Category: Thursday Thought

I am irritated.

My wife’s friend mentioned a Sunday sermon where she heard it's unnecessary to be so concerned about verbally sharing our faith. And the preacher quoted these familiar words attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi: “Preach the gospel always—and when necessary, use words.”

It’s a pleasant thought. But it isn’t biblical. The Great Commission is not “Go into the all the world and do kind deeds.” It’s preach the gospel!

Doing good things is good. Unquestionably, rendering kind acts of service for others opens doors to sharing the gospel. But good deeds are NOT the gospel.

The gospel is the good news that because of His death on the cross, Jesus paid the penalty so people who are sinners and condemned to eternity in hell can be wholly forgiven.

When it comes to sharing Jesus, too many see ourselves as merely offering a lifestyle enhancement (“Jesus can make your life complete”) rather than a rescue from a burning building.

Do you see lost people as lost—teetering on the very brink of the chasm of hell? Or do you see them as good-hearted folk who just “need a little light for their path?" There's a massive difference in the way you'll approach them.

Rescuers don’t say, “You might want to consider this option.” No, they say things like:

• Jump into this net!
• Grab the life preserver!
• Hurry! There’s no time!

Rescue words are bold words because the situation demands them.

Good deeds are biblical.

Good deeds are vital—God uses them!

But let’s stop kidding ourselves. If you're serious about spiritual rescue, it HAS to come to words.

 

If you have never sampled a Portillo’s chocolate cake, never twiddled your fork in its fudgy excess, your culinary character is in question. The offer of a free slice of this deadly desert was enough to lure my son, Tim, and me into surrendering our email addresses to join Portillo's birthday club. Both November babies, it was time for us to claim the prize.

Having secured a couple of tables at Portillo’s, my wife, Diana, engaged Tim’s wife and girls with a pilgrim craft. Patrons and staff alike fawned over Tim’s little blonde girls (wearing matching red plaid tops and headdresses). Then the girls joined Tim and me in line to place our food orders.

While we waited at the counter for our order, little Ava and Emma chatted up one of the servers. Abruptly, the server grinned and said, “Hey, would you girls like a piece of cake?” They giggled, and she slipped them a (free) piece of cake. With the two birthday freebies Tim and I had previously ordered, our cake count was now up to three.

We returned to our table with the girls—and their chocolate prize—only to discover that moments earlier, another worker had bought out two other pieces of cake for them. We now had five free pieces—a virtual pyramid of unearned, undeserved, seemingly unending cake.

The joyous excess struck me as a metaphor for the kindness of Jesus. John 1:16 says, “For of His fullness, we have all received, and grace upon grace.”

Ponder that phrase for just a moment—“grace upon grace.”

• Full forgiveness.
• Full acceptance.
• Full freedom in Christ.
• Full assurance of heaven.

That’s grace upon grace.

Way better than a stack of chocolate cakes, right?

It’s Thanksgiving. And life isn’t perfect. And our country isn’t perfect. And maybe you’ve got problems at church, problems in your family, problems with your health. I don't minimize any of that. But I invite you to set all that aside for just a moment. Join me in pondering—even celebrating—the grace upon grace we have in Jesus.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The late Billy Graham used one phrase perhaps more than any other. "God loves you!" It's a message we never tire of hearing. The question is, why? Why does God love us?

Recently, I helped three-year-old Emma wash her hands. The whole time (and kids her age love to make a production of it), I repeatedly told her, “I love you so much! I'm so glad you're here, Emma!”

Fiddling with the hand towel, she quietly asked, “Why do you love me so much?” The question caught me off guard. I stammered something about her being our granddaughter, so we would always love her. But honestly, it sounded hollow and unsatisfying to me—maybe to her, too.

Exactly why do I love her? It triggered that larger question—why does God love me? Or you? Or any of us.

Though it would be presumptuous to claim we have an inside track on the mind of God, one primary reason God loves us is that we are His adopted children. He paid for our adoption in blood. In other words, He loves us because He can’t NOT love us.

As humans, we’re crazy about our kids and grandkids. God is all that—and more. He’s crazy about you, too—just as you are.  

Right here.

Right now.

He can’t love you more—not possible.

And He won’t love you less—unthinkable.

Despite a mountain of biblical evidence supporting this message, the problem is that we hear voices that tell us otherwise. Voices that tell us we are unacceptable, unattractive, unworthy, unredeemable, and unfixable. Those voices—pretending to come from many sources—have only one source: a serpent who fooled our first parents and longs to fool us, as well.  

Next time you hear a hissing whisper suggesting you’re a failure as a Christian, that you’re unlovable or unworthy—ignore the hiss and hear this instead:

 

I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.

-Jeremiah 31:3

 

An actual prince and a true pauper meet in a chance encounter. Remarkably, they appear like identical twins. For fun, they switch clothes, the pauper donning royal robes as the prince dresses in the other boy’s rags. But the story takes off when the actual prince, wearing those rags, is shoved off the royal castle property.

Like most epic tales, the book version of Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper is better than the movie. One of the last chapters is titled "Conclusion: Justice and Retribution." Here we learn the fate of those who have helped or hindered the prince in his cruel life outside the palace: “He saved some from the gallows, released others from prison. He provided good homes for two girls whose mothers had been wrongfully executed.” In other words, he made right what was wrong.

Immediately, my mind fast-forwarded to the day when we will stand before the Prince of Peace—who is also King of Kings. He will bring justice and retribution on a scale unimaginable. For those who love Christ, it will be a wonderful day. For those who do not, it will be wretchedness beyond description.

When I look at our culture, where we increasingly call evil good and good evil, I find comfort in this story. It makes me long for the Jesus version of that chapter, “Conclusion: Justice and Retribution.” But we’re not there yet.

So, how do we negotiate the encroaching darkness? I’m drawn to a line from the Prince and the Pauper. The pauper says, “Do not give up! The cause is not lost! Nor shall be, neither!”

Someday, the true King will emerge triumphant. Until then, do not give up!

 

So let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up. Therefore, whenever we have the opportunity, we should do good to everyone—especially to those in the family of faith.  –Galatians 6:9,10

Do you love the Word of God—or just like it?

The difference is huge—but how can you know? Here are five questions to help you self-assess.

Check #1

If you LOVE the Word of God, when you skip a day reading it, you feel out of sorts, not ready for the day—as if you are not fully dressed. If you just LIKE the Word of God, reading it is more of a duty, a check-mark thing.

 

Check #2

If you LOVE the Word of God, you regularly find a nugget of treasure that makes you say, “Wow!” Might not happen every day, but often. If you just LIKE the Word of God, you honestly don’t get much out of it.

 

Check #3

If you LOVE the Word of God, you jot down notes in it or about it in your journal or notebook. If you just LIKE the Word of God, you don’t find much to write about.

 

Check #4

If you LOVE the Word of God, you find passages you really want to memorize—and you do! If you just LIKE the Word of God, you don’t bother.

 

Check #5

If you LOVE the Word of God, you regularly experience it drizzling all over your day—shaping your thoughts and words. If you just LIKE the Word of God, once you’re done reading it, it’s done with you.

Based on those five “checks,” would you say you like or love the Word of God? If you just like the Word, maybe one reason is you don’t have an easy reading translation. But if you already do, what’s the answer?

• Spend LESS time reading other things, doing other things.
• Spend MORE time reading the Word of God.
• That’s it!

If we love the Word of God, it will capture our hearts, drive our thoughts and dominate our conversations as surely as a boyfriend or a girlfriend or a hobby.

Read it more—and you’ll love it more.

Read it less—and you’ll only like it, at best.

 

Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.  —Jesus

We’ve all seen the videos: aerial sweeps of entire neighborhoods flattened by Hurricane Ian. After killing 119 people and racking up 47 billion dollars of insured losses, Ian is now the most expensive storm in Florida’s history.

We are just back from a trip to Florida, north of where the hurricane left the coast. But even from a distance, you see damage to the vegetation. Where we stayed, the streets were lined with mounds of branches, palm fronds, and other storm debris.

Residents think the garbage collection people should handle it, but the trash haulers don’t share that idea. The city suggests you haul your tree trash to a “transfer station.”  But from all I’ve seen, that message isn’t being heard by many.

Bear in mind that the storm left a month ago, yet a region of Florida far from the hurricane’s direct path still suffers from lingering damage.

With respect to the hurting people of the Sunshine State, this scene reminds me of the damage unleashed by hurtful speech. In a blast of fury, you and I can release a hurricane of hateful words. As with Ian, the immediate damage is quickly apparent—and often deadly.

But it’s easy to overlook or ignore the lingering damage: erosion of trust, fear of transparency, and ruptured relationships. Call it storm debris. And like those palm fronds I saw at the curb, relational destruction has a way of staying around long after the initial impact.

 

Lord,

Keep us from windy words.

Words that bring death, destruction, and debris.

We ask it in the peace-loving name of Jesus,

Amen.

 

There is one whose rehash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.

—Proverbs 12:18

To children, they are treasures—their daily works of art. From crayons to markers to watercolors, kids love to create almost as fast as we can supply the paper.

So it was that five-year-old Ava presented me with a collection of her finest. She's embellished a rectangle of blue felt with a polka dot red crescent moon and an orange heart she’d cut out and glued. And on top of that heart was a smaller heart in the background blue shade.

This masterpiece arrived with other treasures. Among them was a flamboyant rendering of an ultra-green Christmas tree and another illustration (Ava informed me) I was holding upside down.

When you're in the middle of parenting, doling out the crayons (or, if you're courageous, the markers), it feels like you spend most of your life picking up scrap pieces and wiping splashes of color from the table that somehow escaped the protective newspaper. You’re convinced it’s never going to end. The markers, the murals, the messes.

And then, one day, it sneaks up on you.

No more ambitious paintings with "I love you" scrawled in giant letters—the letter "e” invariably spelled backward. No more glue all over everything it shouldn’t be all over. And—wonder of wonders—the table stays clean.

Every parent on the other side of the timeline knows what I’m talking about. But be warned. The loss of kitchen chaos comes at a price: the loss of little feet. Little hands. Little children. With little problems—and big fuzzy felt hearts that have a certain magic for fixing whatever’s wrong with us—and the world.

 

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.

-Psalm 127:3

We have a thirst problem, you and me.

The problem is—we aren’t. Thirsty, I mean.

When it comes to the Word of God—being in the presence of God—many of us just aren’t that thirsty. We like a sip now and then (morning devotions or Sunday church). But few would mistake us for genuinely thirsty souls.

When you’re really dried out, you can taste the water before it touches your lips, let alone goes down your parched throat. You smile at the thought of it, anticipating its cool and quenching effect.

But for many of us, a swallow of the Almighty is good enough. And frankly, that’s all we want. Otherwise, we’d drink more. Which is a polite way of saying we are “unthirsty.”

But what are we to make of passages like Psalm 63: “My soul thirsts for you, my flesh yearns for you, in a dry and exhausted land where there is no water.” Some of us read those words and ask, What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I thirst for God like that?

You can’t help but wonder if the King of Kings doesn’t ask those same questions about us.

A popular beer ad campaign urges, “Stay thirsty, my friends.” But is it possible we get our thirst quenched by the world, something other than Jesus? Have we developed a taste for a poor substitute?

Yet, there stands Jesus offering us Himself, the water of life. He promises to any who lets Him satisfy their thirst, “the water that I will give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up to eternal life” (John 4:14).

That's much more satisfying than a swig of anything this world offers.

 

King Jesus—

We want to be thirsty for you, satisfied by you.

Nothing and no one else can do that.

So, we humbly ask you to give us the holy water of your abiding presence in us.

Amen!

A popular meme explains, “If a man says he’ll fix it, there’s no need to nag him every six months.”

Sadly, it took me just about that long to respond when our car’s automatic sensor suggested one of the tires was low. I got out and walked around, visually inspecting all four tires. They looked good—not a bit under-inflated.

Because everything looked fine, I concluded the car’s sensor had gone bad. In my experience, they often have. But the low-pressure message didn't go away. So, I put a gauge on all four tires, and sure enough, one of them—the rear passenger’s—was low. I pumped it up, the warning went away, and life was good.

About a week later…the same scenario. This time, I immediately put air in the rear passenger tire. All seemed well, but  I was still suspicious of the car’s sensor. My wife? She was suspicious that our tire had a problem—like a nail.

Nevertheless, I faithfully pumped air into that tire again and again—for several months. Finally, I set up an appointment with the tire shop at Diana's request. You already know what happened—they found a nail.

So, it wasn’t the sensor’s fault. The sensor was speaking the truth. The problem was me and my disbelief–the quiet belief that "I knew better." Think of the hassle we could have saved, let alone the mileage we might have gained from a properly inflated tire.

Likewise, God regularly speaks a word of warning or correction into our lives. He uses a verse of Scripture or prompting from the Holy Spirit. But we often ignore the alert, making our own inspection of the issue, falsely concluding that everything is just fine–or "fine enough."

But God alone is the gauge. Not us. And when He points out a problem, there's no use ignoring, avoiding, or delaying (again, think of the hassle we create for ourselves!). The very moment the Holy Spirit puts His finger on an issue is the time to deal with it. Not six hours, six days, or six months from now.

 

Pay careful attention to Him and obey His voice; do not rebel against Him.

-Exodus 23:21

Admit it.

You’ve had some weird dreams. Meeting a celebrity. Being a celebrity. On the run. Shot at. Whatever.

Recently, in the wee hours of the morning, I heard a tumultuous sound—like many voices shouting. At once, I realized it was the rapture, that “glorious appearing” of Jesus Himself. Short on breath, long on adrenalin, I jolted awake.

Jesus…here…now? Concerns about unsaved family members tempered my shock and awe. What about friends whose salvation I'd been praying for? Two emotions hijacked my soul—regret and sadness. Regret at not working harder to share Christ. Sadness at time wasted—things left undone.

Biblically speaking, the real rapture (not my early morning dream) will be instantaneous. Of course, it will be overwhelmingly awesome to be with our Savior, Jesus, at last, and forever. How could it be anything less?

Still, that dream left me with a strong impression of unfinished business—things I need to care for.

Jesus really is coming back. And someday, the last opportunity to share Christ really will be gone. But we have today. We have this moment.

People need Jesus.

We know Jesus.

Why should there be unfinished business when He returns?