Author: Jon Gauger

Do you have the virus?

I’m not talking about the flu or this year’s strain of Coronavirus. I’m talking about the malady called “Must Be Right.”

Christians have a biblical mandate to be and do right before God and man. But too many of us have adopted the world's standard of polarized conduct toward those who differ from us.

So, we become not only aggressive but, at times, abrasive. As Bible-believing Christians…

We are right about the doctrine of salvation by faith alone.

We are right about the inerrancy of Scripture.

We are right about the sacredness of life.

We are right about the biblical standards of sexual conduct.

These are all foundational issues, for sure. But in our thirst for "rightness," have we lost our capacity for kindness? James 2:13 warns, "For judgment will be merciless to one who has shown no mercy; mercy triumphs over judgment."

Speaking to the Pharisees in Matthew 9:13, Jesus quoted His Father: “Now go and learn what this means: ‘I DESIRE COMPASSION, RATHER THAN SACRIFICE,’ for I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

I’m not saying we should sacrifice doctrinal purity or moral clarity on the altar of “let’s-all-just-get-along.” I’m simply arguing that there’s a place for kindness.

Yes, our view on any given issue might well be more “right” than someone else’s, biblically speaking. But if we can’t be kind, does it matter?

Jesus never shied away from speaking, doing, teaching, and preaching what was right. But He always led with kindness.

It’s important to be right, for sure.

But let’s first be kind.

 

 

 

 

Okay. I admit it.

A blog about thankfulness on Thanksgiving might be too on the nose. But I have a question I've been wrestling with that I'd like to ask you.

Are you thankful—or merely thank-ish?

By definition, someone who is thankful is—well—full of thanks. So much so that thankfulness oozes out of your pores. Thankfulness is a resident of your heart, not merely a visitor.

But many of us live at a different level—one I’m calling “thank-ish.” Here, we occasionally enter moments of gratitude. But it’s not our sweet spot, not something we think we need to work on. We treat thankfulness like a distant vacation spot—a nice place to visit for those who don’t mind going the distance.

Every time you genuinely thank someone, there’s a bit of humility involved. Thanking someone else acknowledges they did or said something that you could not or did not do yourself. Something that leaves you in their debt. In a strange way, it makes the other person larger. We don’t like feeling smaller—so maybe that’s one reason we’re not more thankful.

Other reasons?

• Many of us are so preoccupied with trying to survive that saying thank you feels "optional." It just doesn't make it onto our radar screens.

• Also, some of us grew up in homes where parents didn't model thankfulness well. That's no excuse—but it is an explanation.

• Then, many of us suffer from a sense of entitlement we don't even recognize in ourselves. Why say thanks for what you feel is owed you?

• Finally, some of us treat the Bible like we treat church, like we treat our entire Christian lives: "We get to it as best we can whenever we can. And that's good enough."

Except, it isn’t.

1 Thessalonians 5:18 commands,

In everything give thanks; for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.

That's the standard: "In everything!”

So, I ask again. Thankful or thank-ish–which are you?

 

P.S. Thanks for reading this blog! I'm grateful for you!

 

It was supposed to be a relaxing evening at church, singing favorite songs. Instead, the lyrics of a hymn I hadn't heard in years plagued my soul.

 

Take time to be holy, speak oft with thy Lord;

Abide in Him always, and feed on His Word.

Make friends of God’s children, help those who are weak,

Forgetting in nothing His blessing to seek.

 

As the music to this old hymn soaked my soul, a barrage of uncomfortable questions fired at me.

• I take time for Hulu—but do I take time to be holy?
• I take time for football—but do I take time to be holy?
• I take time for walks, work, the web, friends, books, and dinner out—but do I take time to be holy? How much time?

What kind of priority is holiness in my life—and yours? With eternity in the balance, these are hardly idle questions (are you squirming yet?).

In 1 Peter 1:16, God commands—doesn’t merely suggest—“Be holy, for I am holy.” But perhaps you wonder, what does it look like to be holy? And what's the payoff? Verse two of the hymn implores us…

Take time to be holy, the world rushes on;

Spend much time in secret, with Jesus alone.

By looking to Jesus, like Him, thou shalt be;

Thy friends in thy conduct His likeness shall see.

 

Hebrews 2:4 warns, “Without holiness, no one will see the Lord.”

Ephesians 4:24 compels us, "put on the new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth."

Bottom line: Hymns might not be your thing. But holiness ought to be.

Verse four of William Longstaff’s hymn says it best:

Take time to be holy, be calm in thy soul,

Each thought and each motive beneath His control.

Thus, led by His Spirit to fountains of love,

Thou soon shalt be fitted for service above.

 

Lord,

Forgive us for wanting to be happy more than holy. 

Help us hunger for the thing you want most in our daily lives—holiness.

Help us settle for nothing less—or be captivated by anything other.

In the holy name of Jesus, we pray,

Amen!

 

 

 

 

 

Many deemed last week’s election “the most important of our time.” We Christians said/heard that over and over.

But whether you loved—or loathed—the results, there's a much more critical initiative whose outcome is yet to be determined.

I’m not talking about the House of Representatives. I’m talking about your house. And mine. I’m referring to America’s need for revival—which always begins at home. Clearly, no political power can bring that about. Nor can any federal program save us from decadence and deadness.

We need revival, plain and simple. The only question is, do we see the desperation we are in—and will we take the required action? In other words, will we cast our vote for a nationwide revival or merely mutter against the evil of our culture?

Of course, no revival ever came about because of a vote. True revival is a God thing, so my metaphor is imperfect at best. But Bob Cook underscores, “Revival always starts with the repentance of God’s people.” Your house. My house. Not the neighbors’.

So, in a limited and sobering sense, every believer is casting a vote. Our lack of confession and repentance are votes against revival. But by contrast, our willingness to do business with God and confess sin as His Holy Spirit shines His unfailing flashlight in our souls—a vote for revival.

The ballot on this is before us. Are you voting? Or are you going to “sit this one out?”

Therefore, repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away, in order that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord; 

-Acts 3:19

Fall is a sober spin on beauty.

When out for a walk, I never tire of fingering brightly colored leaves in my hand. The hues are so intense that they seem more like a Photoshop project gone wild than a display of unedited nature.

But even as I cradle those leaves in my palm, I’m reminded of beauty’s brevity. Were I to scoop up any of those leaves and take them home, by nightfall, they would be curled, and by the following day, their intensity faded.

Whether a sunset, a full moon, or a newborn's face, beauty is fleeting. You can't package it, extend it, or in any other way preserve it. Not for any length of time. And that is the maddening thing about beauty.

Perhaps a culture like ours that seeks to "own" and "collect" merely exacerbates the problem. With the click of a mouse, we can have almost anything we want delivered to our doorstep in 48 hours—or less. So why shouldn't Amazon Prime likewise be able to deliver beauty that lasts?

But beauty doesn’t work that way. It is the unique gift of our creating Creator. He makes a new batch of beauty—every single day. Which is a really good thing because sin is in the business of destroying beauty.

Here’s the plain truth. You can’t own beauty or capture it. You can only:

• Thank God for it.
• Enjoy it for what it is.
• Worship the Giver, not the gift.

In the end, maybe the brevity of beauty is the reminder we need of the splendor of heaven, where we will at last gaze upon our beautiful Savior. In His kingdom, there will be nothing but beauty—a beauty that never fades.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

Ecclesiastes 3:11

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the age of 17, he was arrested and sent off to Buchenwald, a Nazi concentration camp in east-central Germany. Eric was sure his fate would be no different than the other 55 thousand who were shot, starved, or hung there. But he survived and was liberated by American troops in April of 1945.

Fast forward to 1948. Eric was now 21, and the brand-new nation of Israel was fighting a war for its survival against invading forces from Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia. With the fire of the Holocaust still burning in his heart, Eric enlisted in the Israeli army.

He endured five weeks of training that lasted 16 hours a day, and then Eric and his platoon were sent out to fight. But on day two of the battle, their platoon commander was shot in the shoulder and could no longer fire a rifle.

Eric recalls, “They told me, ‘You’re taking over as Platoon Commander.’ When I asked why, they said, ‘Quite simply, there’s no one else!’” At Buchenwald, Eric had plenty of experience observing German and American forces. But nothing could prepare him for the battle they fought next.

“We came over the top of a hill and saw so many Egyptian fighters, I knew we were way outmanned and outgunned.” But Eric’s platoon persevered in hand-to-hand combat, notably where the Egyptians had bayonets and the Israelis had none.

Eric is now 98, sprightly, and still giving talks about his adventures. Asked about his most frightening experience, he chuckles and says, "The scariest moment was when I became platoon commander. In my fox hole, I lost control of my knees because they shook so much." But this was all kept secret from a fellow soldier, who interpreted Eric’s silence as strength.

"The spirit of the Israeli soldiers fighting that war reminded me very much of the American 1776 War of Independence. There was never a doubt. We had to fight. We had to win!"

Listening to Eric’s story makes me ponder the many biblical reminders that you and I are engaged in protracted spiritual warfare. There are moments when we all feel unqualified for the tasks to which we’ve been called.

But other believers are watching us, taking their cue from us. Even when our knees are knocking. Fight we must, and win, we shall! Not in our strength but in His.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God.

-Psalm 20:7

 

 

 

America might be the land of the free.

But it is also the land of the loud.

Research shows that 37% of rock musicians have experienced measurable hearing loss. While hearing damage begins at about 100 decibels, rock concerts routinely clock in between 110 and 120 decibels. And many of our churches are not much better in the volume department.

My beef, though, is not so much with how loud we get but how silent we don’t get. I submit that most evangelical churches (and those of us who attend them) are somehow uncomfortable with silence.

Fast and loud is fun. It feels good. Slow and silent? Not so good. So, almost all of our worship music is geared toward fast and loud.

But what does this say about us and our walk with God? It says our worship is more about our likes than God’s character. The same Bible that commands, “Shout for joy to the Lord all the earth,” also commands, “Be still and know that I am God.”  Who could argue that we do a lot more loudness than stillness?

Tozer was ahead of his time when he wrote, “Religion has accepted the monstrous heresy that noise, size, activity, and bluster make a man dear to God. But we may take heart. To a people caught in the tempest of the last great conflict, God says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God’ (Psalm 46:10), and still, He says it as if He means to tell us that our strength and safety lie not in noise but in silence.”

There’s a lot to be said for silence. It helps us unwind and creates the stage on which introspection can perform its good work. Silence is calming, slowing—an acoustic cousin to meditation.

William Penn, founder of the state of Pennsylvania, advised, “In the rush and noise of life, as you have intervals, stop home within yourself and be still. Wait upon God—and feel His good presence. This will carry you through your day’s business.”

I dare you to “stop home” at some point today. You won’t have to tell God that you’ve come to Him. He’ll know it—by your silence. 

In the last month, I’ve been privileged to participate in two remarkable reunions. The first was with my Junior High band director, now in his upper 80s. Then came an invitation to participate in a “Marching Mustangs” high school band event.

Our high school band director, also in his late 80s, flew in from Arizona, and we had dinner together. Then, we alumni rehearsed with the current band, marched out onto the field, and played the school fight song for the homecoming game. Under the bright lights, it felt like a time warp—like I was back decades ago.

What a blast sharing the evening with my brother, Tom—who played trumpet—and sister, Susan—who played flute and was the drum major in her senior year. The thing that shocked me was…. Okay, I’ll just say it.   Everybody looked old. Really old.

Granted, I hadn’t seen most of these people since Ronald Reagan was president, but still, I was caught off guard. (And just think, they all said the same thing about me!).

My state of melancholy morphed into full-blown sadness when I pondered the cause of all this—the lingering effects of sin. Not one hunky football player, not one cute cheerleader, not one homecoming queen escapes the reach of its wrinkle-making, hair-thinning, life-choking grasp. And then we die!

Ah, but for the believer, there’s more to the story. There’s a better reunion coming. In heaven, our lives will be restored, our bodies will be new, and—best of all—”so shall we ever be with the Lord.”

Will you be at that reunion?

For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore, encourage one another with these words.

-1 Thessalonians 4:16-18

I suffer from an addiction.

Books.

I love the way they look, the way they feel—even the way they smell. I cannot pass up a bookstore, book stall, or library without perusing. And my biggest distraction at any airport is the spinning rack or sprawling stack of books.

Don’t get me wrong. A Kindle is fun—and mighty handy. But there’s something profound about cradling a beautifully crafted volume.

Likely, that’s why Psalm 139:16 arrested my attention. David writes, “Your eyes have seen my formless substance; and in Your book were written all the days that were ordained for me when as yet there was not one of them.”

Consider: your days are all ordained. Which means there’s a plan for your life, a story arc. And if our days are ordained, it means Someone is doing the ordaining—God.

When you write a book, the publisher assigns you an editor who has the last word on everything: content, style, deadline, and even the cover. David reminds us that not only is God our Maker, but He’s also our Editor.

Regarding the number of our days, there was a time when “there was not one of them.” Likewise, there will be a time when our days are no longer.

I have yet to read a book that doesn’t have a front cover—and a back, a beginning—and an end. Likewise, in the plot line of your life, God will, at some point, say, “This is the end.” And it will be.

Yet, in another sense, that moment will only be the beginning of eternity. For believers, eternity is our “story after the story.” But we have only a relatively few chapters here on earth to make a difference in that unending adventure.

I don’t know how many pages remain in your narrative—or mine. But shouldn’t those pages—every single one of them—be inked, underlined, and highlighted with stories of our courage, compassion, and Christ-exalting service?

Do you merely dislike sin—or do you hate sin? The question is about much more than semantics.

In Psalm 101:3, David pledges, “I will set no worthless thing before my eyes; I hate the work of those who fall away; It shall not cling to me.”

Notice that David didn’t say he “disliked” sin. The word here is hate. And God uses that same word—hate—to describe a long list of sins He despises.

The big deal? When we simply “dislike” sin, we inevitably tolerate it—and even toy with it. It gains a toehold, if not a foothold, in our lives.

I dislike my messy office desk, but apparently, I don’t hate it because I tolerate piles on my desk and even piles on the floor. If I truly hated it, I would get rid of the mess. This is nothing less than the sin of laziness or lack of self-discipline.

Spurgeon says, “What fascinates the eye is very apt to gain admission into the heart.”

Many are driven by lust—which certainly fascinates the eye—and so, at some level, we engage it. Others of us toy with greed, laziness, or extreme ambition. On good days, we avoid these sins (we dislike them). But at other times, we engage them (down deep, we like them). So, we feed them and give them lodging in our hearts.

In other words, we are part-time sin-haters. Which is another way of saying we are part-time sin lovers. But John Owen’s warning still shouts about the fray: “Be killing sin, or sin will be killing you!” 

I say again, a part-time sin hater is also a part-time sin lover. Then what’s the way out? How do we learn the art of “killing sin?”

Matthew Henry advises, “In all our worldly business, we must see that what we set our eyes upon be right and good and not any forbidden fruit, and that we never seek that which we cannot have without sin. It is the character of a good man that he shuts his eyes from seeing evil.” 

All of this sounds remarkably similar to Philippians 4:8: “…whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”

But I leave the final word with Spurgeon, who offers this succinct advice: “Hatred of sin is a good sentinel for the door of virtue.”

Lord,

Help us lock the door on sin—and throw away the key. Help us stop being part-time sin-haters. We want to love you more —and love you only.

Amen!