Tag Archives: Doubt

“What on Earth?”

"What on Earth?" (CaD 1 Sam 29) Wayfarer

Achish answered [David], “I know that you have been as pleasing in my eyes as an angel of God; nevertheless, the Philistine commanders have said, ‘He must not go up with us into battle.’ Now get up early, along with your master’s servants who have come with you, and leave in the morning as soon as it is light.” 1 Samuel 29:9-10 (NIV)

Thus far, 2022 has been a challenging year for our business. Last year Wendy and I began praying for God to bless us with abundant growth, but instead, we encountered some significant setbacks. We entered 2022 with more questions than assurances. It seemed that God was doing just the opposite of what we were asking. It was enough to make us scratch our heads and ask “What on earth are you doing God?” Have you ever had one of those moments?

In today’s short chapter, we find David and his men living among the Philistines under the protection of King Achish. This was not an uncommon practice in ancient times when warriors fell out of favor with their own king. Other kings would take them on as mercenaries, providing them a place to live in exchange for military service when it was needed. Achish liked David so much, that he made David and his men his personal security detail, saying “I will make you my bodyguard for life.” For the record, David does the same thing in the future, making a contingent of Philistine mercenaries his personal security detail (2 Sam 15:18).

King Achish and the Philistines prepare to attack Saul and the Hebrew army, and David and his men are protecting King Achish. If David had a plan for what he was going to do when the battle started, the author doesn’t share. What we do know is that David finds himself in a dilemma. He certainly believes he should not raise his hand against God’s anointed, Saul, and it wouldn’t be good for him to fight against his own people when he’s God’s man to succeed Saul. At the same time, he needs to keep up appearances that he’s loyal to Achish. He’s having his own “What on earth?” moment.

The commanders of the Philistines, however, are not as trusting of David as King Achish is. They know David’s reputation as the champion of Goliath and a successful military leader. They fear that David’s loyalty to Achish is just a ruse, and they demand that Achish send David away. This puts Achish in a political dilemma with his commanders, and he sends David away. Crisis averted. God protects David’s standing with Achish while ensuring that David will not be entangled in the battle that will be Saul’s downfall. It turns out that God was present and working behind the scenes even while David may have been wondering “what on earth” God was up to.

As I look back on this year of business challenges, two things have become clear over time. First, we’ve always had projects come up just when we need them. Just like when God fed the Hebrews daily with manna from heaven. There’s always just enough for that day. God has been faithful. The second thing is that our challenges have actually served to highlight the need for some necessary strategic changes. If God had blessed us with abundant growth, we would have had the time to implement these changes, nor would we have felt the need. We might not have even seen the need.

So, in the quiet this morning, God is reminding me that when I’m asking “What on earth are you doing, God?” He is actually doing a great deal.

My job is to keep pressing on and trust His faithfulness.

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.

Willingness

Willingness (CaD Jud 6) Wayfarer

That same night the Lord said to [Gideon], “Take the second bull from your father’s herd, the one seven years old. Tear down your father’s altar to Baal and cut down the Asherah pole beside it. Then build a proper kind of altar to the Lord your God on the top of this height. Using the wood of the Asherah pole that you cut down, offer the second bull as a burnt offering.”

So Gideon took ten of his servants and did as the Lord told him. But because he was afraid of his family and the townspeople, he did it at night rather than in the daytime.
Judges 6:25-27 (NIV)

I recently read the story of Angie Fenimore’s Near-Death Experience (NDE). Her body died and she descended to a hell-like place. This is an excerpt of her story:

I knew that I was in a state of hell, but this was not the typical fire and brimstone hell that I had learned about as a young child.

Men and women of all ages, but no children, were standing or squatting or wandering about on the realm. Some were mumbling to themselves. The darkness emanated from deep within and radiated from them in an aura I could feel. They were completely self-absorbed, every one of them too caught up in his or her own misery to engage in any mental or emotional exchange. They had the ability to connect with one another, but they were incapacitated by the darkness.

But worse was my growing sense of complete aloneness. Even hearing the brunt of someone’s anger, however unpleasant, is a form of tangible connection. But in this empty world, where no connections could be made, the solitude was terrifying.

Then I heard a voice of awesome power, not loud but crashing over me like a booming wave of sound; a voice that encompassed such ferocious anger that with one word it could destroy the universe, and that also encompassed such potent and unwavering love that, like the sun, it could coax life from the Earth. I cowered at its force and at its excruciating words:

“Is this what you really want?”

Suddenly I felt another presence with us, the same presence that had been with me when I first crossed over into death and who had reviewed my life with me. I recognized that he had been with us the whole time, but that I was only now becoming able to perceive him. What I could see were bits of light coming through the darkness. The rays of light penetrated me with incredible force, with the power of an all-consuming love.

I had to ask, why me? Why was it that I could see God while the vacant husk of a man next to me could not? Why was I absorbing light and being taught, while he was hunkering down in misery and darkness?

I was told that the reason is willingness.

Read or watch Angie’s complete story.

In today’s chapter, we have the beginning of the ancient story of Gideon in which God calls Gideon to lead the Hebrew tribes against their enemies. What struck me as I meditated on the chapter was the structure of the interchange between the Angel of the Lord, and Gideon:

  • Gideon expresses doubt that God is even around.
  • Gideon expresses doubt that God would call him, since Gideon is from the weakest clan in Manasseh’s tribe and Gideon is the “least” in his family.
  • Gideon asks for a sign.
  • God provides a sign and Gideon builds an altar in response
  • God tells Gideon to tear down his Father’s altar to the idol Baal and the idolatrous Asherah pole next to it, and then sacrifice a bull on the altar Gideon had built to the Lord.
  • Gideon does it, but for fear of his people, he does it at night.
  • When called out by his people for this deed, the Spirit of God comes upon Gideon and he calls his people to rise up against their enemies. Despite his doubts and fears, his people answer favorably.
  • Gideon expresses doubts and asks God for another sign. God answers.
  • Gideon expresses doubts and asks God for another sign. God answers.

Last year when I was making this chapter-a-day trek through the Psalms, I discussed the fact that the ancient Hebrews loved to plant metaphorical structure in their writing. In the Psalms, the central theme to the song lyrics is often at the very center, with corresponding or contrasting themes before or after.

Today’s chapter has similar symmetry if you outline the chapter. There are two episodes of Gideon’s doubt and a request for a sign that God answers. There is a command to tear down his father’s idols and offer a sacrifice to God, which Gideon does, despite his fears. Then God miraculously raises Gideon to a position of leadership and his people agree to follow. Then there are two more episodes of Gideon’s doubt and request for another sign.

In other words, the only thing that Gideon brought to this story was his willingness, despite his fears, to tear down the idols and make a sacrifice to God. This made me think of God telling Angie that the reason she was able to see His light in the darkness, and all the poor souls around her could not, was because she was willing to see Him.

In the quiet this morning, I couldn’t help but think of myself and my own fearful doubts about the things to which God has called me. I am no different than Gideon. My journals are full of letters I’ve written to God expressing doubts, focusing on my weaknesses, recalling my many shortcomings, and asking for signs. I want to see the signs before I believe. God always reminds me, ironically, of “doubting Thomas” who refused to believe that Jesus had risen from the dead until he saw the nail holes from the crucifixion and the place where the Roman spear pierced his side. to whom Jesus answered his doubts as he did Gideon’s before saying, “Blessed are those who never see the sign, but still believe.”

And that is where I find myself standing at the beginning of this, a new day in the journey. Am I willing to step out in faith and pursue the things to which God has called me? Or, will I stand still, distract myself with other things, and wait for a sign?

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.

The Last Laugh

The Last Laugh (CaD Gen 17) Wayfarer

Abraham fell facedown; he laughed and said to himself, “Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?” And Abraham said to God, “If only Ishmael might live under your blessing!”
Genesis 17:17-18 (NIV)

There is an old saying, “Whoever laughs last, laughs best.”

That came to mind today as I meditated on the events of today’s chapter. Abram is ninety-nine years old. His wife is ninety. God has been promising Abram for years that he will be the father of many nations. Abram believes God, but faith isn’t always easy.

Along my journey I’ve found faith to be a struggle. It ebbs and flows like the ribbon tied on the middle of the tug-of-war rope. One moment faith seems easier and the ribbon moves my way, then doubt muscles up within me and the ribbon slips back to the other side of no-mans-land. As one man said to Jesus: “I believe…help my unbelief.”

In today’s chapter, God once again proclaims that He has made (past tense) Abram to be the father of many nations. God then changes Abram’s name (which means “exalted father”) to Abraham (which scholars believe to mean “father of many nations”). God then changes Sarai’s name to Sarah (both mean “princess” but the latter, once again, is believed to point to “many nations” or descendants). So God continues to double-down on His promise to Abraham and Sarah.

Abraham then laughs.

He laughs, because it’s been decades and Sarah is still barren.

He laughs, because he and Sarah are well beyond childbearing years.

He laughs, because having a baby so easily with Hagar after decades of failure, month-after-month, with Sarah feels like a cruel joke.

He laughs, because he’s tired of all the promises without fulfillment.

He laughs because impatience has muscled up and the ribbon on the tug-of-war rope is so far on the side of doubt, the game just might be over.

Thank you, Abraham, for being human like me.

Then God makes one more name pronouncement. The son that will be born of the promise is to be named “Isaac,” which means “he laughs.”

“You’re laughing now, Abraham, but just you wait,” God says. “He who laughs last, laughs best. Remember that every time you utter your son’s name.”

In the quiet this morning, I needed today’s chapter. The ribbon on the rope in my own internal tug-of-war has been sitting precariously in relatively the same place Abram found it in today’s chapter. Of late, when reminded of God’s promises, I’ve laughed inside.

I believe, Lord……………Help my unbelief.

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.

Namaste God

Namaste God (CaD Gen 16) Wayfarer

[Hagar] gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”
Genesis 16:13 (NIV)

Our dear friend has a yoga studio in town. Wendy has actively been assisting our friend with her business. And so, I even attend a class now and then. Given the increased stiffening of the muscles and joints one experiences with age, I really should go more often. It is really good for my body.

One of the traditions of yoga is that of ending a class with the word “namaste.” The literal translation is “I bow to you” and it is a traditional, humble salutation used in greeting and parting. Many people speak of the word’s broader definition as “I see you,” or “The divine in me sees the divine in you” and I find the concept quite lovely.

Today’s chapter is downright Shakespearean when bookended with yesterday’s chapter. Yesterday’s chapter was about Abram’s simple belief of God’s promises being “credited to him as righteousness.” Of course, the promise God has made Abram from the very beginning was that His descendants would be as numerous as stars in the sky and the sand on the beach. Today’s chapter begins with the harsh reality of his wife Sara being old and childless. Sara, who is tired of waiting, tired of believing, and tired of trusting, takes matters into her own hands. She tells Abram to do what was very common in the culture of that day. She tells her husband to sleep with her servant, Hagar, and have a child by her so that he would have an heir. Abram goes along with it.

Sara and Abram’s act intersect with me and my own story on multiple levels. Along my journey I have had my own experiences with God’s promises given and the long-suffering required to see the promise fulfilled. The questions of “How long do I wait?” and “Should I be doing something to make this thing happen?” are very real. Abram and Sara’s impatience and exasperation resonate deeply with me.

And then, of course, there is the journey of infertility that Wendy and I walked together for many years (though much shorter than Abram and Sara). There are emotions, questions, and struggles that one experiences on the journey of infertility (for both a woman and a man) that are unlike anything else I’ve experienced in life. I’ve observed that those who have not experienced it are largely unaware of the intensity of the ordeal, and most are reluctant to even engage in an empathetic conversation about it. I get Sara and Abram’s desperation, and their desire to make this thing happen once and for all.

Then there is Hagar, who is the oft ignored victim of this desperate act. In all my years studying the Great Story, I regularly find Hagar to be regarded with either ignorance (e.g. she’s not considered at all) or subtle contempt (e.g. she’s viewed contemptuously as “the other woman”). In the quiet this morning, I couldn’t ignore her. Hagar was a slave. She had no choice in the matter. She suffered a gross injustice that was compounded by Sara’s antipathy and mistreatment, along with Abram’s indifference (e.g. “Do with her whatever you think best.”). Hagar flees the abusive situation. She’s homeless, penniless, defenseless, directionless, and pregnant.

Then God shows up.

God blesses Hagar. He gives Hagar a carbon-copy promise that He gave to Abram and Sara: “I will increase your descendants so much that they will be too numerous to count.” God comforts Hagar in her misery. God directs Hagar to return to Sara because sometimes in the Great Story one must face injustice rather than flee it in order for the larger Story to unfold.

Then Hagar says something amazing: “You are the God who sees me. I have seen the One who sees me.”

As I read these words this morning my soul whispered “Namaste.”

In the quiet this morning, I stand humbled and amazed at the lengths to which God regarded Hagar and the injustice done to her. God appears to this poor, pregnant slave girl in a way that He rarely appears to anyone. It echoes of Jesus’ regard for a poor, publicly shamed and naked woman caught in the act of adultery, and His regard for a half-breed, divorced and segregated Samaritan woman at the well.

“I see you.”

The God who sees Abram and Sara in the intense struggles of their infertility journey. The God who sees Hagar in the suffering of the injustices done to her. The God who sees me in both my joys and my long-sufferings. God sees me. Do I, like Hagar, see the God who sees me, or, like Sara and Abram, am I blinded by my doubts, fears, and frustrations?

And the Shakespearean story is about to unfold.

Two sons by different women.

Two numerous peoples, the countless descendants of Hagar and Sara.

Arabs and Hebrews.

Both peoples honoring Abraham as their father.

Read the headlines. The story continues to unfold to this day.

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.

Beginning the End of a Shaky Year

Beginning the End of a Shaky Year (CaD Ps 175) Wayfarer

When the earth and all its people quake,
    it is I who hold its pillars firm.

Psalm 75:3 (NIV)

It is the first day of December, and the end of the year approaches. This is the month when news and media outlets release lists of the best-and-worst, highs-and-lows, and the top stories from the past year. This is the month we collectively reminisce about the year that has been, hit the reset button for a new trip around the sun, and make resolutions for the year to come. I have a feeling that most of the collective conversation this year will be a giant good-riddance to 2020 and desperate, hopeful pleas for better times ahead.

Today’s chapter, Psalm 75, was a liturgical song of thanksgiving, likely used as part of worship in Solomon’s Temple. You can tell by the fact that the four stanzas have different voices. It’s possible that different individuals, choirs, or groups were appointed to sing the different voices of the song:

The congregation proclaims corporate thanks to God in the first verse.

God’s voice then speaks from heaven in verses 2-5, proclaiming that He will bring equity and judgment at the appointed time.

The voices of the people then faith-fully affirm God’s authority in verses 6-8, proclaiming that the wicked will ultimately be brought low and made to drink the dregs of God’s judgment.

The song ends with a personal pledge to praise God forever, trusting that He will bring down the wicked and raise up the righteous.

The tone of the song suggests that it is a time when the Hebrew people felt particularly insecure. Scholars believe that it may have been written when the Assyrian empire was threatening to lay siege to Jerusalem. Ironically, the Assyrian army was mysteriously wiped out over night. One of the explanations scholars suggest for this historical event is a sudden and deadly viral pandemic within the Assyrian camp.

Ancient Mesopotamian cultures envisioned the earth as flat and held up by giant pillars in the underworld. In times of trouble and threat, they metaphorically spoke of the world “shaking” as in an earthquake. The pillars holding the world up were unstable. When Asaph, who is attributed in the liner notes with writing the song, gave voice to God saying, “I hold the pillars firm” it had tremendous meaning for the Hebrew people singing it and hearing it. When their entire world was threatened, they were trusting that God would be their stability, just as David called God his “rock” and “fortress.”

Which brings me back to 2020 with all of its uncertainty and chaos. I certainly feel like the world has been shaken up in multiple ways. And while it has undoubtedly been the most tumultuous year of my lifetime, history and today’s song remind me that it’s one of a number of “shaky” moments that routinely dot the Earth’s timeline. Or, as Motown psalmists the Shirelles put it: “Momma said there’d be days like this.”

In the quiet this morning, I find my heart welcoming December and, with it, the annual reset button that comes with New Year’s Day. No matter where I’ve been on this life journey and no matter where God leads me, I will echo Asaph’s ending refrain: “As for me, I will declare this forever. I will sing praise to God.”

Grappling With “Never”

“And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their appointed time.” Luke 1:20 (NIV)

“I don’t know what to with never,” Wendy confessed to me one afternoon.

There are some moments in this life journey that are etched indelibly in my brain’s memory bank, and this is one of them. When the two of us were married Wendy inherited two teenaged daughters. Still, we had always desired to have a child together. After multiple surgeries and what seemed like endless months of fruitless attempts to conceive, Wendy’s admission of fear as we stood silently in our despair on the back porch felt like a giant weight on our souls.

The story of John the Baptist’s parents in today’s chapter holds a special place in my heart. There is so much happening in the subtext of Zechariah’s conversation with the angel Gabriel that is completely lost on any reader who has not walked through the long, depressing, desolate path of infertility.

A few of observations:

  • I find it ironic that Dr. Luke diagnoses Zech and Liz’s infertility as “Elizabeth was unable to conceive.” Perhaps there’s more to this story than is told. Nevertheless, having walked this journey I know that it’s also possible the low sperm count or poor motility were the culprits of their childlessness. Of course, this medical knowledge was not available in their day, but it makes me sad that Elizabeth got the blame.
  • I’ve been digging into the theme of exile on this chapter-a-day journey over the past months. The truth is that Elizabeth and her husband were in a personal exile of their own. When you are walking the path of infertility you realize that the vast majority of people don’t understand and it’s usually emotionally painful when they try. Furthermore, you’re not sure you want to talk to those who’ve been through it themselves. Those who walked the path and ultimately conceived are just a depressing reminder that it hasn’t worked for you. Those who never conceived are a reminder that “never” is a possibility which you don’t want to face and don’t know what to do with (a la Wendy’s confession). Infertility can be horrifically isolating for the couple going through it.
  • When the angel tells Zech “Your prayer has been answered.” My husband’s heart shoots back with a cynical “Which one?” If Zech’s heart was like mine, then there’s a section of it calloused over from month-after-month, year-after-year of fervent, unanswered prayers and wiping away his wife’s river of tears.
  • When Zech asks Gabriel “How can I be sure of this?” he is, once again, being defensive and protective of the hearts of both his wife and his own. Infertility is a vicious cycle of summoning faith, raising hopes, and having them dashed again and again and again and again. The last thing the elderly husband wants to do is put his wife through it one more time.

It’s easy for the casual reader to point the finger at Zech’s lack of faith. I’m sure many Jesus followers will hear messages this Advent season comparing Mary’s simple acceptance of Gabriel’s message to Zech’s rather obvious doubt. My heart goes out to the dude. He’s been made the Steve Bartman of the Christmas story for two thousand years, but I get where he’s coming from.

In the quiet this morning I find myself contemplating the long-term effects that disappointment and unanswered prayer can have on one’s spirit. As for what to do with “never,” Wendy and I worked through it together with God. We discovered, and continue to discover, deep lessons about joy, grief, faith, perseverance, character, maturity, and hope. At the same time, there is a lingering sadness that rears itself unexpectedly at odd times, which in turn pushes me back to the lessons already learned. I plumb their depths once more.

Still, if Gabriel showed up in my office this morning and told me Wendy was going to have a baby, I totally believe that the subtext of my reaction would land somewhere between sarcastic and cynical.

Zechariah would understand.

When Trouble Unexpectedly Blows In

In his time of trouble King Ahaz became even more unfaithful to the Lord.
2 Chronicles 28:22 (NIV)

Just a few weeks ago a tornado descended on the small community where Wendy and I live. That day there were some 27 tornadoes that ripped through Iowa. The tornado here in Pella hit a local manufacturing company, wreaking havoc on multiple plants and turning cars in the parking lot into a pile scrap metal. Since it happened in the middle of the workday, it seems to me a miracle that no one was killed. Only a handful of people were injured, and none seriously.

In the weeks that have followed, it’s been fascinating to watch the community mobilize. The business that took the brunt of the damage is already in the process of rebuilding. Churches and charities are working with those in need. In a time of unexpected trouble, I can see the strength and faith of our community and its people. We’ll be alright.

Along my journey I’ve observed that times of trouble and unexpected tragedy are windows into Spirit. When trouble and tragedy unexpectedly descend like a tornado and blow through our lives, our response reveals what kind of spiritual foundation lies beneath the surface of our lives. It makes known how deep our spiritual roots descend into Life’s soil.

In today’s chapter, the story of King Ahaz reads like a spiritual tragedy. Not only does Ahaz not follow God, but he seems willing to follow any god, any time, any where. He goes from god-to-god sacrificing and paying tribute. When trouble hits Ahaz reaches out to Assyria for help, only to be double-crossed. Ahaz dishonors some of the articles of Solomon’s temple to try to buy his way out of trouble. It doesn’t work. When defeated by Damascus, Ahaz worships their gods in hopes that it will help. It doesn’t.

Ahaz is so willing to believe anything that his troubles reveal that he believes nothing. He has no spiritual roots. He has no foundation. His life was one of constantly grasping for anything only to be left with nothing. He was such a tragic failure, that the people of Judah refuse to entomb Ahaz’s dead body with the other kings.

I’m reminded this morning of how James put it: “the one who doubts is like the wave of the sea, blown about and tossed by the wind.” I’m also reminded of how the Psalmist contrasted the righteous and the wicked in the lyric of Psalm 1. The righteous are described as strong trees with deep roots that continually produce good fruit and don’t wither in trouble. The wicked, however, are like dust blown helplessly in the wind.

On this life journey, I believe almost every one of us will experience trouble and tragedy unexpectedly descending into our lives like a tornado. In that moment, I find out what kind of spiritual roots I’ve developed. If my roots go deep then I will weather the storm, get back to work, and come through the experience even stronger. If I have no spiritual roots then I think I’m going to be more like Ahaz, blown about, grasping for something, anything to hold onto.

(Thanks to everyone who reached out to make sure Wendy and I were alright. We live on the opposite side of town from where the tornado struck and were not in harms way.)

Faith, Strength, and Suffering

After Rehoboam’s position as king was established and he had become strong, he and all Israel with him abandoned the law of the Lord.
2 Chronicles 12:1 (NIV)

I am currently doing character work and studying my lines for a play I’ll be in this October. It’s a brilliant piece of historical fiction called Freud’s Last Session by Mark St. Germain. I play the great 20th century Christian writer and thinker, C.S. Lewis. Lewis pays a visit to fellow 20th century intellectual Sigmund Freud (who will be played by my dear friend, Kevin McQuade) who was a staunch atheist. The play is set in the final weeks of the eminent psychologist’s life. Freud had escaped Nazi Germany and set up his practice in London. Ironically, the battle of world views between these two great thinkers happens to take place on the very day Britain declares war on Germany.

As Lewis and Freud discuss the nature of human suffering, Lewis makes the following observation: “We don’t think of God when we’re motoring in the countryside, only when we’re stuck on the railroad tracks and see the train coming.”

This line came to mind this morning as I read today’s chapter about King Rehoboam. The opening line of the Chronicler’s account states that Rehoboam and the nation abandoned the law of the Lord after “his position had been established and he had become strong.” In other words, Rehoboam clung to the religion of his father, grandfather, and ancestors while he was struggling, when his kingdom was in crisis, when the rebel Jereboam was leading 10 of the 12 Hebrew tribes against him, and when his grip on the throne was in doubt. As soon as his power was shored up and he regained his strength, God was no longer a necessity.

Lewis’ observation is simple, but it captures what I have observed in my own Life journey to be a very human trait. When things are going well and life is easy, when I’m experiencing a runner’s high on the road of life, then it’s easy to trust my own strength and fortune. I don’t feel a particular need for divine connection, intervention, or faith. It’s when the shit hits the proverbial fan and I’m suffering from circumstances that are out of my control that I suddenly feel the need for connection and intervention from divine power that is outside of myself. In the play, Lewis follows the previous text I quoted with his now famous line: “If pleasure is [God’s] whisper, pain is his megaphone.”

For the record, Freud responds to Lewis by arguing the opposite. He views his sufferings (and all suffering in the world) are reason to doubt and discredit any notions of God and faith. It’s a fascinating play. You should come see it ;-).

This morning I’m thinking about my current stretch on Life’s road. I’m looking back at my own experiences in both times of strength and times of suffering. Is there a contrast in my own faith during those contrasting stretches of the journey? Does my faith wane when I’m cruising along on Life’s road experiencing runner’s high? Is my faith only intense in proportion to the intensity of suffering I’m feeling in the moment? I’d like to think not. Jesus said that the sun shines and the rain falls on both the righteous and the unrighteous. Times of strength and times of suffering are common to every person. My faith is central to either circumstance. It’s my sunscreen on life’s beach, my umbrella in life’s storm.

Note: Freud’s Last Session is a private production sponsored by the theatre department of Central College in Pella, Iowa. Performances will be October 24-27, 2018 at 7:30 p.m.

The Work

David also said to Solomon his son, “Be strong and courageous, and do the work. Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord God, my God, is with you. He will not fail you or forsake you until all the work for the service of the temple of the Lord is finished.
1 Chronicles 28:20 (NIV)

When all the work Solomon had done for the temple of the Lord was finished
Then the temple of the Lord was filled with the cloud, and the priests could not perform their service because of the cloud, for the glory of the Lord filled the temple of God.
2 Chronicles 5:3-4, 13-14 (NIV)

King David had been anointed king of Israel by the prophet Samuel while he was still as a boy. Yet, for many years he lived on the run from the reigning King Saul as an outlaw and mercenary. Before becoming King of Israel, first David would be crowned King of his own tribe, Judah. Then began the hard work of reuniting the other tribes into a united kingdom and establishing Jerusalem as its capitol.

From his anointing as King to the fulfillment of the anointing was some 40 years of work to survive, waiting for God to fulfill what had been promised and prophesied many years before.

Once King, David had a passionate vision. He wanted to build a great temple for God in Jerusalem, a permanent version of the tent temple prescribed by God through Moses for the Hebrews as they left Egypt. It would not happen in his lifetime. David made plans, put certain pieces in place, and made provisions. The work, however, would pass to his son, Solomon. “Be strong and courageous,” David admonished his son, “and do the work.”

For over eleven years Solomon diligently carried out his father’s wishes and the construction was completed. It was another year before the dedication would take place.

In today’s chapter, the temple is dedicated. At the inaugural worship service a manifestation of God’s presence, a cloud, fills the temple just as it had filled the tent back in Moses day.

When reading through God’s Message, it’s easy to lose sense of just how long it took for things to happen. David is anointed King, but it took 40 years before it was fulfilled. Solomon promised to build the temple, but it took 12 years of diligent work before it was completed.

Along my spiritual journey I’ve experienced promises, visions, and the prophetic. I’ve also been prone to expect fulfillment in the speed and ease with which I can read David and Solomon’s story from one chapter to the next. When things don’t happen as quickly or as simply as I desired and expected, I fight impatience. Doubts creep in. Faith becomes a struggle. The day-to-day work of pressing on towards the goal often feels like a slog.

This morning as I read about the completion of Solomon’s Temple and as I pictured the cloud of God’s presence being so thick that the priests couldn’t perform their sacrificial work, it struck me that this exciting moment of fulfillment was itself the end of a very long journey. The moment was preceded by a lifetime and two generations of diligent work through faith, struggle, doubt, victory, tragedy, promise, failure, setbacks and hope.

I hear a whisper in my spirit this morning. “Be strong and courageousand do the work.”

And so begins another day.

featured photo courtesy of tjblackwell via Flickr

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

“But today I am freeing you from the chains on your wrists. Come with me to Babylon, if you like, and I will look after you; but if you do not want to, then don’t come. Look, the whole country lies before you; go wherever you please.”
Jeremiah 40:4 (NIV)

Some time ago a potential opportunity presented itself to me. It was unexpected, and ultimately not meant to be. However, for a few weeks Wendy and I grappled with the notion of picking up the tent pegs of the life we’ve established and moving on. It does seem, at times, as if the grass is always greener, the possibilities broader, and the road easier “in a new place.” Present reality and circumstance always feels like such a slog. It’s easy for my imagination to conjure how easy it must be in a different place with different circumstances.

Today’s chapter of Jeremiah’s story continues to unfold the events after the City of Jerusalem fell to the Babylonians. The Babylonian King, Nebuchadnezzar, had left Jeremiah in the custody of the Captain of the guard. When the time came for the Captain to return to Babylon he releases Jeremiah from his chains and gives Jeremiah a choice. Go back to Babylon with the Captain and all the exiles, or stay in Judah with the remnant of people left to work the land (the poorest, oldest, and sickest of the population). Jeremiah, who is now advanced in years himself, chooses to stay.

Should I stay or should I go?

This morning I’m thinking about that question which I have grappled with on different occasions in my life journey. I’ve also walked beside friends and family members who have been presented with that question in their own respective journeys. The answer, I have found, is rarely clear or easy.

What I have found, however, is that sometimes there is no clear choice, and really no wrong choice. I choose to stay, or to go, and God weaves my choice into the tapestry of my story and journey. Other times I have found clarity for the right choice through prayer, contemplation, and conversation with my closest of confidants. The more I pray and ponder the more peace I feel with one choice or the other, and pursuing the Spirit’s flow to the path of peace is always a wise choice. Still other times I have found that God makes it very clear through a direct spiritual word, a sign, or the word of a prophet. I have stories I could tell, but I’ll save those for other posts.

This morning I’m thinking about Jeremiah and the choice given him. Was it hard for him? Did God give him clear direction what to do? Or did staying in the rubble of Jerusalem just seem easier for an old man than the long journey to a foreign land? Today’s chapter doesn’t say, but I can imagine his thoughts and questions.

As for me, I’m grateful for where my journey has led me. I’m thankful to be in this place, in this reality, with this people, even when the present circumstances feel like a slog (and they often do). I’m have peace. Last night Wendy and I sat on our back patio and stared out at the back yard which spread out like a huge, thick carpet on a beautiful spring evening in Iowa.

The green grass I’m standing on right here, right now, is just fine.