else to save me, whether it be myself, a relationship, or a promotion. God has made me His child and will continue to do so forever. My failures and strengths are nothing compared to His grace. In light of this truth, I can be both humbled and exalted at work. God is teaching me to be content in either circumstance because He is my true treasure.

       Partain condenses the joy of his song so well in his recurring chorus. I conclude with his potent words, for they are the theme of my days and the hope of my heart.

              I'm a son of God, and love is my freedom.
              I can ask anything of my Father, the King.
              I'm an heir, I'm adopted, and my brother is Jesus.
              I'm a son of God, and my soul is at peace.

The Importance of Not Being Alone

       God likes to be a God of inundation. Quite some time ago He flooded the earth--a light rain couldn't suffice--and He still seems to enjoy pouring Himself out in various ways, most of which are less destructive. Recently I've experienced God's flooding in the community He's given me. Last year I moved back to Kansas City, not knowing many people at my church (Redeemer Fellowship) and not knowing where my niche would be. Since then, I have completed a church membership class, established deeper connections with old friends, and several weeks ago I joined a Gospel community group. I now sense that these small steps will be life-changing.

       I certainly love being alone, but I have craved a community of encourage for some time now. Reading Hebrews 10:23-25 reinforced this desire: "Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful. And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much the more as you see the Day approaching." Community not only provides immediate encouragement, but it also holds eschatological significance. I need the help of fellow believers to pursue Christ faithfully, but beyond that, we are working together to build His kingdom in anticipation of His return. There is no greater goal and no greater joy.

       One thing I've learned in the last year is that I require a community in order to view my life through an eternal lens. When I'm on my own, I'm more than likely thinking about myself. Self-absorption tends to overtake those who have only themselves to consider. But when I broaden my surroundings and interactions, I have a better understanding of my purpose as part of a whole, working toward something much greater than myself. I don't want to be complacent. I want to be joined with people who push me toward ultimate good, who stir up my love for Jesus and challenge my wrongheadedness. Accountability, though often painful and terrifying, is necessary for growth. So though I tend to remain inward, I am excited to experience a new season of togetherness with like-minded and much wiser believers. May we go into the world, the empty tomb at our backs, following Jesus and bringing others in with our wake.
        

God Loves a Good Paradox

       My brother and I have a knack for getting ourselves lost in good conversation. During our most recent trek we found ourselves discussing the applicability of literature over Town Topic's crackling griddles and popping fryers. Though at the time I was dizzy with the smell of grease, I have thought about a particular of our talk for the weeks that followed. My brother had been reading David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, so he relayed a line to me that he found most astute: "The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you." This line grabbed hold of me then, and its grip lingers still. The more I consider the words the more deeply I see my misunderstanding of truth and its power, especially within the realm of biblical truth.

       Examine one of my favorite Scripture passages: 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 "And He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ's sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong." These verses helped me cope with many anxieties throughout my high school years, and they still come to my rescue often. What a comforting thought: "It's OK that I'm not perfect because Jesus was perfect for me!" However, this passage has taken on a new and heavier meaning in light of Wallace's writing.

        The sentences that once held so much comfort now present themselves as an opponent in a wrestling match. Yes, it is wonderful that I am not required to be powerful, but I've discovered that I'm not content with not being powerful. I want to be recognized for my greatness. I want to say I've earned the good things I have. I want to know I can be self-sufficient. But these desires are completely counter to the truth of the verses I've held dear for so long. I was too close to see how far I was from understanding. And this is where the wrestling match begins. Though I long for the comfort of resting in Christ's righteousness, I am not willing to give up working for myself. Though I know I'm nothing without Jesus, I don't truly want to see myself as nothing.

And here is where Wallace's words help me view Paul more clearly. For a long time I've only looked at the uplifting side 2 Corinthians 12:9-10, "Jesus is my everything!" But I haven't dealt with what that means for my pride. In order to experience the full freedom Christ offers, I must battle my longing to be exceptional. I must accept my weaknesses before I can be strong in Jesus. Only in realizing my full humanity can I better understand Christ's divine power working in me. These truths cause me sincere and great pain because I fear insignificance. But I've realized that's the point. Blessed are those who know they have nothing to offer because Christ will give them everything in Himself.

What a higher and more glorious reality these verses contain than I previously thought.

So this is what I've learned: truth is seldom easy. Usually, for something to truly change me and grow me, it has to break me first. I have to be broken of my pride before I can walk in the freedom of Jesus' sacrifice. I have to experience the pain of dying to myself so I can live in Christ's power. Hard things lead to the Ultimate Good things, and because of this principle, there can be joy in the pain. Wallace was right: freedom comes after losing the fight with truth. When truth overtakes me, I am then able to be victorious. I hate this reality, but I also love it. Truth is tricky like that.