Category: Thursday Thought

Do you long for the America that used to be? I remember the day when no one questioned a prayer at graduation. Or considered a mention of hell as hate speech.

Not that America was ever totally Christian, but one could argue there was a day when this nation had more of a collective conscience concerning the Almighty.

Statistics show many more of us used to attend church. Or read the Bible. Or pray.

And most folks, born again or not, affirmed some notion of a coming judgment day.

Back before America welcomed Buddha, Allah, Krishna, Zen, and the force, we mostly had God. And He was enough.

Our ship has sailed far from that holy harbor, to the point that many of us long exceedingly for the old country. And that can be a problem. While we are called to be salt and light, to affirm what is good, and to stand against evil, we must not forget that our real citizenship is in heaven.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to live in a nation that demonstrates a healthy respect for God. And engaging in the task of forging godly national values is noble. But when we care more about the country we’re leaving than our heavenly country, our hearts are in the wrong place.

I’m guilty here, for sure. I dislike the growing disrespect for anything remotely Christian. I bristle at the welcome accommodation of other faiths (or no faith) while believers face marginalization. It ticks me off when even a polite explanation of biblical beliefs leads to the charge of our being hateful or even domestic terrorists.

Yet how can we read the Bible or history itself and not realize this is how it has always been? We are hated by the most hateful of enemies.

In the famous "Faith Hall of Fame" in Hebrews 11, it says of the great saints, "All these died in faith, without receiving the promises, but having seen and welcomed them from a distance, and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth…And indeed, if they had been thinking of that country which they left, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one.”

For now, we Christians have dual citizenship of sorts. But we cannot expect the smile of our Savior if we've set our affections on this country—rather than His.

Nothing says Chicago like a flat tire in January. In the snow. When it’s twelve degrees outside.

Our daughter and her four kids experienced that "joy" a few weeks ago, just a mile from our home. But I was excited to use the new jack our kids had given me for Christmas, so we pumped up that car, loosened the lug nuts, and…nothing. The wheel did not—would not—budge. That's when I found my hammer. Then a bigger hammer. Eventually, the wheel came loose, and boy, did it look funny.

Was it the cold or the fact that it had been resting flat for more than an hour? Either way, that tire was so misshaped it looked comical. In my ignorance, I presumed the flat spot would smooth out by itself, given a bit of time. Nothin' doin'.

That tire is a metaphor for our view of God’s holiness: misshaped. When most of us think of God’s holiness, we think of His sinless purity, His perfect creation, and His Son—the spotless Lamb of God.

Unquestionably, these all help “round out” a definition of God’s holiness, but there’s more. There is also a terrifying, humbling, plant-your-face-in-the-ground aspect to His holiness. 

Kneeling or falling or weeping is what humans have always done when they truly encounter the One who calls Himself “a consuming fire” (Heb. 12:29). The scrapbook of Scripture brims with photos of people like Abraham, Moses, Aaron, Gideon, Ezekiel, the Magi, Paul, and even the angels in heaven—all falling before the holiness of God.

But ironically, that’s the part we tend to ignore. Thus, we are left with a spiritual flat tire. We don’t truly fear God (a notion we’ve reduced to the more user-friendly concept of “respect”). We don't tremble in His presence. Yet God says, "Work out your salvation with fear and trembling" (Phil. 2:12).

So accustomed are we to thoughts of Jesus being our friend and brother (which He is!) we fail to comprehend He is also the lion of Judah, the One who “dwells in unapproachable light” (1 Tim. 6:16).

If our spiritual flat tire is going to be fixed, we must learn what it means to tremble.

 

Forgive us, Lord, for seeing only one side of you.

Teach us what it means to tremble at your holiness.

Amen!

 

 

When we go camping, the Saturday night root beer float is a tradition that approaches the sacred. There's something of heaven in the marriage of ice cream and root beer. And no one comprehends that more than a child. We had four of them that weekend (kids, not root beer floats!).

Throughout our time, we enjoyed ice cream at Culver's, ice cream at McDonald's, and ice cream at the canteen. But the fact that we didn’t have the Saturday night root beer float at the campground was not lost on the grandkids.

Upon reviewing the weekend, their mother asked them how it all went. “Pretty good. But we didn't have root beer floats!" As if we'd ripped them off.

At first, I thought, Those little stinkers! But then I realized…I am one of those stinkers. Maybe you are, too.

We have enjoyed the kindness of Jesus in saving us from our sins. We have experienced the miraculous intervention of God in countless personal crises from which there appeared to be no escape. We have tasted the generosity of our Savior again and again and again. And yet, there’s this “root beer float,” this ONE thing that eludes us.

It's the job we always wanted but didn't get. It's the house we always wanted but never had. It's the girlfriend, the boyfriend, or the—what is it for you?

Too busy counting the little we don’t have, we’ve forgotten the much that we do have: God's favor, forgiveness, and forever love.

Here’s what I’m learning—and I apologize that I’m just a beginner:

I must have Jesus and His smile. And if I have that, I will have everything worth having.

(Read that last sentence again).

(And have a nice day!)

 

They shall eagerly utter the memory of your abundant goodness and will shout joyfully of your righteousness.

-Psalms 145:7

What will we do in heaven? Some say we’ll be playing harps or singing praises—maybe flying about with wings. But very little is told us in Scripture.

In Revelation, we get snapshots of some worshipping and singing. Then there are the 24 elders who fall down before God and cast their crowns at His feet (Rev. 4:10). But what about us? When Thessalonians assures us “so we shall ever be with the Lord,” many of us are looking for the “rest” of the sentence. We shall be with the Lord doing…what?

Some have suggested we will be doing in heaven the very things we’ve been doing on earth for Christ. Artists will paint. Singers will sing. Dancers will dance. Maybe.

But lawyers will—what? No guilty folks in heaven to represent. Doctors will…what—marvel that no one is ever sick?

I mean no disrespect, but I think the question, “What will we do in heaven?” might be wide of the mark. It presumes that activity is the only way to be fulfilled.

No question that there is value in work and godly activity (we find these in the Garden of Eden!). And I can’t imagine that God won’t have something for us to do in heaven. Imagine having all eternity to explore His grand recreation!

But locking eyes with the Savior, tracing His wounds with our fingers, and hearing Him speak to us—personally—will render any need for any other activities inconsequential. Being with Jesus—simply being with Him—will be overwhelmingly enough.

The reason we don’t find this idea sufficiently attractive is that we are insufficiently attracted to Jesus. We vastly underestimate—perhaps to the point of sinning—how lovely and awesome and overwhelming He is and will be to us forever.

When Diana and I are in sync and connected emotionally, the sense of just being together is all-encompassing. Same thing when you’re with a close friend. You don’t care much where you’re going or what you’ll be doing so long as you are with them. I’m convinced that’s a partial, though imperfect, preview of what heaven will be like.

The takeaway for us? Let’s fall in love with Jesus now, so we can love the idea of loving Him forever. Does that sound like such an awful assignment? (I didn’t think so).

 

“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

Why do I seem to lack peace? (Or am I the only one feeling this way?).

Sure, the growing sense of uncertainty—even insanity—in our world is a factor:

• I don't feel peaceful when I look at how inflation is chomping away at our grocery budget.
• I don’t feel peaceful when I look at Russia poised to invade Ukraine.
• I don’t feel peaceful when I look at the political venom spewed across the media.
• I don’t feel peaceful when I look at the parade of paganism our country celebrates.

All of this is a massive part of my problem: where I’m looking—my focus.

By contrast, Isaiah 26:3 promises,

You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you because he trusts in you.

Catch those two prerequisites? Our minds are to stay (continually) on God, with our trust fully invested in Him. We’re never offered any peace in any other way.

In the end, peace is a choice. And peace is a Person.

Peace is a choice: “whose mind is stayed on you.” Despite our excuses, we absolutely, hourly, daily choose where we anchor our minds.

Peace is a Person: “He trusts in you”—as in God Almighty.

Not our culture.

Not our country.

Not our savings accounts.

Not our hopes.

Not our dreams.

You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you because he trusts in you.

A parting thought. In the middle of writing this blog, the Lord pointed out a sinful attitude I needed to address. In an unhurried way, I took time to confess that sin. The sense of peace that followed was remarkable.

Try it!

Ava's head plopped low. Exhaling, she gave off a sigh full of as much frustration as a five-year-old can muster. She'd tried putting on her puffy winter coat all by herself. Instead, she'd managed to ball it up in a pretzel. That's when her sweet voice intoned, “Can you turn my outside inside?”

If only fixing adult problems was as easy. Within the last 24 hours, my wife and I have been made aware of:

• A three-year-old who has just been diagnosed with a severe brain tumor.
• A couple who wonders if the family's mother will survive cancer that has taken a deadly twist.
• Missionary friends who are urged to flee Ukraine immediately with only the (literal) clothes on their backs because of an anticipated Russian invasion.

Every single one of these families now wonders how life got so twisted so quickly. But because they're believers, in their own way, they're also asking the Lord, "Can you please turn my outside inside?"

How will their stories turn out? We know how we’d write the script, given a chance. But God is the Author of life. Still, it feels like all that’s left to us is prayer and an agonizing appointment in the waiting room of life.

But as we pray and wait, it’s good to hear an ancient reminder from our most reliable Friend. In Isaiah 30:18, God assures every one of us with lives that are balled up into a pretzel, “Therefore the LORD longs to be gracious to you, and therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you.”

Which means we can come to Him. Lean on Him. Cry on Him. So, gather your courage, find your voice—if only a whisper—and just say, “Can you turn my outside inside?” Spoiler Alert: He can. Even if the ending turns out differently than we expect.

Therefore, the LORD longs to be gracious to you, and therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you. For the LORD is a God of justice; how blessed are all those who long for Him.

-Isaiah 30:18

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What if Jesus wore cologne—and it rubbed off on you?

A former boss was ferociously fond of a strong cologne which he wore religiously. You could step into the empty elevator on the first floor and clearly sense his fragrance even though he may have ridden ten floors up in that elevator ten minutes earlier! It still hung thick in the air.

After a recording session, the splash of his cologne even managed to rub off on the studio headphones. And if you ever shook his hand, you surely "shared" his cologne for some time afterward.

Did you ever consider that the Son of God had a fragrance? It was the cologne of kindness and compassion. It preceded Him and followed Him everywhere He went. A fragrance so compelling, so intoxicating, it drew people to Him like butterflies to a bloom.

Kindness for outcasts—Jesus had a splash for them.

Compassion for the bruised and broken—Jesus had a splash for them.

Need hope? Here’s a splash.

Need healing? There’s a splash.

In a world reeking of self-preservation, self-fulfillment, and self-promotion, the fragrance of Jesus is as strong as it ever was. But it won’t rub off on you and me unless we’re with Him. It's the only way. 

Maybe you could use a splash of that cologne right now at this very minute. There’s only one way to get it. So, I dare you—don’t be in a rush. Go to Him. Be with Him. Touch Him in prayer. And let others smell the fragrance of Christ on you!

 

Our lives are a Christ-like fragrance rising up to God.

-2 Corinthians 2:15

How would you feel if you witnessed the detonation of an atom bomb?

Seventy years ago this month, Christian Life Magazine featured a cover photo of 250 soldiers observing an atomic bomb explosion at a test site in Nevada. The probing headline asked: "What's Coming in '52?"

This feature responded to an ominous article from Collier’s Magazine titled, “The War We Do Not Want.” So, the magazine assembled a group of leading Christian businessmen of the day, asking them to assess where American Christianity was at—and where it might steer in the new year.

D.F. McKechnie, prominent CPA, advised, "Saved people are too complacent and need to be instructed on giving an account of 'deeds in the body.’”

Alfred Jackson, a Pennsylvania businessman, added, "The deadening poison of complacency is everywhere."

Harry Smith, vice president (at the time) of the world's largest bank, observed, "Being carnal, many are more interested in who or what organization gets credit for what is done, than in doing. Let all the glory be His!"

Asked to identify and prioritize the weaknesses that hindered evangelical Christianity in 1951, here’s what the group concluded:

1. Indifference
2. Disunity
3. Lazy laity
4. Denominational pride
5. Lack of information

Though published 70 years ago, that list sounds disturbingly familiar. But enough of gloom and doom. With Coronavirus, inflation, and supply chain shortages, we could use a shot of encouragement. Consider these words from the Christian Life article's conclusion:

“While A-bombs fall and wars continue, born-again believers know they may rely on the time-honored formula for individual and national revival: If my people who are called by My name humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land (2 Chronicles 7:14).

What's ahead for 2022? For better or worse, we don't know. But we serve a good God who does. And that's enough.

 

We love happy endings:

• In our books
• In our movies
• In our lives.

It’s not that we’re pollyannish. We know life isn’t fair. The girl doesn't always get the guy. The job we're confident is God's will often eludes us. The cancer we pray would go into remission does so. Only to return and claim our loved one.

Poised at the edge of a new year while glancing back at the old, this fascination of ours with happy endings is brought into sharp, even painful, focus. And here’s the brutal biblical truth: Nowhere in Scripture are we ever urged to look for happy endings in any earthly endeavor.

Of course, there is no sin in happiness. Heaven will be full of it! And there is nothing saintly about scowls and frowns. But we cannot—must not—set happiness as the object of our earthly lives. That comes later!

The truth is, when we seek happy endings more than holy endings, we are seeking the wrong things. Jesus told us, "Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness." It’s about holiness—not happiness.

And that takes us to a reality recalibration: Pursue holiness, not happiness. One is fleeting. One is forever. The joy of the Lord is our strength—but happy endings are not our right. Not while we walk this earth.

Maybe this last year handed you more than a few disappointments. We’ve all had our share, I suppose. Then let’s remind ourselves earthly happiness is fleeting, but holiness is forever.

Here’s to a new year filled with holiness!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you make a Christmas wish list? This year, we didn’t get around to it until Monday of this week. As in five days before Christmas (no sense in rushing these things, right?).

The discipline of putting pen to paper brought to mind a question. What if, instead of just Diana and me sitting there in the family room, Jesus was there, too? And what if He decided to hand each of us a wish list? What would we find?

I suspect the Son of God would not ask for a pair of new sandals or an updated robe. If He did, He’d surely ask Diana, not me, noting her superior eye for style. But Jesus would, nevertheless, have a list. We know that because—without listing it on a scrap of paper and labeling it under the header, Christmas—Jesus has already clearly expressed what He wants from us in a much larger document.

For example, I think the Savior would request obedience. Yours. Mine. All of ours. I don’t hear Him yelling—but maybe gently whispering, “Why do you keep calling me, ‘Lord, Lord’ when you don’t do what I say?” (Luke 6:46).

Another item on Jesus’ wish list: mercy. It's the gift everyone wants for themselves—but is oddly reluctant to give to others. Recalling His convicting story of the Good Samaritan, Christ might invite us to reassess our attitudes toward those who are "easy" to reject. Perhaps Jesus might tap His finger on the phrase in Luke 10:37, about "the one who showed mercy."

Looking further at Christ's list, we'd likely find Him requesting a light that shines before others "so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven” (Matt 4:16).

Would the Savior's wish list for you be distinct from mine? Probably. After all, you're dealing with different things than I am. Your personal strengths and struggles are unique.

Maybe Jesus would look you straight in the eye while He asked for every single care of yours. Can’t you feel the touch of the Carpenter’s hand on your shoulder as He softly intones, “Cast them all on me because I care for you” (1 Peter 5:7)?

With no disrespect intended, Jesus Christ really is the Man who has everything. Knowing what He wants this Christmas isn't exactly difficult. But giving it will cost us: our pride, prejudice, and preferences. Isn't it time we consider what Jesus wants for Christmas?