Author: Jon Gauger

You’ve probably heard that Europe is a gospel wasteland. According to a Gallup poll, 18% of Swedes consider themselves atheists and 55% non-religious.

The Pew Research Center finds that almost half of Swedes say religion is "not at all important."  Indeed, Sweden emerges as one of the least religious countries in the world, alongside France, Japan, Australia, the UK, and the Netherlands. Only about two in ten Swedes say that religion is 'somewhat important' or 'very important' compared with seven in ten Americans.

Having just visited Sweden, I’m hardly an expert. But that research does seem to fit the vibe you feel walking the streets of Stockholm. The churches that you see are more historical sights than spiritual lights. More relic than religion.

On an afternoon walk, I stopped by the St. Clara Krika (church), built in 1590. It’s just off the main thoroughfare known as Vasagatan street. A golden pulpit rises above the floor, while enormous stained-glass windows flank the front of the edifice. Then there’s the massive pipe organ— as large as some rural towns I’ve been in.

As you peer up at the vaulted ceiling, your gaze wanders from painted mural to painted mural—all scenes from the Bible looking down on you. How were these created?

What painter would have had the nerve to mount the monstrous scaffolding that would put your brush in contact with the ceiling?

An oak table at the entrance caught my eye with its gospel tract, The Way to God—stacked neatly in piles representing nine different languages. Emboldened, I asked a staff member, “What does this church believe about the Bible?” She replied, “Oh, it is the Word of God!”

Cutting to the chase, I asked, "And what does your church teach about how to go to heaven?"

“You come to God through Christ. You must be forgiven of your sins.”

“But can’t I get to heaven by good works—just being good?” I prodded.

“No! You must have Christ!”

She was adamant. She was also right.

Though the national numbers might not look great, the witness of Jesus Christ is alive and well in Stockholm. Look for the 350-foot spire at St. Clara Church.

By the way—have YOU come to God through Christ?

 

SOURCE: https://sweden.se/life/society/religion-in-sweden

Temptation has a way of finding us—no matter what stage of life we're in. For those who've reached middle age and beyond, nostalgia is a beguiling temptress. She whispers that things were (absolutely positively) better in our yesterdays.

Owens Lee Pomeroy once quipped, "Nostalgia is like a grammar lesson. You find the present tense but the past perfect."

In truth, nostalgia is a seductive liar. It doggedly insists things were way better in the “good old days.” Nostalgia is the file that smooths off the rough edges of yesterday.

But at least two dangers come with a life immersed in nostalgia. First, there's the danger that we spend so much time pining away, grasping for what was, we cease to be grateful for what is. Good things are happening today. God is moving and working and blessing today.

Second, there's the danger of living so much in the past that we miss or minimize the present. It's okay to look back. It’s not okay to “live back.” Yesterday can be a nice place to visit, but we dare not stay long. Because if we’re going to move forward, we’ll need to look ahead out the windshield, not behind in the rearview mirror.

There's nothing wrong with celebrating God's goodness in the past. In fact, it's biblical to recall great memories, great blessings, and great experiences. But our God is a God of the new. He has plans for this day, this week, this month. Plans for you. Let’s not miss what God is doing today by living life in the “past lane.”

Do not say, “Why is it that the former days were better than these?” For it is not from wisdom that you ask about this.

-Ecclesiastes 7:10

If tranquility is what you seek, you'll not find it in Sweden's island neighborhood, Gamla Stan. Its medieval streets squawk with countless languages as tourists trod the cobblestone paths of what is today better known as old Stockholm.

Weary from the walk, Diana and I slipped into Cafe Schweitzer. Fur pelts adorn the seats of this curious cafe, where nearly every square inch of the walls and ceiling are covered with graffiti screaming messages in many languages. Who knew plaster and paint could be so loud? Yet the old-world charm, freshly squeezed juices, and distinctly Swedish menu intrigued us.

Munching our toasted Skagen —shrimp, eggs, dill, and lettuce on toasted rye— (you've never seen such a mound of mayonnaise), we tried to make sense of the graffiti. And that's when I saw it.

At the top of a column, camouflaged by so many other scribblings, was a blue-lettered Bible reference to Joshua 1:9. You know the verse. It's God speaking to Joshua, who is facing enormous obstacles, and God tells him:

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not be terrified nor dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.

What a breath of fresh air in a city that today is as choked with paganism as any place I've been. Looking back on our visit to Cafe Schweitzer, two lessons seem to work their way off of the graffitied walls.

First, you and I live in a noisy age. It’s easy to miss God’s voice, just as I nearly missed that Bible reference on top of the column. Messages from a media-mad world threaten to crowd out the one voice we must hear—the Almighty’s.

Second, God's promise to Joshua is ancient—but still active. I don't know what neighborhood your path will take you through today. I don't know what obstacles or adversaries you'll face. But I do know a promise you and I can both claim:

Be strong and courageous! Do not be terrified nor dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.

 

What’s the first thing you do in the morning?

Whatever it is, it's important to you. That's why you do it first. That's also why first things can be a struggle and ought to be chosen carefully.

So, what's your morning routine? After showering, I first try to grab my Bible and journal and head off to a comfortable old chair for my daily quiet time. For the most part, I'm disciplined. But the battle for first things is never fully won.

I am easily derailed by an "urgent need" to dash off an email on my phone—at 5:45 in the morning (gimme a break, right?). Or, I can be so distracted mentally that I have little capacity to pray. Or—because I'm committed to a 45-minute walk every morning—threatening skies can tempt me to walk first and pray later. But "later" somehow never arrives.

Indeed, the battle for first things is never fully won. And there's something wrong when my step count is more important than keeping in step with the Holy Spirit. In fact, there's something wrong every time we shut out the Voice whispering to us that we should be doing something we've placed lower (later) on the list.

In Matthew 6:33, Jesus tells us, "Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness." Meaning that everything else is secondary. I'm sure there's some re-ordering of the soul that needs to take place in my life. Maybe yours, too.

Matthew Henry says it best: “First things belong to Him who is first.”

 

Lord—

Would you help us know what it means—today and every day—to seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness? We ask you to shout rather than whisper. For our souls are hard of hearing.

Amen. 

Imagine yourself in the co-pilot's seat of a four-place airplane. You've just clicked your safety belt when the pilot announces, "I'll have you handle the take-off and then some other maneuvers once we get airborne."

That was me with instructor Ian Hawk at the Moody Aviation flight school in Spokane, Washington. Since you’re reading this blog, you know we survived the flight.

Watching Ian run through the pre-flight checklist of more than 100 items, I was impressed with the meticulous attention to detail that defines every facet of Moody Aviation. These men and women are superb professionals.

As for the flight, I felt overwhelmed staring at so many screens and gauges. But take off we did. And what a rush to pull back on that yoke, to watch the nose rise and see the runway and buildings shrink as we soared.

In my headset, I heard Ian's calm instructions and a good bit of pilot talk. So much to think about:

• Was my rate of climb too fast? Too slow?
• Having reached altitude, was I flying straight and level?
• Was I paying attention to the airspace around me?

Pulling out of a tight turn, Ian commented, “There are a hundred ways for things to go wrong in an airplane. But most of them are hardly noticeable—until you’ve neglected the symptoms long enough that you’re in real trouble.”

But isn't that precisely the way it is with the Christian life? We have Christ's promise that He will never leave or forsake us. More than that, we have the presence and power of the indwelling Holy Spirit. But just like the instruments on that Cessna’s panel, we can ignore them or acknowledge them.

I’m hoping to hang on to three insights from that flight:

1. Flying straight and level is far more challenging than I’d thought. Same with the Christian life. It’s disturbingly easy to get off course. Let’s not be fooled!

2. There are plenty of ways to gauge your status—if you’re willing to look. But so often, we cheat our morning "pre-flight" time in the Word. Or we shrink our prayer time to a few "Bless me" and "Help me" phrases.

3. Having a pilot who really knows is a powerful comfort! Knowing that Christ is right there beside us is the only reason we can have confidence and peace when the skies aren’t so friendly.

One last thought. If God is your co-pilot, you’re definitely in the wrong seat!

(Hope you’ve enjoyed today’s flight). 

Been out shopping lately for a new phone plan. Call me a dinosaur, but I don’t have unlimited data. Like most everyone else, though, I want the ability to stream without worry.

Interesting. The cry of our day is unlimited connectivity and constant access. We want a wireless world without hassles or hurdles of any kind. And don’t even think about throttling us back!

The analogy might sound worn, but our heavenly Father has already given us much more than that in Christ:

• Unlimited connectivity through prayer.
• Unlimited access to the Father because of Jesus’ death on the cross.
• Unlimited power through the Holy Spirit.

But many of us are more enamored of our screens than our Savior. We’re not just glued to them—we’re welded to them! All the while, we take shockingly little advantage of what we’ve been offered through Christ.

How easily the minutes click by on Instagram or Messenger. How slowly when in the presence of the King of Kings. 

I’m as guilty as anyone. Still, don’t you wonder how could we be so far out of whack that we would spend more time with a hand-held device than our hand-holding Savior?

I want to love Jesus more than anyone or anything (including my phone). And the amount of time I spend with Christ will prove—or disprove—that claim. Same for you.

Who or what is going to have first place in your life? A hand-held device—or a hand-holding Savior?

Did you watch any fireworks over the Fourth of July holiday?

According to Wallethub, America spent about 2.4 billion dollars on fireworks in some 16,000 civic displays. These civic displays cost anywhere between $5,000 and $200,000. All told, we import about $301,000,000 worth of fireworks—97% of those from China.

About 37% of Americans attend fireworks displays of some kind. My wife and I are among them.

While waiting to view the show in front of us, some neighboring towns behind us were blasting away with theirs. We were only a couple of miles away from the distant blasts, but I was struck by how wimpy the sound of those vast explosions was.

Though impressive in person, the audio quickly loses its bombast with just a bit of distance.

Something else I’ve noticed over the years. At the beginning of a fireworks show, every eye is fully engaged as the first few rockets blast into the sky. But before too long, some younger kids lose just a bit of interest. And some moms and dads are fiddling with their phones—and no, they aren't all posting photos. They are—unthinkably—bored. Or at least distracted. Think of that.

Call me crazy, but whenever we get to the “Grand Finale," the image of heaven comes to mind. I think of the twelve gates, each made of a single pearl. I think about the streets of gold and the River of Life, and the living creatures. And, of course, I think about King Jesus.

But of this, you can be assured. When we finally reach heaven, we will never have occasion for boredom or distraction. Our enjoyment of God and our amazement at being in His presence will never fade, never grow old, and never lose the slightest bit of enchantment. It will be forever new, forever amazing, forever a sanctified sensory overload.

So, forget the tired image of wimpy Christians clustered on clouds plucking harps half-heartedly. Heaven is better. WAY better than that.

That is what the Scriptures mean when they say, “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him.”

-1 Corinthians 2:9

 

 

SOURCE: https://wallethub.com/blog/4th-of-july-facts/22075

It happened the other day—again. I'd spent a meaningful season in prayer, enjoyed time in the Word, launched into the day, and before long, I'd lost my sense of joy. In its place: a rumbly grumbly cauldron of discontent.

There was no single moment I could point to where the joy got sucked out of things—but gone it was. Like others who’ve experienced this, I asked, who robbed my joy? After some uncomfortable introspection, I now know that for me, it can be any one of a thousand things:

• A discouraging email arrives from a colleague.
• A news website attacks my biblical worldview.
• A notice from the dentist informs us our insurance won’t cover the procedure.
• An added task comes with an unreasonable deadline.

Truthfully, it doesn’t take much to rob me of my joy. And that’s a problem. It speaks of a trust issue.

You say, What?

Look at it this way. Romans 15:13 says, "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” We get the hope and joy as we trust in Him, not when our circumstances are perfect.

The smaller the thing that can rob our joy, the smaller our trust in the Living God. It turns out that our capacity for joy is linked to our capacity for trust.

The irony is, when trials and troubles come, those of us who profess to have received Christ as Savior are often the guiltiest, trying to be our own Savior.

And that’s the moment that joy disappears. The old hymn calls us to a better way:

'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,

Just to take Him at His Word

Just to rest upon His promise,

Just to know, "Thus saith the Lord!"

Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!

How I've proved Him o'er and o'er

Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!

Oh, for grace to trust Him more!

A wooden deck is a thing of beauty. But neither wood nor beauty last. Hence, I found myself in the 100-degree heat, replacing a number of cracked deck boards.   

In some cases, the warp and wear were apparent. Yet as I fastened new boards next to old, I was caught off guard. Several pieces that looked perfectly good on the surface turned out to have significant problems: rot.           

Previously, I had slathered on the best stain/sealer the hardware store sells. And they looked perfectly healthy. But just beneath the surface, I found tunnels of hollowness. Worse, I could crush this wood with my bare fingers, disintegrating it into shards of would-be lumber. (Impossible to miss the left side of the photo).                                          

Again, I thought I had solid wood. I thought I had worked hard to preserve the health of that pricey lumber. And from all appearances, everything was fine. Dripping sweat in the summer sun, I stared at all that rot, pondering the additional work it represented.                               

How very like the human heart. So many of us look good on the outside: strong, spiritually healthy, "reasonably" godly. But inside, we have rotted away.                                                                        

Maybe we’ve shortchanged our daily time in the Word. Maybe we've cooled off our church attendance or our time in prayer. Maybe we've dabbled with an addiction. Or danced at the outer edges of pornography.                             

All of this leads to one thing—and that one thing ain't good: spiritual rot. Which is absolutely guaranteed apart from a vigilant commitment to maintenance. It’s not that it could happen or might happen. It WILL happen.                       

So, where’s our protection? How do we guard against spiritual rot? From personal experience, David shared his secret in a prayer recorded in Psalm 25:21, “May integrity and uprightness preserve me, for I wait for you.”             

Apparently, David placed extraordinary value on integrity and uprightness. So much so that his prayer for these twin virtues rarely ceased from his lips.                                                                                             

A vigilant commitment to integrity and uprightness in your soul. Neither of these is flashy or fun. But, as Jesus famously asked, “What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world but loses his soul?”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

It’s become a morning ritual. Yawning in the kitchen, my wife and I ask each other, How did you sleep? Often, the answer is, “Not so good.”  For many of us, there’s a story that usually tumbles out—accompanied by a complaint:

• Just for once, I’d like to wake up refreshed!
• How come I wake up feeling so exhausted!

Now, I like (and need) sleep as much as the next person. A European study of almost 25,000 people demonstrated that sleeping six hours or less was associated with a 40 percent increased risk of developing cancer compared to folks getting seven hours of sleep or more. But where do any of us get the notion that we somehow deserve good sleep?

Ecclesiastes 5:12 comments, “Sweet is the sleep of a laborer.” That generalization is true, but there’s no promise implied. Psalm 4:8 remarks, "In peace, I will both lie down and sleep, for you alone O Lord, make me dwell in safety." Lovely testimony—but again, no bulletproof guarantees.

Here’s what I think. Sleep is a gift. It’s always been a gift. And because we’ve enjoyed so much of it for so many years, we’ve come to view sleep as an entitlement: We should experience sleep whenever we want, as much as we want, as often as we want. But maybe we need to learn to see sleep as the gracious gift of a merciful Creator rather than an inherent right.

The truth is, you and I live in a fallen world. Sin has impacted everything—including our quality of sleep. How could that not be so? Why, then, should we complain when we don’t get as much as we think we need?

What if we turned our daily whining into daily gratitude toward God? Example: Thanks for the sleep I DID enjoy. I had no right to a single snore—but thank you for your kindness, Lord.

We are forgiven sinners, you and I, indebted forever to a merciful God. Which means sleep is not a right—it’s a gift. 

Every snore.

Every hour.

Every night.

…Good night!