Category: Thursday Thought

At Junkanoo Beach in the Bahamas, the turquoise ocean hue is so intense, you swear it’s been Photoshopped, and so clear you can see down at least 30 feet.

What fun to zip my iPhone into a waterproof pouch and slip beneath the waves to capture images of underwater life. After years of watching Discovery Channel shows, it was intoxicating to experience it personally.

Needing to come up for air, I wondered about shooting some different camera angles. What if I put that iPhone on the sand and clicked the shutter just as the waves collided? I scrunched my body down low and clicked away (onlookers concerned for my sanity?).

After reviewing the pictures in our hotel room, I was intrigued to discover a bubbly look we don't usually "see." We tend to focus on the height of the surf or the curve of a wave. Or perhaps the splash of the impact on a rock. But the pictures on the phone showed a vast assortment of teeny bubbles—all frozen in an instant.

It was a simple exercise—and I’m probably more intrigued with the results than anyone (who gawks at pictures of waves?) Yet I saw things that morning I had never noticed before. All because I lowered myself—and tried a different point of view.

If only we could apply that lesson to the "problem people" in our lives. If you're like me, you find it easy to make assumptions and snap judgments about folks different from us: street beggars, homeless people, the perennially unemployed.

It’s easy to pigeonhole them. But maybe to properly understand and genuinely love them, we need to lower ourselves and try a different point of view.

Stop labeling them and start knowing them.

Stop dissing them and start hearing them.

 

Lower yourself.

And try a different point of view.

Who knew there was wisdom in the waves?

He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death: death on a cross.

—Phil. 2:8 

Are you bold when you pray?

I'd not given the question much thought until recently. We were out at the camper—Saturday morning. It's breakfast time, which means six-year-old Ava is on one of my knees, and four-year-old Emma is on the other (our standard practice).

I say a prayer of thanks for the meal that goes something like this:

Dear Lord,

Thank you for our food.

You are so good to us.

Thank you for letting us be together out here at the camper.

It’s like a giant present.

Before I can say Amen, Ava blurts out loudly, “And please help us to have a sleepover—tonight!"  The last word is not spoken but sung in operatic style—complete with massive vibrato. As in "to-niiiiiiight!"

(You’ve heard of photo-bombing—but I think we experienced a prayer-bombing!)

In my estimation, that qualifies as bold praying. Ava really wanted a sleepover—that night—at our camper. And she wasn’t the least bit shy about asking God. Of course, asking in our hearing might have greased the skids just a bit in her favor. And, of course, we did have a sleepover.

But the more you read Scripture, the less bombastic Ava's prayer seems. In fact, the Bible commends her style. We’re invited—no, commanded—to approach God with boldness. Do you?

Don’t hold back. Don’t be wimpy. Next time, pray boldly.

Like Ava.

 

So, let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There, we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most. 

-Hebrews 4:16

Like many workplaces, Moody has a wellness program that encourages employees to pursue a healthier lifestyle. You watch educational videos, do fitness exercises, and take a healthy eating lifestyle class—that sort of thing.

For every course you take, you get points. When you earn enough points, you earn the reward: $20/month off the cost of your insurance.

But here’s the thing. This is really about repentance!

• They want me to repent from my five-layered Taco Bell burrito.
• They want me to turn away from lounging on the couch while binge-watching TV.
• They want me to repent from my daily can of soda.

Can I be brutally honest with you? (Don't tell anyone, but) I just want the points—the discount! So, I do the bare minimum. And—sad to say—none of the courses have substantially changed my lifestyle.

I watch the videos—the “sermons” on wellness—but none of it changes me. Because all I want is the prize. Which takes me to a brutal question.

Do we follow Jesus only for the prize—the payoff? Do we love Him primarily because of the gifts and bonuses He offers? Or do we love Him because we love Him? Just because He is worthy.

Here’s the litmus test: Are you repenting—turning away from sin?

Little repentance equals little love.

Much repentance equals much love.

Romans 2:4

Or do you presume on the riches of his kindness and forbearance and patience, not knowing that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?

 

I saw a strange sight.

While waiting for the train, a shabby-looking man fiddled with the parking meter behind me. His bunched-up pants were way too big for his skinny waist.

I was confused by how his fingers mashed the parking meter panel with such intensity. As if he'd somehow been cheated out of change (or was hoping to find some?).

Then I looked down and noticed the guy had no shoes—only filthy socks, well-worn. They had been white in another world, but long ago, they'd morphed into a muddy gray.

As the train approached, I wondered what this guy would do. Curiously, he ran toward the passenger car closest to the engine—which was not in use. He pounded on the door, then darted forward after receiving no response.

At this point, I had to board or risk missing the train. So, I never saw the end of this little drama. I wonder. Did the guy manage to board wearing nothing but frayed socks? How did he expect to dodge paying the conductor? Or did he have the fare?

May I share with you my first reactions?

• Who is this guy—and why does he seem so nervous?
• What is he trying to do to that parking meter?
• Why doesn’t he have any shoes?
• Is he actually hoping to force the train doors open?
• Where is he going—and why?
• Should I be afraid of him—he does creep me out!

I had tons of questions—but zero compassion. None. I felt uneasiness. I even felt fear. But I felt nothing remotely related to compassion. And that is so unlike Jesus.

When Jesus encountered two blind men on the Jericho road, Matthew 20:24 notes He was "moved with compassion" and restored their sight. When a leper approached Christ, Mark 1:41 tells us Jesus was "moved with compassion," so He said to the man, "Be cleansed."  When Jesus passed by the widow of Nain, He "felt compassion for her" (Luke 7:13). Stepping out of a boat on the Sea of Galilee, Matthew 14:14 tells us Jesus “saw a large crowd and felt compassion for them and healed their sick.”

When Jesus looked at people—sick people, oppressed people, hurting people—he felt compassion. Every time. This was His first reaction. 

Where is my compassion?

Where is yours?

 

 

 

Nassau, Bahamas—the fifth busiest cruise port in the world.

At Port Nassau, they can dock six massive cruise ships simultaneously. And nearly 100 ships do so monthly, bringing some 20,000 cruise passengers who tour Nassau daily.

My wife and I are just back from an anniversary trip to the Bahamas (no cruise—just a few days in the sun). There, we observed Port Nassau passengers immediately ushered to a pristinely manicured neighborhood.

The "Straw Market" is a collection of upscale shops and eateries with more diamond stores than any street I've ever walked. And this is the only version of Nassau that many cruise passengers ever get.

But just blocks away from the glitz and glamour of the Straw Market is a much more realistic view of the Bahamas: cratered sidewalks, grimy buildings, noisy trucks, and a lot less sparkle.

Our visit to both “halves” of Nassau reminded me of the way many Christians posture. We project a carefully manicured image of happiness and success. We’re all smiles—when we sense the spotlight on us. With our coiffed hair and cute kids, we’re killing it on Instagram. And nobody at church appears more together than us.

But the real us—the non-staged us—is not near as sparkly, which is odd—because God sees right past it all.

“Man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

Are you projecting an image—or letting people see the real Jesus inside the real you?

 

Tree sap. Dust. Grime.

They transformed our once-beige storage unit into a grimy gray. But I was sure the power washer would bring a quick restoration.

Begrudgingly, the filth gave way, but at a snail's pace. The cleaning process was so slow I decided to entertain my wife by "drawing" the outline of a big heart on the lid of the storage unit using the jet stream of water.

Because four-year-olds rarely miss anything, that drawing did not escape little Emma, who inquired of my wife, "Who put that heart on there?"

“Grandpa did.”

“Is it because he loves me?”

“Yes, it is.”

But Emma was not done. She asked, “Is it because he loves you?”

Diana teasingly said, “Who do you think he loves more?”

With a twinkle in her eye, Emma answered, “Jesus!”

Question: Do you love Jesus? If so, how much? More than your boyfriend or girlfriend, or spouse? More than your possessions and position in this world?

The Bible commands, "Do not love the world—or anything in the world." But my experience is that it's shockingly easy to love the world.

There’s no point in comforting ourselves by saying, “I’m sure I love Jesus more than the world.” Because the bar is much higher than that. The command, you’ll recall, is “Do not love the world.” Period. Zero. Nada. Nothing.

It is not acceptable to love the Lord with some of our hearts or even most of our hearts. Jesus spells it out in Matthew 23:37. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’

Jesus wants all my heart.

All your heart.

How much of it does He have?

 

 

 

 

 

 

As Christians, we’re angry.

• We’re angry that educators and legislators are attempting to deny parents any say in the sexual choices of their own children.
• We’re angry that criminals are put back on the street without posting bail.
• We’re angry that concerned parents who speak up at school meetings are branded as domestic terrorists.

We’re angry about a lot of things. But we’re wise to test our anger against the standards of Scripture.

• It’s okay to be angry about sin.
• It’s okay to hate sin—we must!
• But it’s not okay to hate sinners.  

Have you noticed that many Christians seem to be excelling at yelling yet shriveled in compassion for those opposing them?

Jesus said, “Love your enemies. Do good to those who persecute you.” But how often do we give people around us the idea that we hate them—not just their ungodly ideas?

Do unbelievers around us know us for our frowns and fists—clenched in anger? Or are they comforted (perhaps even confused) by the kind ways we care for them, even as we oppose their ideas?

When Jesus was dragged away in chains from the garden of Gethsemane, He did not hate one single sword-bearing brute in the mob. He loved them!  He said of the soldiers who pounded the nails into His hands and feet, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”  No doubt Christ hated the pain and the sin that created it, but He loved those sinners.

News Flash: It is not in our future to be respected and loved, and affirmed by the world. It didn’t happen for Jesus and surely won’t for us, either.

This does not mean Christians should smile wanly and become roadkill. This does not mean we should remain silent as ungodly laws and immoral ideas are debated in the public square.

Those who oppose what is godly ought to feel our (biblical) vehemence—but never our venom. Much more than that, they must know we love them.

Tricky business, eh? No wonder Jesus said, “Without me, you can do nothing!”

Imagine a pile of dead files shaped like an Angel Food cake. Disgusting, right?

That’s what our fly trap looks like. It’s a green mesh cylinder with an inverted cone featuring an opening the size of a nickel. Attracted by smelly bait, the flies crawl into that hole, one by one. All day. Every day.

Once inside the fabric cylinder, they flitter about. Eventually, they lose interest and want to leave the party. But they don’t. Instead, they flutter against the trap walls, figuring there must be an exit "out there." Or they zoom up to the top of the fabric. They seem determined that the way up is the way out.

Ironically, nothing prevents them from coming down and crawling out of that narrow opening. But almost none escape. Instead, worn out from flights that lead to nowhere, their dead bodies pile up by the hundreds and thousands.

Like those flies, we humans buzz with excitement at the idea of moving up:

• Up the corporate ladder
• Up the chain of social standing
• Up the ranks of authority

So, we engage in flights of fancy that ultimately lead nowhere: self-fulfillment and self-actualization.

But Jesus showed us a different way. Philippians 2 tells us, “He humbled Himself” (went down) and “became obedient unto death" (further down), “even the death of the cross” (can’t get any lower).

The way up is not the way out.

The way out is down.

That’s the Jesus way!

 

Lord, help us learn this!

Lest we waste our lives on flights to nowhere.

 

 

I am weary of apps and websites determined to collect my mobile number. From Amazon to eBay, we're assured the request is merely for our "safety," perhaps as a backup so they can contact us in an "emergency." But these aren't doctors. They're digital distractions!

Still, they seem rabidly preoccupied with having me surrender my number. And the reason they want it is access. They want access to my wallet, my vote, and my mind. 

But I resent the demand…ur request. I really don't want every business (or shyster) in the world to be able to tell me about

• The sale I should not miss.
• The link I can't live without. 
• The blog that could change my career forever. 

I don't want my phone to ping and ding all day long. Is that so wrong? 

These websites, apps, and companies all want complete, unhindered access to me—but not for my good. It's for theirs!

What a contrast is Jesus. He wants access not just to our phones but to our hearts, our souls, our passions. Refreshingly, His every intention is for our good. 

Jesus invites you to cast all your cares upon Him "because He cares for you" (1 Peter 5:7). More than that, "He is not willing for any to perish, but for all to come to repentance" (2 Peter 3:9). 

Take me, Jesus.
Take my heart and my mind, my soul, and my body.

You who gave all are worthy of all.

I want you and you only to have access to the real me. All of me.

Amen!

 

Frankly, I was struggling—in need of an honest perspective, That’s when I reached out to Mike Kellogg. A mentor at Moody Radio, Mike was the much-beloved voice heard on Music Thru the Night.

I was in the process of becoming ordained and needed a second set of eyes on a sermon outline. As I handed him my stack of note pages, his eyes were laser locked onto mine. More than a stare, it was more like a glare. Glasses slid half-down his nose, he jostled those papers on his (always) cluttered desk. Then he growled as he graveled, “This had better be about the Bible! Not some story or cute illustration.”

Honestly, I don’t even recall his assessment of that sermon outline. But I’ve never forgotten his admonition. I hear it nearly every time I prepare a sermon. The thing is, Mike Kellogg actually lived this way—his life truly was about the Bible.

On another occasion, I was stressed out about a friendship gone sour and launched into the story sitting in Mike’s office. But before I even finished, I heard Michael softly quoting from Philippians 2:3, “Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.”

I tried to interrupt with “Mike, I hear ya, but you don’t understand.” His only response was to continue his recitation: “But in lowliness of mind, let each esteem other better than themselves.”

Frustrated, I countered, “Mike, you don’t get it!”

Softly, he insisted, “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus….” And Mike went on to finish the passage.

It’s a passage I, too, have now memorized—thanks to Mike Kellogg, whose life really was about the Bible.

What’s your life about?

Someday, we will all reach the end of our earthly journey, as Mike now has. Hebrews 9:27 assures us, "It is appointed unto men once to die—and after this the judgment."

What then? What will YOU say when you stand before Almighty God?

HINT: It had better be about the Bible!

 

Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved. –Acts 16:31