Escape Rooms Are Overrated

You know, people are paying good money these days to get themselves trapped in a room and then problem-solve their way out.

I say save your money and come hang out with me for a few days.  I may not get you trapped in a room, but I sure as heck can get you locked out of a room.

Exhibit A

A few weeks back, my parents left for vacation two hours away.  I decided to leave a couple days later and meet them up at the lake.  I was at their house, packing some stuff up, and bounded down the garage steps to put some things in my car.  I came back up the steps, grabbed the knob to turn and nearly smacked my face on the door.  I was expecting the door to open.

It did not.

I had no phone, no keys, nothing.  Everything I needed was in that house, on the other side of that blasted locked door.  Fiddlesticks. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do. Couldn't call anybody, and even if I could get ahold of my parents, they were two hours away. I could walk to the neighbors, which was over yonder, but even then, they don't have a key.  I searched all over the back of our barn for where I thought there was a spare key.  No luck.

And then I had this hazy, vague memory that my mother had hidden a key in the deep freezer.

The deep freezer.

So, here I am, practically falling headfirst into the freezer, rummaging my way around frozen pizzas and slabs of beef, hoping and praying and begging God that this key was where I thought it was.  I slide some trays over, shoved over some roasts - bingo. Praise Jesus, a key to the house. I practically froze my fingers off trying to find it, but hey - I have a key!  Off to vacation I went.

Exhibit B

Now, this next one required far more problem-solving skills than Exhibit A and took me 9 times longer to accomplish and happened less than two weeks later, but nevertheless, I eventually prevailed in my war with locked doors.

I found myself the last man standing at my office this past Monday evening.  The place was a ghost town. Lights were off across the building, all doors locked.  I was heading to Bible study straight from work, so I brought dinner with me.  I'm in the kitchen, heating up my food, when I have this very sudden and striking thought:

I just locked myself out of my office.

I went to confirm this unexpected thought, and indeed, the door was locked.  My phone, my car keys, everything I needed was on the other side of that blasted locked door.  And there was not a single phone in the entire building that wasn't behind a locked door.

My first thought was, "Well, that is indeed a bummer."

I decided to go back to the kitchen and finish my dinner while I pondered a possible solution to my unfortunate circumstances.  No sense in adding hangriness to the mix.

After I polished off dinner, I realized I could a) break the inset window pane on the door, b) go find a neighbor or someone walking their dog to see if I could borrow their phone, or c) double-check every building in the door and hope and pray that some very forgetful soul left their door unlocked.

I went with option C and praise Jesus, my co-worker left her door unlocked.  I nearly started crying.

I now had access to a phone, but the next problem was I had no immediate way of getting directly to a co-worker who had a key.  I started rummaging through desks in the hopes of a staff cell phone contact list somewhere. No luck.

I started with calling my mom, one of three phone numbers I have memorized.  "Oh, hey, Mom, just locked out of my office. You know, a day in the life of me here lately.  Do you have Jill's (my co-worker) phone number?" No. Okay, how 'bout our other mutual friend, Twyla, who might have Jill's number? Yes? Okay.

I call Twyla.  No answer.

She eventually calls me back, laughing, of course.  I call Jill.  No answer.  Meanwhile, I'm still rummaging through desks, hoping someone will have a phone number for the one woman I needed most, who lived closest to the office.  While I was hoping and praying Jill would call me back, I discovered a co-worker had left both his username and password to his computer out in a binder on his desk.  Praise Jesus yet again.

I log into his computer, thinking I can access my work email via the web-based version.

Oh wait. It requires two-step authentication.

Darn you, two-step authentication.  You're useless unless you have your phone.  Which I didn't.

So, now I was locked out of my office, locked out of my car and locked out of my own stinkin' work email account.

*Insert palm-to-forehead emoji*

Long story shorter, and after about 45 minutes of very rapid problem-solving that involved zero broken windows, Jill eventually called me back and came to my rescue with a key.

As I recounted my misadventures the following morning to my building manager, he says to me, "You're going to hate this when you find out where the spare key is."

I glare at him without him even telling me the answer because I could only imagine what he was about to reveal to me.

We walked down the hall and stopped about three feet away from my office door, the very same one that was nearly the bane of my existence 12 hours prior.  On the opposite side of the wall was a glass-enclosed fire extinguisher.  He turns the knob, opens the door, slides the extinguisher out of the way - and lo and behold.

A spare key.

My salvation was less than three feet away and I didn't even know it existed.

I wanted to smack him.

So, if you ever have a hankerin' to visit an escaped room, give me a call instead.

Pending you haven't locked your phone up behind a door somewhere, of course.

Seated Where I Don't Belong

Last weekend marked 7 years since my friend Jonathan passed away.  It's a day quietly noted on my calendar. Jon - 7 years, the reminder simply said.  I was curled up in my recliner last Saturday as I was texting his mom, acknowledging the day, my Bible splayed across my lap, opened to 2 Samuel 9.  For reasons I don't fully understand, the story contained in 2 Samuel 9 is quite possibly my favorite in all of Scripture.  It strikes such a tender nerve every time I read it, and last Saturday was no different as I read it yet again. 

You see, it's the story of a man named Mephibosheth, a man "lame in both feet" (2 Samuel 9:3).  Scripture tells the story, "Jonathan son of Saul had a son who was lame in both feet. He was five years old when the news about Saul['s] and Jonathan['s death] came from Jezreel. His nurse picked him up and fled, but as she hurried to leave, he fell and became disabled. His name was Mephibosheth" (2 Samuel 4:4).  My friend Jonathan was also lame in both feet, permanently wheelchair-bound, suffering the ravages of muscular dystrophy.  By the time our lives intersected as adults, he essentially only had control of his right thumb, enough control to operate his motorized wheelchair.  He's now been gone longer than I knew him alive.  

So in Mephibosheth, I saw my real-life Jonathan on the pages last weekend as I pored over 2 Samuel 9.  Mephibosheth was the son of the biblical Jonathan, who was the best friend of David, and the man who willfully gave up his own right to the throne in order that David could instead ascend to the throne as God's anointed king. And Mephibosheth's grandfather was no less than king Saul, a man who in the end would take his own life in the midst of a losing battle.  

Jonathan would die, too, in battle the same day as his father.  David was anointed king in the wake, and in the aftermath, he began to ask, “Is there anyone still left of the house of Saul to whom I can show kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” (2 Samuel 9:1). 

As king, and in order to protect and preserve his power, David could have opted to have every family member in the line of Saul annihilated.  Instead he went looking for someone to whom he could show kindness.  

Who does David find?  Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan, David's best friend, the man with whom David had sworn a covenant. Before Jonathan died, he had requested of David, "But show me unfailing kindness like the Lord’s kindness as long as I live...and do not ever cut off your kindness from my family...” (1 Samuel 20:14-15). 

David made good on his promise to his now gone-but-not-forgotten friend, found Jonathan's son, and summoned him to the royal palace.  He had made a vow to never cut off his kindness from Jonathan's family, and David meant it then and he meant now, even though his friend was gone.  

I picture David's palace with a grand, ornate hall, lavish in its opulence.  And I picture this long walkway down the center of the court, columns flanking both sides, rays of light scattering across the polished floor.  David stands at one end, Mephibosheth at the other.  Then I hear the shuffle and the drag of 'two lame feet,' as Mephibosheth ever-so-slowly makes his way to the king, the very king who may decide to take his life.  Step, drag.  Step, drag.  Step, drag.  His eyes are cast downward, not daring to look up, or to hope.  He reaches David and bows low.

I can't help but wonder if David also stooped low to get on Mephibosheth's level, places his finger under Mephibosheth's chin, lifts his head, looks him in the eye and whispers his name with fierce graciousness, "Mephibosheth!"  

No tone of condemnation, no tone of ill-will or hatred.  Just a tone of deep compassion, for this was the very precious son of his very precious friend, Jonathan.

“Don’t be afraid,” David said to him, “for I will surely show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan. I will restore to you all the land that belonged to your grandfather Saul, and you will always eat at my table.”   

Mephibosheth bowed down and said, “What is your servant, that you should notice a dead dog like me?”   

Then the king summoned Ziba, Saul’s steward, and said to him, “I have given your master’s grandson everything that belonged to Saul and his family.  You and your sons and your servants are to farm the land for him and bring in the crops, so that your master’s grandson may be provided for. And Mephibosheth, grandson of your master, will always eat at my table” (2 Samuel 9:7-10). 

Scripture goes on to say, "So Mephibosheth ate at David’s table like one of the king’s sons...And [he] lived in Jerusalem, because he always ate at the king’s table; he was lame in both feet." (2 Samuel 9:11, 13)

Mephibosheth got seated at a table where he did not belong, to eat food he could not afford, based on merit he did not possess. And all that in spite of his crippled feet.  

He was at the table for one reason and one reason only: because of who his father was. 

It wasn’t because David pitied him, felt sorry for him, or was obligated to him.  David bent low and lifted the head of a man who was not otherwise worthy of being in the presence of the king. For all intents and purposes, and according to the customs and traditions of the day, David would have been entirely justified in taking a sword to Mephibosheth and everyone else in the line of Saul, anyone who posed a remote threat to his rule.  

Instead, he stooped down and whispered, “Mephibosheth, come eat at my table, both now and forever - because I loved your father. For his sake and to honor him, I welcome you here without condition or payment. You come with your two lame feet, you pull out a chair, you sit at my table, you drink the wine poured for you, and you.feast. Neither your past tragedies, nor your lineage, nor your disability will haunt or hinder you while you sit here in this chair at my table. You need not wonder if any spears will be thrown at you. Enough spears have been thrown. No more. So, come and eat. Sit down at the king's table and partake.  Simply for the sake of your father.” 

For those who are in Christ Jesus, you have the same opportunity.  We get to sit down some day at the wedding feast of the Lamb with all the other saints, and shout "Hallelujah!  For our Lord God Almighty reigns.  Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory!  For the wedding of the Lamb has come..."(Revelation 19:6-7).

But here's the catch - you only get a seat at the wedding feast of the Lamb based on one condition and one condition alone: 

Who your Father is. 

Nothing and no one else will merit or warrant your presence at the feast other than God your Father.  And neither will your literal or figurative limps merit your absence from the feast.  You get to pull up a chair at a table where you do not belong, to eat food you cannot afford, based on merit you do not possess in and of yourself.  You get to come with your crippled body and your crippled heart and your crippled mind. And in your coming, you will bow low only to find King Jesus who will lift your chin, look you in the eye, whisper your name with fierce graciousness and say, "Don’t be afraid, for I will surely show you kindness for the sake of your Father, and you will always eat at my table.”

So, pull up a chair and partake.  “Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat!  Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost.  Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy?  Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare.  Give ear and come to me; listen, that you may live. I will make an everlasting covenant with you, my faithful love promised to David" (Isaiah 55:1-3).

Jesus declares over us, "Come, you who have absolutely nothing to offer in return.  I will show you kindness for the sake of your Father."  

And because of that promise, I will get to pull up a seat at the table where I don't belong.  

Right next to my friend Jonathan.

And we will feast.

Forever and always.  

When Life Threatens to Separate Us

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: 'For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.'  No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. - Romans 8:35-39

Sometimes death threatens to separate us from the love of God.  Our spouse dies suddenly, killed instantly in an accident.  Sometimes our baby dies stillborn, and we hold him in our arms, lifeless. Sometimes our babies don't even make it far enough for us to hold them.  Disease ravages our best friend's body, his lungs and heart giving way long before they should have.  Yes, death threatens to separate us.

Sometimes demons threaten to separate us from the love of God.  Oppression takes over, our thoughts don't become our own, and a war wages in the heavenlies against our very existence.  Yes, demons threaten to separate us.

Sometimes the present threatens to separate us from the love of God.  Broken hearts, broken engagements, pink slips, collections notices, unexpected diagnoses, injustices, bills too high and income too low.  Yes, the present threatens to separate us.

Sometimes the future threatens to separate us from the love of God.  A cascade of what ifs chase us, a cloud of uncertainty lingers, and the path marked before us seems dim. Yes, the future threatens to separate us.

The powers, the heights, the depths - they all threaten to separate us.

But life? Why would life threaten to separate us? This thing that is to represent vitality and vibrancy and fullness?  How would life threaten to separate us from the love of God?

Death, I get.  Demons, I get.  The present, the future, the past, the depths, the heights, the powers, I get. (I'm honestly not sure where the angels fit in all this.)

But life?

Yes, indeed, life can threaten to separate us from the love of God.  Life on this dusty planet most certainly threatens to separate us from the love of God. The dysfunction, the tragedy, the brokenness - it all threatens to separate.  We struggle to hold onto our hope when we look around at our circumstances, and we begin to buckle under the weight of all that seems to have gone so terribly, terribly awry.  Our hearts cry, Jesus, just come back and make it all better. We find our breaths growing shallow, the panic setting in, the grief overwhelming us because it's just all so broken.  Because it all just feels so hopeless. For some, life can feel like a rollercoaster ride gone horribly wrong, like dysfunction is the standard mode of operation, and there seems to be no way of escape.    

The devil plays dirty.  He knows that threats alone are enough to sink you and me.  The realities don't even have to occur (although sometimes the threats do become realities), he just has to threaten all the live long day. And then we feel like God's love is far from us, and we grope in the dark, looking for his hand, wondering where he has gone.

But the character of God and the promises of his Word are enough to raise you and me.  They are the life raft to which we must cling.  It's the only thing that can silence the threats, drown out the ruckus and racket competing for our hearts and minds. And just like Paul, the author of Romans, somewhere along the way, we have to become convinced.  "For I am convinced that [nothing] will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." 

Convinced.

"That is why I am suffering as I am. Yet this is no cause for shame, because I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him until that day," Paul goes on to say in 2 Timothy 1:12.

Are you convinced that nothing can separate you from the love of Christ? Are you convinced death won't separate you?  Are you convinced divorce won't separate you?  Are you convinced conflict and persecution won't separate you? Are you convinced assault and abuse won't separate you?  Are you convinced a past you think is so very dark and so very deep won't separate you? Are you convinced your loved one's suicide won't separate you? Are you convinced prison bars won't separate you?

Are you convinced God is able?

Our answer to that question will determine the trajectory of our responses when life threatens to separate us from the love of God.  Because we will either allow our circumstances to color the truth, or we will allow the truth to color our circumstances.  One will most certainly inform the other, and you have a choice as to which direction that river flows.  If we look first to our circumstances to dictate the truth and to define the character of God, then we will wind up bitter, disappointed, and disillusioned at every turn.  Without fail.  And we'll wind up with a highly distorted view of God.  If your starting point is anything other than the character and truth of God, you will wind up with the wrong answer and wrong perspective.  We will spend more time looking out and around us instead of looking up and beyond.

However, if we first start with the character of God and allow that to dictate the truth and define our circumstances, then we will stand rooted and established, unmoved and unshaken by the life that threatens to separate us.  Jesus warned us these hardships of life would come.  We shouldn't be surprised by them.  But he also told us to take heart, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

We are more than conquerors because he has already conquered.  He's conquered death, demons, powers, past, present, future and everything else in between.

Take heart, friend, when life threatens to separate, and remember it's just that - a threat.

It's no match for the truth.  Nothing can separate you from the love of Christ.

Where can I go from your Spirit?

    Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;

    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

    if I settle on the far side of the sea,

even there your hand will guide me,

    your right hand will hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me

    and the light become night around me,”

even the darkness will not be dark to you;

    the night will shine like the day,

    for darkness is as light to you.    

Psalm 139:7-12     

The Accuser and the Intercessor

"You will never be enough."

"I am the God of immeasurably more than enough."

"You destroy every relationship you touch."

"I reconcile and redeem all things, I bandage what has been wounded, and I make all things new."

"Your life will be always be small, insignificant and inconsequential."

"I know the plans I have for you, and they are not small and they are not insignificant."

"You just can't seem to ever get it right, can you?"

"I will right every wrong, correct every injustice, and judge every grievance."

"You will never be whole, you will always be lacking, and you will always be this way."

"I make all things new in you, complete all that is lacking in you, and transform all that is broken in you for my power is made perfect in weakness."

Two voices - one speaks lies, one speaks truth.

Satan - the Accuser - speaks in personal pronouns like you and your.  He always point fingers and always cast blame - accepting responsibility has never been a part of his character.  He is the father of lies (John 8:44), and the only language he knows how to speak is deception.  He speaks in pronouns that reinforce our narcissistic selves.  And he likes to see to it that we live our lives in the land of accusation.  Because in that land we remain immobilized, paralyzed, inept and unworthy, trying to claw our way out of a pit that just seems to grow deeper and deeper.  And you can always recognize the voice of the accuser because of that distinction, because of his use of those pronouns - and because feelings of shame inevitably follow his voice.  He literally stands at the throne of God and accuses the children of God day and night, "For the accuser of our brothers and sisters, who accuses them before our God day and night..." (Revelation 12:10).   The devil is relentless in his accusations.  Re-lent-less.  He never lets up, he never backs down, he never takes a break, he never goes on vacation.  Day and night, night and day, he stands at the throne, shouting accusations about me, about you, about every believer.  He's screaming in the ear of God, hoping that one day his lies will prevail.

But Jesus - the Intercessor - speaks in personal pronouns like I and my.  

Jesus will never point fingers and he will never cast blame - accepting responsibility has always been a part of his character, even to the point of accepting responsibility for sins he did not commit and dying for those who deserved death themselves.  He speaks in pronouns that cause us to lift up our eyes and get beyond our own narcissistic selves.  Jesus is the father of truth (John 14:6), and the only language he knows how to speak is truth and grace.  He likes to see to it that we live our lives in the land of freedom.  Because in that land we mobilize for his kingdom and find we are worthy, not because of anything we have done, but because of everything he has done.  You can always recognize the voice of the Intercessor because of that distinction - feelings of condemnation never follow his voice.  He sits on the throne and advocates for us, lobbies for us, declares truth over his children and drowns out the noise of the Accuser.  He isn't screaming in the ear of the Father because he knows his truth has already prevailed.  Hebrews 7:25 says, "Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them."  

Jesus always lives to intercede for us.  Not accuse us.  That's the devil's job - not Jesus'.

One of Jesus' chief aims in going to the cross was so that he could present those who put their trust in him as free from accusation.  "But now [God] has reconciled you by Christ’s physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation, " declares Colossians 1:22.

Free from accusation. What sweet freedom and relief.

The devil may stand for a time before God day and night declare accusations over me, but his end has already been written and one day his voice will be muted forever:

Then I heard a loud voice in heaven say: 'Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of his Messiah. For the accuser of our brothers and sisters, who accuses them before our God day and night, has been hurled down.' 

The Intercessor silences the Accuser once and for all.

But until that day comes - until that day when the Accuser is hurled down - we must cling to the voice of truth, the voice of the Intercessor, the one who lives to advocate for us.  We must choose his voice over all other voices, above all other noises, and over all other accusations lobbed against us.

If Jesus lives to intercede for us, then let us live to listen to his voice and believe his truth.

Bowing Down at the Altar of Formulas

How I ever survived a year of AP Calculus in high school and then a semester of College Calculus is beyond me.  I could no sooner tell you how to solve the Pythagorean theorem today than I could flap my arms hard enough to fly to the moon.  Sine, cosine, tangents, functions, derivatives, limits, vectors, and pretty much any other math term are now a foreign language to me.  I'm lucky I can even spell them, let alone tell you what they mean.  Math always caused a lot of angst for me - it felt vague and abstract. I couldn't touch it, manipulate it or hold it in my hands.  I would stare at math problems, my head swimming as I tried to make sense of it all, and immediately feel like the dumbest kid in the room.  More often than not, it was just a bunch of symbols on paper, like the hieroglyphics of an ancient culture scribbled on the walls of a cave, only with no translator in sight.

But, boy, do I love formulas as an adult now, the figurative kind at least. I want to know exactly how to get to a certain outcome.  I want to know how to rearrange the variables of the equation of my life in order to get both sides to equal one another.  I want to know the right combination of prayer and repentance and belief that will get me to the easy lane, or at the very least get me out of whatever difficult circumstances I may be facing.  I want to know the exact words to pray or the specific verse to say back to God that will just make all my suffering go away.  And I want to use that same formula over and over again, to have that one formula be my silver bullet, the magical shot that cures all ailments and alleviates all heartache.

Never have I worshiped formulas more than I have in this season of life.  I bow down at the altar of spiritual, physical, mental and emotional equations, hoping I can find just the right mix of metaphorical letters and numbers to make all my pain go away.

About a month ago, I noticed problems with my vision.  It was almost as if I had troubles focusing on any one thing at a time.  And then I would have troubles walking a straight line, or felt like I was perpetually leaning to my right.  I got slammed with a bout of vertigo that scared the living daylights out of me and sent me running to the ER. It woke me from a dead sleep and left me feeling like my eyes had just had a seizure of some sort.  Waves of nausea would hit and dizziness seemed to be my constant companion. My anxiety was through the roof and daily functions were proving to be a challenge.  None of it was making any sense, and the not knowing what was happening to my body was compounding the already-present anxiety.  I was coming off the rails all over again, and it was sending me into a spiritual, emotional and mental free fall.

Early on in the month, I chalked it up to stress at work.  I had some difficult conversations with my boss over some things I was angry about, thinking, "We'll clear the air and then it will all get better."  Only the symptoms persisted.  Then I thought it was because I was harboring all sorts of bitterness and resentment and needed to repent.  I confessed to God all these things that I legitimately had been holding on to, thinking there would then be this immediate sense of freedom.  Only the symptoms persisted.  Then I thought my doctor could fix it all, so I made an appointment to see him and review everything.  I thought I would leave his office and everything would be better.  Only the symptoms persisted.  Why could I not find the right formula to just make all this bad stuff stop?  Was it because I hadn't repented enough? Was it because I hadn't prayed enough?  Was it because I hadn't believed God enough?  Was it because I hadn't confessed enough? Was it because I wasn't faithful enough?  I mean, God, what more do you want me to do here for you to heal me?  I'm doing all these things you tell me to do in your Word, and yet here we are - I'm still in this super sucky season of life and I don't know how to make it all go away.

I know I'm not the only one who does this.  Scripture is scattered with people looking for formulas.  The rich young ruler in Mark 10:17 asks, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?"  What's the formula  for getting to where I want to go, he effectively asks.  An expert in the law asks the same thing in Luke 10:25, "Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?"  Peter asks in Matthew 18:21, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins again me?  Up to seven times?"  What's the trick here, Lord, for forgiving others? How do I get all of this to add up so I don't have to try so hard or think too much?  Give me the formula so I can make my life easy. In 2 Kings 5, Naaman asks to be healed of leprosy by Elisha, and Elisha sends out a messenger telling him to go wash in the Jordan seven times.  But Naaman leaves angry, saying, "I thought he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy."

A hand wave here, a prayer there, and voilà! all better.

A formula if there ever was one.    

Jesus fed the 4,000 with 7 loaves, but he fed the 5,000 with 5 loaves.  He healed some with his hands, but others with his words.  Sometimes he reached out to touch people, but other times people reached out to touch him.  Sometimes he healed in a two-step process (Mark 8:22-25) but other times he healed immediately (Matthew 8:3).  Sometimes he raised the dead at a moment's notice (Matthew 8:13), but other times he waited around (John 11:6).

As finite, feeble, weak humans, we so desperately want a formula for everything.  Because we can understand formulas (minus calculus, of course) and we can make sense of them.  They are nice and tidy and generally predictable.  They remain constant and we can lean hard on the fact that 1+1 will always equal 2.  We don't ever have to wonder about that, and we don't have to exercise any sort of faith to believe that is true.  It just is.

But our God cannot be reduced to a formula, and in my pride and flesh, that is maddening to me.  I want to be able to solve God like I miraculously solved those calculus equations back in high school, to make sense of him.  But he's not predictable and his equations rarely balance out, at least from our perspective.  God-math is rarely logical.  What kind of math is 7 loaves for 4,000 people but then 5 loaves for 5,000?  What kind of math is it that leaves Jesus in a tomb for three days so that I can live for all eternity?  What kind of math is it that leaves the Israelites in slavery for 400 years and wandering in the wilderness for 40 years, but leaves them with God's love for a thousand generations?  My flesh is weak and my faith is small because I desperately want a formula - self-made, man-made or otherwise.  I am Naaman.  I want God to wave his hand and miraculously heal me of all that is broken and wrong within me, and I want him to do it now.

While we go looking for a formula, God goes looking for faith.  If all I do is reduce life to a series of formulas, then I have absolutely no need of God - none whatsoever.  Why would I need to lean on God at all if I always know how to get to a predictable outcome?  Why would I need to trust him or his character if I believe there is a silver bullet that effectively negates the very need for him?  Our pursuit of formulas invalidates our faith.  If all you chase are formulas, the right mixture of variables that get you to a desired outcome, then you will totally miss the wonder of a Father who in his infinite grace, wisdom and mercy compels us to abandon our pursuit of formulas.  If all you do is worship at the altar of formulas and predictable outcomes, then you will find your heart and mind have no capacity for mystery and wonder.  You will spend your life bending your knee to certainty and safety rather than bending your knee to the God who gave the only formula you'll ever need to know:

I am the way, the truth and the life.

He is the answer to every formula that you seek.

Smash the idol of formulas and abolish the altar.

They cannot save you - not now, not ever.

With whom will you compare me or count me equal?

To whom will you liken me that we may be compared?

Some pour out gold from their bags

and weigh out silver on the scales;

they hire a goldsmith to make it into a god,

and they bow down and worship it.

They lift it to their shoulders and carry it;

they set it up in its place, and there it stands.

From that spot it cannot move.

Even though someone cries out to it, it cannot answer;

it cannot save them from their troubles.

“Remember this, keep it in mind,

take it to heart, you rebels.

Remember the former things, those of long ago;

I am God, and there is no other;

I am God, and there is none like me.

I make known the end from the beginning,

from ancient times, what is still to come.

I say, "My purpose will stand,

and I will do all that I please."

Isaiah 46:5-10

A Host of Milestones

A little-known personal milestone just passed me by this past Monday, one of several major milestones that have come and gone this year.

This past Monday, July 16, marked the 10-year anniversary of this little blog. I cringe when I read the early years.  #Painfullyawkward

June 28 marked the 20th anniversary of when I embraced Jesus as my Savior.  #Bestdecisionofmylife

June marked 15 years since I graduated from high school. #Haventbeentoareunionyet.

July marked 15 years since I bought my first laptop, which I was still using until about a month ago when I finally bought a new one.  #RIPCompaq

January marked 5 years since I started my current job. #Adulting.

In honor of all those milestones and in honor of 10 years of my blog, here's the top 10 most-read entries:

10) "I Don't Pretend to Understand," an entry I wrote after my friend Jonathan passed away 6 years ago.

9) "Grief," also another entry I wrote immediately after Jonathan died.

8) "He Met Me in a Stable," a more recent entry, written this past fall in the wake of panic attacks and general mental mayhem.

7) "To My Niece", a letter I wrote to my niece several years ago just before she was baptized.

6) "Always Winter, Never Christmas," inspired by an early snow this past October.

5) "Don't Ever Go To Bed Without Knowing Where This Is," words spoken by a Kenyan woman that still pierce my soul all these years later.

4) "Cancer and a Cup of Water," reflections on the weight of the broken world in which we live.

3) "Don't Wait to Celebrate," a realization that I needed to celebrate the life I have instead of lamenting the one I didn't have.

2) "He Noticed the Thief," written during a season of life when I was experiencing a tremendous amount of physical pain.

And the most-read entry was from 4 years ago, shortly after my 4th grade teacher passed away:

1) "Back In the Day When I Learned How to Play the Accordion"

Thanks to my faithful readers.  I can't say for certain but I do believe the award of "Most Dedicated Reader" goes to my brother Josh.  I'll take bets that he comments on this one within 24 hours.  I wrote an entry awhile back, and within an hour he texted me about it, commenting. I texted him back a little amazed at the speed with which he was aware that I had written something and said, "Dude, what do you do - sit around and refresh my blog on an hourly basis, looking to see when I write a new entry??" He said, "Nah, but a daily check wouldn't be an understatement."

Who knows where we'll go in the next 10 years, but I don't doubt there will be plenty of more stories to document.

Courtney's Bible Commentary

Studying the Bible has never come naturally to me.  I wish that were not so.  Instead it requires a great deal of discipline, and while it has improved over the years, there is still much to be desired in that area of spiritual practices.

It dawned on me, however, in recent months that I needed to change my approach to Bible study.  I often found myself wandering aimlessly through various books and chapters, with no real intent or aim.  This approach usually got me nowhere, and left me feeling even less motivated to read my Bible because I never felt like I was accomplishing anything.  Unless I wanted to be the definition of insanity and keep doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, I was going to have to change up my Bible study game.

This is where I had a revelation.  I love lists - I love to-do lists, and grocery lists, and "books to read" lists, and favorite quotes lists, and "places to visit" some day, and bucket lists.  All kind of lists.  They are orderly, methodical, efficient and logical. The perfect pair for my Type A personality that I want to be in denial about.

So, knowing that about myself, I realized I needed to incorporate that into my Bible study methods.  If I love lists, well, then start making some lists while you're reading, ya big dummy. I found myself a notebook over at Target which had three columns - on the far left column, I marked the header with the book and the chapter.  The center column is for comments and thoughts, and the far right column is for the date on which I read that particular chapter.

Let the list-making begin!

Because I had never read through the entirety of the New Testament, I decided to launch into Matthew 1, reading one chapter per day, making a list of comments and observations as I went.  Given that I started this habit back in January, I'm now all the way into 1 Corinthians (skipping Romans since I just studied that in BSF), and have got quite the collection of notes gathered.  I was reviewing them all recently and I noticed some interesting trends:

1) I'm fascinated by the obscure people in the Bible. I want to know about the child mentioned in Matthew 18 - boy or girl, and what was his/her name?  And Mark 1:30 mentions Peter's mother-in-law, but I really want to know about his wife.  What was she like?  What about the women who traveled with Jesus and the discipled as they went from town to town, mentioned in Luke 8:2-3?  "These women were helping to support [Jesus and the disciples] out of their own means." How did these women get their money?  I want to know about the disciples' wives and children (Acts 21:5), and Paul's sister and nephew (Acts 23:16).  We know a lot about the major players like Peter and Paul, but what about all of these other people never mentioned by name?  They are the ones I want to know more about.

2) I am generally confused by Jesus.  For Mark 7:24-30, I simply wrote, "This exchange makes no sense to me."  Same for Luke 4:23-29: "I am confused by this story and Jesus' statements."  I just simply wrote, "I'm confused," for Luke 5:20-24. Welcome to life.

3) I have a fair amount of idle curiosity. As I read over my notes, I realized I wondered about a lot of seemingly inane facts: What did the shepherds do with all their sheep when they went off to find baby Jesus (Luke 2:16)? Who gave the naked man some clothes (Luke 8:32)? Is this dude really sleeping with his own mother (1 Corinthians 5:1)? What happened to the slave girl once her super powers were gone (Acts 16:18)? Noticing the small details is half the fun when reading the Bible.

4) I think the disciples are kind of dense and a bunch of extremists at times. In Luke 9:51-54, they meet some opposition from the Samaritans when attempting to visit their village: "As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem.  And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem.  When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” I simply wrote, "This response seems a bit extreme, 'They didn't welcome you, so let's set them on fire." There were several other instances when I wrote about the disciples saying and doing dumb things.  Although, I probably am in no shape to point fingers.

5) I am very concerned about ancient people's ability to pack snacks. This stands out to me as I myself am never far from a snack of some sort.  Anybody who has known me for any length of time knows this is true.  I get a little panicked when I realize I have no snacks in my car, in my purse or my desk drawer because that almost never ever happens.   So when I read the Bible this naturally stands out to me as a problem.  Take Matthew 16:5, for example, "When they went across the lake, the disciples forgot to take bread. "  Uh, Houston.

Perhaps my favorite comment, though, one that truly reflects the depths of my heart, is one I wrote for Mark 8, when Jesus feeds the four thousand, "During those days another large crowd gathered. Since they had nothing to eat, Jesus called his disciples to him and said, 'I have compassion for these people; they have already been with me three days and have nothing to eat. If I send them home hungry, they will collapse on the way, because some of them have come a long distance.'"

As you can see here, my comment simply said, "Why is it that no one ever seems to carry snacks?!"

So while my biblical commentary is nowhere near on par with Matthew Henry, Warren Wiersbe, J. Vernon McGee, Charles Spurgeon, Charles Swindoll, or a host of any other scholarly commentators, I can assure you that none of them have taken the care and concern to note the snack shortage in the Bible.  #YoureWelcome.

As I journey onward with my list-making adventure, I will be sure to alert you to any other noteworthy snack shortages.  At least we know when I hit the Old Testament lists, we won't have to worry about that.  Because, obviously:

Manna and quail.

I don't have to worry about God and his snack game.  It's just everybody else in the Bible I'm concerned about.

Something Greater Than My Fears

It was nearly a year ago when I sat by my friend Myrt's bedside, watching her slowly die day by day.  Those were hard, tear-filled days.  Death and grief can seem like cruel victors at times, and in those quiet moments when I watched her struggling to breathe, I wondered if death really did get the final say.

Shortly before her death on July 3, I stopped by after work to visit her.  When I walked in, the place was quiet and we had the opportunity to visit for awhile, just me and her.  Another couple eventually came in, an elderly husband in his wheelchair with his wife wheeling him in.  The husband wheeled up next to Myrt's bedside and the wife pulled up a chair, and they spent the time chatting and catching up.  Eventually the wife pulls out a portable CD player and plugs it into the wall (Don't you love people who are well-prepared?).  "Myrt, we just know you love the song 'It Is Well With My Soul,' so we brought along our CD player to play it for you."

So, here were the three of us gathered around Myrt's bed as she lay there, and the deep, rumbling voice of Wintley Phipps began pouring out of the speakers, filling the room.  

When peace like a river attendeth my way 
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say 
It is well with my soul.

Line after line, verse after verse, this slow crescendo building.  I sat there watching this trio of friends, each with their snow-white hair, creases and wrinkles lining their faces, time claiming what once were youthful appearances.  I felt this sense of awe, almost as if I was eavesdropping on a very personal and private meeting of those who had figured out the secret to life, like some sort of interloper showing up at the Council of Elrond.  During the song, they each had closed their eyes and started singing along with Wintley, the words memorized by heart.  Words that had been tested and tried, found to be true in their own lives through personal experience.

The husband eventually lifts one of hand up to the sky, still singing from this place of deep conviction, "Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say it is well, it is well, with my soul."  Here was this man confined to a wheelchair, and my friend Myrt bedridden with cancer ravaging her body, and yet still they could say with every fiber of their being, "It is well with my soul."

They had found something greater than their fears - and that something was the conviction and belief that God was real and that Jesus was and is exactly who he said he was.  Conviction that the God they believed in was greater than the death they were facing, greater than the diagnoses they had been handed, greater than the fear that could have so easily taken hold. Conviction that the God they believed to be the God of light was with them even in the shadows of death. Conviction that believed it was well with their souls even when it was not well with their circumstances.    

Steffany Gretzinger said, "There’s only one thing in my entire life that is greater than my fear - and that is my conviction.  The only thing in my entire life that is greater than my fear is my conviction that I knew God was who he said he was, even if I hadn’t experienced him in a certain way yet.  Even if my experience and my understanding were small, I knew he was not. Sometimes we sing something because we believe it, because we are sure - and sometimes we sing it until we’re sure, until we know."

Myrt and her friends sang that day because they believed, because they were sure.  There was no need to sing until they were sure.  They had passed that point of surety long ago in their lives.  They sang because they had encountered a God who was big enough, wide enough, strong enough and wild enough for all their fears.

After the shock of this past fall and more than enough panic attacks to last me the rest of my life, I felt that same kind of conviction sink roots deep into my own soul. It will be 20 years this week since I embraced Jesus as my Savior, and never have I ever been more convinced in my life that God is who he says he is.  I feel it deep, deep in my bones, this conviction that is finally greater than all my fears and all my anxiety - my God is real.  There were a couple of fairly severe panic attacks last September and I remember white-knuckling a few prayers to Jesus, "I have absolutely no idea why these are happening, and I have absolutely no idea how you're going to get me to the other side of this season of life, but I will not let go of you because I am convinced you will not abandon me, and I am convinced that this is not your will for your children."  I was convinced God was deliverer, so I was going to trust him to deliver me.  I was convinced God was good, so I was a going to trust he was going to work all things together for my good.  I was convinced God was a God of peace, so I was going to trust his peace would prevail.  It had no longer become an option for fear to win.  Fear may have been what got me into that mess of a season in the first place, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be what got me out.  

Our convictions have got to become greater than our fears - otherwise we will die in a pit of slavery to those very fears.  Somewhere along the way in our lives, we've got to decide that a sheer sense of grit and fortitude are going to be what trump whatever else it is we are feeling.  People who can confidently sing the words "it is well with my soul" can sing those words not because their circumstances are absent pain or heartache, but because their convictions supersede their pain. I can say that it is well with my soul - not because it is always well with my circumstances - but because God is who he says he is.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come
Let this blest assurance control
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate
And hath shed His own blood for my soul
My sin—oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!—
My sin, not in part but the whole
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul
But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend
Even so, it is well with my soul.

- Horatio Spafford

Before and After Believers

Twenty years ago this June - June 28, 1998, to be exact - marks the moment in which I realized the depth of my own sin and the length to which Jesus was willing to go to save me.  That day, that instant, changed the trajectory of my life.

But fast forward a short time later to when I found myself rejecting the very God I had embraced a few years prior.  I thought following Jesus consisted of an easy life, free of heartache and pain, where everything came naturally, where life would be a perpetual "high."  The chasm was wide between my expectations and reality, and that gap sent me spiraling.  Bitterness, disillusionment and resentment settled deep, deep into my bones, followed by unforgiveness and hatred in a variety of forms.  God wasn't performing like I thought he would.  He wasn't behaving like I thought he would, and the impact was crushing.  The miracles weren't happening - and I suspended my belief in him in the absence.

Fast forward another handful of years.  Different setting, but the same chasm between expectations and reality gaped wide before me.  I was in college, a little older, a little wiser, a little less disillusioned, and while God had done a radical work of softening my heart and restoring what was once broken since those years in high school, my faith was still faulty in that it hinged on what he did, not who he was. This was never more evident than the summer I lived in San Diego.  I recall speaking at a women's event, explaining how I had been waiting all summer for God to do that one thing that would convince me he was real - and it never came.  I was seeing him do all these amazing things in the lives of other people, but I felt like he was holding out on me when I reflected on my own life.  The miracles weren't happening - and I suspended my belief in him yet again in their absence. It would not be until after that summer passed that I would look back with grief over what my unbelief had cost me.

Must we always be so slow to believe?  Is our faith so small that we always have to wait for the miracle to come before we believe he is who he says he is?  Why do we treat the almighty God as if he is some sort of wind-up circus monkey, where we twist the knob, set him loose, and oooh and ahhh over his clanging cymbals and frantic spinning in circles?

It seems Jesus's contemporaries had the same problem I do.  "After [Jesus] was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said.  Then they believed the Scripture and the words that Jesus had spoken" (John 2:22).

After the miracle, then the belief.

"Unless you people see miraculous signs and wonders," Jesus told him, "you will never believe" (John 4:48).

After the miracle, then the belief.

"After the people saw the miraculous sign that Jesus did, they began to say, "Surely this is the Prophet who is to come into the world" (John 6:14).

After the miracle, then the belief.

"At first his disciples did not understand all this.  Only after Jesus was glorified did they realize that these things had been written about him and that they had done these things to him" (John 12:16).

After the miracle, then the belief.

The pages of Scripture are littered with people just like me who demanded God first perform and deliver before they believe.  Thomas: "Show me the scars!" (John 20:25).  The crowds: "Show us the miraculous signs!" (John 6:30). The Pharisees: "Show us proof!" (Matthew 12:38).

Perform for us, and then we'll believe you, they said.

Jesus had repeatedly told them who he was.  He had spoken over and over again, I am the Son of God, I am I AM, I am the Deliverer, I am the Promised One, I am the salvation of Israel. And still they remained in their unbelief. His word was never sufficient, never enough, not in their eyes, at least.

Dear God, forgive us for waiting for the miracle until we believe you. Let us believe you now - on this side the miracle. Let us believe you now - long before we ever see any evidences that confirms your Word. If our faith is dependent or contingent on the miracle, then it is no faith at all. Blessed are those who believe God on this side of the miracle. Blessed are those whose faith is not dependent on what he does. Blessed are those who are not waiting for the miracle to come before they choose to believe his Word.

Because what if the miracle never comes? What if there's never a husband in response to your singleness? What if there's never a cure for the cancer diagnosis ravaging your friend's body? What if your child never gets out of that wheelchair ever again? What if that long-held dream never comes to fruition? Then what? Will you believe him only on the other side of the miracle? Will you believe him only when there is a ring on your finger, a cure in hand, and a dream brought to life?

Heed Jesus's words to Thomas after Thomas says he won't believe until he sees the nail-pierced hands: 'Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed'" (John 20:29).

Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.

Let us be the kind of people who are "before" believers, the kind of people who believe Jesus long before the miracle ever appears - if it ever does.  Let us take him at his Word and trust that he is who he says he is.  Let us be the kind of people who believe him, even if we never "see" him.

Let us not be "after" kind of believers

A.W. Tozer said it best, "What God declares the believing heart confesses without need of further proof." 

If God declares it, I want to believe it - whether there is ever a sign, a miracle, or a bolt of lightning from the sky to confirm it. 

I don't want to wait for further proof. 

If he declares it, may my believing heart confess it.

Miracle or no miracle.

You're Relieved of Duty

Growing up as a kid, I had a half-Rottweiler named Bubbles. I know, “Bubbles” is not really an appropriate name for a Rottweiler, but when you’re 9-years old, you’re not really thinking all that hard about such things. You’re just glad to have a puppy. She would prove to be one of my dearest friends as a child. Once she got over her maniac-puppy stage, she mellowed out and became a big lumbering ball of serenity. She was my calm in the storm, a safe haven when life seemed to go sideways. I’d go out to the barn and she’d be there waiting for me. I’d stoop down to sit on the back steps, and she’d come up behind me, burying her nose between my side and my elbow, unrelenting until I had looped an arm around her neck. And then she’d just sit, leaning all her body weight against me, quietly breathing. Sometimes she would slide down, like slime running down the wall, and melt onto the floor, waiting for me to scratch her belly. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion during those years. She died the summer after I graduated from college, and I find myself on the rare occasion still expecting to see her poke her head out from behind the bushes when I pull in the driveway of my parents’ house.

But for as great of a pet as she was - loving, patient, and calm – and despite looking very much like an intimidating Rottweiler, she made for a lousy watchdog. She would run around like an idiot during a rainstorm, barking at thunder, this imaginary invader, but if someone pulled in the driveway or came around, she was lucky if she lifted her head up from her resting spot. She was never aggressive or territorial unless you took her bone or got near the puppies she eventually birthed. “Bubbles” and “stellar watchdog” never really ended up in the same sentence together when we described her to people.

I suppose, though, that we humans don’t make for very good guardians either. I have been slow-walking my way through the Gospels here lately, reading one chapter per day, starting in Matthew. When I came to Matthew 27, I was struck by this seemingly innocuous detail found in verse 35, “When they had crucified him, they divided up his clothes by casting lots. And sitting down, they kept watch over him there. Above his head they placed the written charge against him: THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS.”

They kept watch over him there. “They” meaning Roman soldiers, “him” meaning Jesus.

Soldiers of Rome keeping watch over the King of the Jews.

If they only knew how absurd the idea was.

Why would Rome bother to have their soldiers, these men equipped and trained to mete out unimaginable brutality, stand guard over a man pierced to a tree, shoulders wrenched out of joint, every breath a struggle? Why stand guard over a man physically destined for death?

Because there was always that small possibility he may just be exactly who he said he was.

It’s a kind of guardianship borne ultimately of distrust. These men of Rome stood guard while he hung on a cross, and they stood guard when he was sealed in a tomb. The chief priests and Pharisees remembered Jesus had said he would rise on the third day, and because, again, there was that small possibility that Jesus may just be exactly who he said he was, they stationed a soldier by the tomb and sealed it.

Somewhere along the way they had appointed themselves the guardians of not just Golgotha but the grave, too.

What fools we become when we think we can stand guard over Jesus.

They told themselves, we have to keep watch because clearly this man can’t be trusted. We’re going to stand here at the foot of this cross and see to it that he doesn’t come down from that tree. They even mocked him with the thought,

And those who passed by derided him, wagging their heads and saying, "You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross." So also the chief priests, with the scribes and elders, mocked him, saying, "He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel; let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he desires him. For he said, 'I am the Son of God.'" (Matthew 27:39-43)

We point our fingers at the soldiers of Rome and the chief priests and elders, shaking our heads at them, saying, “You do know how ridiculous you are, right? Ha. As if you could stand guard over Jesus.”

And yet – and yet, we are just like them.

We maybe never say it out loud, but we tell ourselves in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different circumstances, “Jesus, I don’t trust you, so I’m going to have to stand guard over you and make sure you don’t try any funny business.”

We tell ourselves we’re not convinced God won’t let any harm befall our child, so we’re going to stand guard over their every move, every breath. We’re going to so sterilize their world, and eliminate to the best of our ability any chance of harm coming their way. We’re going to do it because we’re not convinced God will.

We’re not convinced God won’t let someone we love take his own life, so we’re going to call him every day, and check on him, make sure he’s still got a pulse and make sure God’s doing his job.

We’re not convinced God will provide for us financially, so we’re going to clench our fists so tight around our money and our budget and we decide we’re never going to trust him with a dime of it.

We’re not convinced God can keep our bodies from failing or from getting cancer, so we’re going to control and manage every calorie, every pound, every ounce, every bite, every sore muscle, and get our hands on every anti-aging crème we can find.

We’re not convinced God can manage people the way we do, so we’re going to micromanage and overanalyze every move of every person around us, and be relentless in our expectations of them.

We’re not convinced you are who you say you are, God, so that leaves us no option but to stand watch over you. We’re not convinced you will do what we think you ought to do, so we’re not going to trust you, believe you or have faith in you.

Because - after all – just like the soldiers of Rome, the chief priests and the Pharisees, we are the self-appointed guardians of the galaxy, are we not?

The soldiers of Rome kept watch over Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, but what they – and we – failed to realize was that the God of the galaxy, King of the universe, kept watch over them.

Their watching was in vain, and our watching is no less in vain.

You were neither appointed God nor guardian of God.

We make for lousy watchmen.

In Mark 14: 33-34 and 37, just before Jesus’ arrest, Jesus and his disciples head to Gethsemane to pray. Jesus leaves them while he goes off alone to pray. Scripture says, “He took Peter, James, and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,’ he said to them. ‘Stay here and keep watch.’” Jesus goes off to pray, and then “he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. ‘Simon,’ he said to Peter, ‘are you asleep? Could you not keep watch for one hour?’”

All Jesus needed was one hour, and they couldn’t even manage that.

All Rome needed was for a tomb to remain occupied for three days, and they couldn’t even manage that.

Their watching was in vain.

Our watching is in vain.

This is JESUS, the sin-slaying, death-defying, grave-robbing, lie-silencing, God of the universe – and yet we dare to believe we can keep watch over him, as if it not only our duty, but our obligation, to do so. 

I’ve got some news for you:

You’ve been relieved of your job as guardian of the galaxy, watchmen over your children, your brother’s keeper, police officer of the world, neighborhood watchdog. Your performance review shows you’re no good at it. Never have been, never will be. There will be no pay raise, no matter how hard you try, and this is not the kind of job where you move up the ranks. You’ll never get promoted, and you’ll never make it to the C-suite. If anything, you’ve been demoted. You’ll never get a corner office with a view. You’ll never see your name etched on the door. You’ll never have business cards with your title listed as “Chief Operating Watchman.” (Besides, that would make you a COW.) There is no golden parachute. Consider this your pink slip. Don’t even bother with a two-week notice. There is no severance package, and there are no retirement benefits. You’re fired.

Do we have a responsibility to steward what has been entrusted to us, such as our finances, our children, our jobs, our resources, our gifts, and our talents? Yes. Do we have a responsibility to engage the world around us, to put forth some effort, and leverage the gifts and resources God has given us? Yes. I’m not saying we abdicate all responsibility and just become apathetic and lazy. But neither do we have the responsibility to hold so tightly to them that we never trust God with what was his to begin with.

God doesn’t need your watchdog skills.

Psalm 121:3-8 says, “He will not let your foot slip – he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you – the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm – he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”

God is not like his disciples who fell asleep on their watch while Jesus prayed in the garden. He neither slumbers nor sleeps. God is not like the soldiers of Rome, or the guardian of the tomb who failed at their jobs.

God never fails as a watchman. Both now and forevermore, he stands guard over your life, keeping watching, in total loving and sovereign control.

This Easter – as we look to the crucifixion and resurrection – I want you think of the soldiers who stood at the foot of the cross, these men who are so often a footnote to history. They would have looked up and seen a man bloodied and bruised beyond recognition, a sword pierced through his side, a banner hanging high over his head: Jesus, King of the Jews. I want you to remember that banner that hung over Jesus on that cross, and remember that, Jesus, King of the universe, doesn’t need you as his guardian.

You’ve been relieved of duty.  Time to pack your bags.