Tag Archives: Mercy

Lost and Found

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.”
Luke 15:20 (NIV)

On Saturday morning at breakfast, Wendy read an article about a lamb. She giggled.
She cried out with laughter.
She clapped her hands.
Wendy’s family raised sheep when she was growing up. The article brought back a flood of memories for her. I got a full account of just how sweet and stupid and endearing they can be.

Sometimes, they just wander off.

Last Friday I stepped into the chapter’s context. Jesus, heading to Jerusalem to die, has dinner with a prominent religious leader. His host and the powerful guests gathered there represented the very ones who will execute Him. True to His teaching Jesus literally…

Sat at the table with His enemies.
Blessed them with His presence.
Pled with them to repent.

In today’s chapter, Luke shifts the context. The contrast is stark.

Jesus is gathered with tax collectors and sinners.
But the religious leaders are in the room, too.
Watching.
Judging.
Plotting.

Jesus? He tells stories that land like arrows—soft feathers, sharp tips.

One.

A shepherd has 100 sheep. One wanders.

He leaves the 99.

Let that sit a second.

This is not efficient.
This is not strategic.
This is not… safe.

This is love that doesn’t run spreadsheets.

He searches until he finds it. And when he does — no scolding. He lifts. He carries. He celebrates.

And here’s a tidbit worth savoring:
The sheep does nothing to contribute to its rescue. It is found… because it is loved.

Two.

A woman loses one coin out of ten.

She lights a lamp. Sweeps the house. Searches carefully.

This is quieter than the shepherd story… more intimate. Almost obsessive.

And when she finds it?

Party time again.

And again, this quiet little truth:
The coin also contributes nothing. It doesn’t cry out. It doesn’t move closer.

It is pursued with intention.

God is not just wildly emotional—He is meticulous about finding what is His.

Three.

This is the climax of Jesus’ teaching in three acts.
You can almost hear the music swell…

A son looks his father in the eye and basically says,
“I’d rather have your stuff than you.”

He takes the inheritance. Burns it. Ends up feeding pigs—rock bottom with a side of mud.

Then… he comes to his senses.

He rehearses a speech:
“I’ll go back. I’ll be a servant. I’ll earn my way…”

But the father?

He sees him while he’s still far off.

And then—this is the scandal—

He runs.

Middle Eastern patriarchs don’t run. It’s undignified. It exposes the legs. It’s… embarrassing.

But love doesn’t care about dignity.

He runs.
He embraces.
He interrupts the apology.
He restores the son before the speech is finished.

Robe. Ring. Feast.

No probation period.
No performance review.
No “let’s see if you’ve changed.”

Just… welcome home.

And then—plot twist.

The older brother.

He’s furious.

He stayed. He obeyed. He did everything right… and somehow never learned his father’s heart.

Just like Jesus’ religious critics in the room.

Now here’s where Luke 15 leans in close and lowers its voice.

I am in this story.

Some days I’m the sheep Wendy remembers—wandering, unaware, needing to be carried.

Some days I’m the coin—still, lost in the dust, waiting for light to find me.

Some days… I’m the younger son—running hard, tasting freedom that turns bitter.

And if I’m honest?

Some days I’m the older brother—standing outside grace with crossed arms, offended by mercy I didn’t earn.

Heaven celebrates recovery more than consistency.

Heaven throws parties for found things.

Not polished people.
Not perfect track records.
Not religious résumé builders.

Found things.

Wherever I am…

The Shepherd is already moving.
The Light is already searching.
The Father is already running.

And oh… when He finds me?

He doesn’t scold.

He celebrates.

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

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Evil Implodes

Then Harbona, one of the eunuchs attending the king, said, “A pole reaching to a height of fifty cubits stands by Haman’s house. He had it set up for Mordecai, who spoke up to help the king.”
The king said, “Impale him on it!”

Esther 7:9 (NIV)

Evil eventually implodes. It is inherently unstable.

This is a lesson that I’ve learned on my journey. The first place I remember learning it was in The Lord of the Rings. It’s a recurring theme throughout the trilogy, but I first noticed it in the character of Gollum. He’s a despicable creature, driven from the start by selfish hunger for the Ring. Despite the opportunity to kill the creature as an act of justice, Gandalf wisely refuses. Mercy, he suggests, may prove wiser than vengeance—because the story isn’t done yet.

Evil eventually implodes—and when it does, it often finds its own unforeseen justice. Were it not for Gollum’s selfish intent and lust for the Ring, it would never have been destroyed.

I thought about this as I meditated on today’s short, but thrilling climactic chapter in Esther’s story. The entire story of Esther is a study in “reversals,” and today’s chapter is full of them as the evil Haman’s plot quickly implodes on him.

Haman’s PlanActual Outcome
Mordecai will be impaledHaman is impaled
Esther will dieEsther triumphs
Haman gains honorMordecai gains honor
Haman controls the kingThe king destroys Haman

In a wonderful ironic cosmic twist, Haman is impaled on his own spike that had been set up to kill Mordecai.

Evil eventually implodes. It is inherently unstable.

In the quiet this morning, I take solace in this simple truth as each morning Wendy and I eat our breakfast, peruse the news, and discuss the evils of the world.

Evil often looks unstoppable—until the moment it collapses.

For six chapters Haman appears untouchable:

  • He has royal authority.
  • He controls the narrative.
  • He manipulates the king.
  • He has the gallows ready.

But beneath the surface, the story is quietly turning.

God’s providence works like underground water.

Silent.
Invisible.
Patient.

Until suddenly the earth gives way.

Haman’s downfall happens in minutes.

Years of arrogance.
Then one moment of collapse

The hard part is in the waiting and the discerning. It’s one of the places where I find that God’s ways are not my ways. Blessing those who curse me and praying for my enemies doesn’t feel like justice, and God asks that I leave the justice to Him and the larger Great Story.

Like Gandalf understanding that Gollum may yet have a role to play in the tale of the Ring.

But I don’t want to wait. I want justice now.

There are seasons in life when it feels like Haman is winning.

The arrogant rise.
The cruel prosper.
The faithful seem powerless.

Esther reminds me that history has trap doors built into it. The proud eventually step on them. Evil implodes.

I am asked to do what Esther did:

Wait.
Discern the moment.
Speak when the time is right.

And when the moment arrives, a single courageous and well-crafted sentence can change everything.

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

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Two-Sides of Heresy

But you, dear friends, by building yourselves up in your most holy faith and praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in God’s love as you wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you to eternal life.
Jude 1:20-21 (NIV)

I spent a short period of time at a fundamentalist school. It was one of the strangest, yet most profitable, experiences of my life. The school was rabid about doctrinal purity—so rabid that purity itself became an idol.

Doctrinal purity, the schools doctrine, was of utmost importance.
Honest inquiries were squelched and treated as suspicious behavior.
Professors were questioned at the risk of being labeled a troublemaker.
Professors graded papers like it was a witch-hunt for heresy.

Behavioral control became the fruit, rooted in thought control.

Today’s brief trek through the letter of Jude is an apt follow-up to our trek through Peter’s letters. They all address a growing problem within the exploding Jesus Movement of the first century. There was no New Testament yet—it was still being written. There were no formal institutions of Christian education, people were learning from listening to eye-witnesses of Jesus and reading their letters. It was organic and fluid, and that made it susceptible to individuals who leveraged the moment for their own personal gain.

The early Jesus movement was all about selflessness and generosity. They took care of the physical needs of others. And, whenever you start giving stuff away for free, you’ll attract those who see an opportunity to get something for nothing.

Even Jesus saw that the crowds weren’t following Him for spiritual food—but for free filet-o-fish sandwiches. He called them out for their skewed motivations. Then He told them the next course would be His flesh to eat and His blood to drink. The crowds walked away. Even Jesus’ inner circle of followers began to question.

Now, it’s the followers of Jesus handing out the fish sandwiches, but the result is the same.

Human nature doesn’t change.

Once more attracting a crowd that includes individuals with selfish motives. Paul dealt with it. Peter dealt with it. Jude is dealing with it.

Some of these con-men were in it for the money. They pretended to be preachers and apostles so that the local gathering of Jesus’ followers would invite them in, give them shelter, feed them, and even pay them.

Others were taking the teaching of Jesus to justify other appetites.

They distort grace into license.

Grace becomes permission.
Mercy becomes indulgence.
Freedom becomes appetite.

The sensual temptation is subtle:
“God forgives. So indulge.”
“God understands. So indulge.”
“God is love. So indulge.”

Jude calls this out. Then he taps zakhor memory and provides a historical list of examples. Israel in the wilderness, rebellious angels, and Sodom and Gomorrah.

Jude reminds his readers, reminds me, that Jesus calls us to a radical grace and a radical holiness that hold a tension for disciples of Jesus. When either is severed from the other, disaster follows.

Grace without holiness becomes indulgence.
Holiness without grace becomes cruelty.

Jude fights to keep them married. And, that is the heart of Jude’s letter as he contends against the self-justified indulgence of greed and sensual appetites that are rampant among the early Jesus Movement.

But, here is where I find our enemy gets even more cunning in the chess match with those who would follow the Truth. For intellectual pride and control of others is as destructive an appetite as pleasures of the flesh. Even well-intentioned believers can indulge those subtler appetites.

The heresies Jude writes about become a license for thought control and theological witch hunts.

Purity of thought gets layered like frosting over purity of behavior.

Freedom in Christ becomes shackled in the prison of fundamentalist rule-keeping and thought policing.

One type of heresy gives birth to another on the opposite side of the spectrum. I have flirted with both extremes at different points along my journey.

Human nature doesn’t change.

In the quiet this morning, I find myself back at the point of tension between these two heretical extremes. That’s where I find Jude landing as he finishes his letter to all who would sincerely follow Jesus as disciples.

  • Build yourselves up in your most holy faith.
  • Pray in the Holy Spirit.
  • Keep yourselves in God’s love.
  • Wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Notice the verbs.

Build.
Pray.
Keep.
Wait.

Active. Relational. Expectant.

This isn’t passive drift. It’s muscular devotion.

Not everyone wandering is a wolf.
Some are just confused.
Some are seduced.
Some are singed but salvageable.

Discernment without mercy is brutality.
Mercy without discernment is naïveté.

Jude calls me to both as I walk among those across both sides of the spectrum. And, having walked this spiritual journey for over 40 years, I can tell you that those on both sides of the heretical spectrum are always around.

Human nature doesn’t change.

I found, however, that there is redemption of that human nature available to me by grace through faith in Jesus, who then calls me to:

Radical grace and radical holiness.
One more day on the journey, I choose to hold the tension.

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

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A Step Toward Refuge

If the Lord your God enlarges your territory, as he promised on oath to your ancestors, and gives you the whole land he promised them, because you carefully follow all these laws I command you today—to love the Lord your God and to walk always in obedience to him—then you are to set aside three more cities.
Deuteronomy 19:8-9 (NIV)

As Wendy and I sit in the morning and peruse the news of the day I’ve observed a distinct difference between us. Wendy regularly wades into the comments that readers make to the article or editorial she’s just read. She finds it interesting to gauge response to the topic or opinion. Wendy is an Enneagram Type Eight. For Eights, conflict is a form of intimacy.

I, on the other hand, rarely look at the comments. As an Enneagram Type Four, contention can quickly lead me to despair. When I read comments I find so many thoughtless words, hasty judgments, and seeds of anonymous hate spewed on the digital page. It leaves me desiring my morning shower.

I had the honor of delivering the message yesterday among our local gathering of Jesus’ followers. We’re launching a year-long theme that, looking back at my spiritual journey, I find doesn’t get much play these days.

Refuge. Specifically, Refuge Over Rejection.

Where do I run when I need mercy, grace, and a shelter from the storm?

I find it fascinating that thousands of years ago God made refuge a cornerstone of the community He designed and called for to be implemented among His people. In a moment of synchronicity, “refuge” appears once again in this morning’s chapter.

God through Moses reminds His children, just preparing to cross into the Promised Land, that they are to quickly establish three cities of refuge—spread equidistant across the geography. These cities must be accessible to everyone. They must be clearly marked. The roads leading to them must be clear and easily trodden.

God paves the way to grace.

Mercy has an address.

The chapter goes on to mention that accusations must be corroborated by two or three witnesses. These are not exclusionary sections of the chapter. There is a thread of thought God is weaving through His refuge design. As I meditated on the chapter I came to realize that this divine justice system allows for time.

Rage does not get the final word.
Truth must be corroborated.
Witnesses must agree.
The community must slow down before rendering judgment.

As I pondered this, my mind quickly returned to our digital age and all those comments. Instant news, trending topics, and billions of people with laptops, tablets, and smart phones. We can broadcast our momentary rage, venomous thought, hasty judgment, vengeance, and condemnation to the entire world 24/7/365. And it can all be done behind the anonymity of a username.

As I meditated on the stark contrast between God’s ancient design and our modern Twitter-esque technology, I found both wisdom and solace in the former. The latter strikes me as a modern day Tower of Babel constructed of server farms and cell towers – ending in confusion, chaos, division, and babbling voices that offer no peace, no mercy, no grace, no refuge.

Finally, my thoughts landed on the fact that God calls for three cities of refuge to be established, though the total number in God’s ultimate Promised Land blueprint was six. In other words, God is calling for phased mercy. He doesn’t want His people to wait until the land is completely settled. He wants them to quickly take the first step toward refuge.

Yesterday, as our worship concluded there was an unexpected outpouring among our local gathering. It appeared that everyone in the room was ready to take a step toward refuge. Perhaps I’m not the only one weary of our modern world and culture of Babel.

As our local gathering sets off on our year-long road to refuge. As I set off on this another work week at the beginning of a new year, my soul is mulling over the answers to a few questions surfaced in the quiet:

Is the road to mercy in my life clear—or cluttered?
Do people know how to reach grace through me, or do they hit barricades of judgment and suspicion?

Do my words shelter truth—or endanger it?
False witness isn’t just perjury. It’s gossip. Spin. Tweets. Convenient silence.

Do people find refuge in my presence?
Am I a safe place where people know they will be seen, heard, and loved?

I serve a God of refuge. This morning’s chapter reminds me that from ancient days, God has made being a refuge a priority for His people. I endeavor today, this week, this year, to take steps towards that calling.

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

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These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!
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“Because You Were Foreigners”

He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the foreigner residing among you, giving them food and clothing. And you are to love those who are foreigners, for you yourselves were foreigners in Egypt.
Deuteronomy 10:18-19 (NIV)

I dropped my car off to be serviced yesterday. I was given a ride home and had a very enjoyable conversation with the young man who was tasked with driving me. He was raised in a very different place and culture and was obviously getting used to the quirks of living in a community built by Dutch settlers. He asked if I was from Pella.

I laughed.

With the last name Vander Well, I told him that he had made a safe assumption. Then I informed him that when I moved into the community over 20 years ago, it was obvious that everyone who was from Pella knew that Vander Well is not a Pella Dutch name. My great-grandfather settled in northwest Iowa.

I am of the third generation of a Dutch immigrant in America. I live in a community settled and created by Dutch immigrants. As I’ve studied the history of the great Dutch migration in the 19th century and the history of our community, I’ve discovered a double-edged sword.

On one hand, there is a lot for which to be grateful. There is a legacy of faith, industriousness, frugality, and pride. These are the foundation of an amazing community and heritage we perpetually honor and celebrate. On the other edge of the sword is self-righteousness religiosity, legalism, judgement, and prejudice. I’ve heard many painful stories. Individuals outcast and ostracized. Divisions leading to hatred and resentment. Outsiders unwelcome.

Welcome to humanity.

Moses is leading a similarly human people, which is why in yesterday’s chapter he reminded them three times that God’s choosing them and giving them the Promised Land was not because they earned it or deserved it. Quite the opposite, they had perpetually proven themselves stubborn, whiny, ungrateful, disobedient, and faithless. Which is why today’s chapter is so powerful.

God tells Moses to chisel out two stone tablets to replace the ones he’d smashed. It’s God saying, “Come back up the mountain. I’ll make you a copy of the Ten Words. Oh, and bring a box, an ark, to provide a womb for my Words.”

Second chances. Their brokenness and failure does not negate God’s love, His covenant, or His gracious faithfulness. He is going with them. He will live among them, smack-dab in the middle of their camp. He will fulfill His plans for them, work His purposes through them, and deliver on His promises to give them possession of the land. All this despite them being stubborn, whiny, ungrateful, disobedient, and faithless.

This is the gospel before the Gospel.

The chapter then shifts. In light of God’s grace and mercy what does He ask of His people?

This is the heart of God and the heartbeat of His Great Story. This chapter is what Jesus channels and quotes repeatedly.

Circumcise your hearts. This isn’t about religious observation, but about transformation of spirit that leads to grateful love of God and the tangible love of others.

Love God. Love others. Jesus said those two commands summed up the whole of the Law of Moses.

Then God reminds His people – again – that if they are going to truly love others they need to love the ones He loves. The orphan. The widow. The outcast. The foreigner. The immigrant. The outsider.

Moses is building on zachor – moral memory – that flowed through yesterday’s chapter. God whispers: “Remember your chains. Remember your story – your history – being foreigners and slaves in the land of another people. Treat foreigners among you with the love, grace, and hospitality you wished Egypt had shown you. Be different. Follow my ways, not the ways of the world.”

As I meditated on these things in the quiet this morning, I was amazed at how much it resonated with our current culture and headlines. Borders, immigration, ICE raids, deportations, foreigners, and migrant workers fill never ending news cycles. Ancient Hebrews. 19th century Dutch settlers. 21st century foreigners and immigrants. What goes around comes around.

Welcome to humanity.

I don’t control national policy. I live far from my country’s borders. But, I can take to heart what God asks of me. The very thing He asked of His people through Moses. Love Him. Love others. Especially those who aren’t like me.

As we pulled into the driveway of our home, I thanked my young chauffeur sincerely. I wished him well. He was from a very different place, a very different people, and a very different heritage. He was a fine young man. I liked him a lot. He’s going to do really well here in our community. We’re fortunate he’s here, even if his name makes it obvious that he’s not from around here.

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

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Final Message

Now, Israel, hear the decrees and laws I am about to teach you.
Deuteronomy 4:1 (NIV)

There is a seriousness about Life that takes stage whenever Death is standing in the wings. I’ve experienced in hospitals and the rooms of hospice. I’ve observed it in homes where families tend to their loved one’s final days. The seriousness can take many different forms, but I find that they are always holy moments.

I find it important as I meditate on the chapters of Deuteronomy to remember that this entire book is one of those holy moments. Death is standing on the banks of the Jordan River in wait for Moses. Moses is ancient. His body is decimated with age. His face is lined with the stress of decades of leadership. Deuteronomy is Moses taking the face of his people lovingly in his withered hands and looking them in the eye one last time. These are the words of his deathbed.

“Listen,” he is whispering with final breath earnestness. “No. Really listen to me.”

When Moses uses the word “hear” it is the Hebrew word shema. It is more than auditory reception. Shema is listening with your heart as well as your ears. It’s hearing channeled into action. It is listening that love transforms into obedience. It’s the same Jesus asked whenever He said, “Those who have ears to really hear, hear this….”

Suddenly, the words of today’s chapter have another layer of meaning. They are the love-filled plea of the man who has given everything to lead his people. I don’t just want to read the words. I want to shema what Moses is communicating in this holy moment as I see Death standing in the background along Jordan’s shore.

Guard the appetites of your heart. Moses begins with a plea to his people to guard their hearts. They serve a living God. They’ve seen what He can do. They’ve heard His voice though they saw no form. There is no form that can adequately represent His being. So don’t fashion idols for yourselves and bow down to animals, or people, or the sun. Don’t give your love and devotion to things that can never love you back.

Be ever aware of God’s nearness. God is with them. He’s pitched His tent in the center of their camp. He goes before them. He goes with them. He is not god up above somewhere. God is always right here, right now.

Remember. Remember. Remember. Moses repeats the word over and over again.

Remember the fire on the mountain.
Remember the voice with no form.
Remember the covenant.
Remember who rescued you.
Remember who claimed you.

Memory is a mentor. The moment you begin to forget you are one step closer towards being lost. Then Moses prophetically foresees that his children, whom he knows all too well, will indeed lose their way.

Home awaits every prodigal. He wraps up his message by reminding them that no matter how far they wander, no matter how badly they lose their way, God is waiting. He’s not waiting with crossed arms but arms that are open. It doesn’t matter what distant pig stye they find themselves mired in. If they, like the prodigal, will seek Him with all their heart they will find Father God there on the porch at home with his eyes glued to the driveway. He just waiting to welcome the prodigal home and celebrate His lost child’s return.

I feel a weight in my meditations in the quiet of my home office this morning. Placing my feet in the sandals of a child of Israel standing along the Jordan River listening to Moses’ heartfelt final plea gives the words added potency. Suddenly the message is more meaningful. Life suddenly gets more serious whenever Death is near.

The neighbor’s diesel pick-up truck has begun to idle across the street. It’s my daily reminder that it’s time to move out of the quiet and into all that awaits me on the calendar and task list of the day. Thankfully, I’m unaware of Death being anywhere nearby today. Nevertheless, I head out with the heart of Moses’ message informing how I want to go about whatever awaits me.

Have a great day, my friend.

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

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These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!
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Cities of Refuge

“The accused must stay in the city of refuge until the death of the high priest; only after the death of the high priest may they return to their own property.
Numbers 35:28 (NIV)

Our city of Pella here on the Iowa prairie has an incredible history. It was created by a Dutch pastor and his congregation who were fleeing religious persecution from the state church in the Netherlands. It was named Pella after an ancient city called Pella that was a “city of refuge” and to which early Christians fled from persecution and an impending war in Jerusalem between the Jews and Romans.

In today’s chapter, God commands Moses to create six evenly distributed towns throughout the Promised Land where the tribe of Levi would settle. Remember, the Levites were responsible for maintaining God’s traveling tent temple and the overseeing the entire on-going sacrificial system. God was their inheritance, not a plot of land. Nevertheless, they needed a place to live, so six cities were created for the Levites and God designated them “cities of refuge.”

In the entire history and development of human civilization, today’s chapter stands as a critical and revolutionary step forward. Other ancient cultures had largely undeveloped policies regarding sanctuary for the accused. God didn’t invent the idea of sanctuary out of thin air in today’s chapter, but He transformed a scattered, uneven practice into a theologically rich, justice-mercy structure that was unique to Israel and transformed the principles and policies of human justice.

There were six cities evenly distributed. The cities were Levite towns, meaning that the accused was under the protection of the priests and both mercy and justice were viewed directly as coming from God’s appointed representatives. The accused could not leave the walls of the city of refuge until the death of the high priest, so fleeing from an avenger was not just a blank check of forgiveness. There were boundaries to which the accused must adhere. There was also a very clear system that God put in place that required witnesses and a form of due process. Humanity had never seen anything like it.

Cities of refuge became a part of the human landscape and they have had a ripple effect throughout history. The early Jesus Movement largely survived and flourished because of a prophecy in which Christians were instructed to flee to ancient Pella. Had they stayed in Jerusalem, they may have been wiped out when the Romans destroyed the temple and city in 70 A.D.

In the 1800s, H.P. Scholte realized that there was little or no future for his largely poor, uneducated, and lower-class congregation members. He and his flock had no freedom of religion. He had already been imprisoned for obeying his conscience and defying the king who was head of the state controlled church. Scholte saw America for what it was, a land of opportunity where he and his followers were free worship however they wanted and where poor uneducated farmers might make a life for themselves and their descendants that would have been impossible in the Netherlands. So, he dreamed, designed, and built a new city of refuge on the Iowa prairie and named it after the ancient city that saved and launched the success of the Jesus Movement.

In the quiet this morning, as I meditate on the chapter and the history of cities of refuge, there are three things stirring in my soul:

God as Refuge: In both Jewish and Christian traditions, God carves out spaces of mercy in the midst of justice. This life journey contains moments where guilt—intentional or accidental—feels like a crushing weight. In today’s chapter God whispers: there is a place to run, and a God who receives you.

Boundaries of Grace: The city walls of the Levite towns remind me that refuge comes with boundaries. Forgiveness and safety are not license; they invite us to dwell in a different rhythm of life until God’s appointed time of release.

Death that Brings Freedom: For both Jew and Christian, the death of the High Priest as part of the system is key. It’s a reminder that death itself—Christ’s, and one day my own—is not an end but the doorway to freedom.

Grace often blooms most vividly when something old dies and something new begins.

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

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These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!
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Responsible

Responsible (CaD Lev 5) Wayfarer

“‘If anyone sins because they do not speak up when they hear a public charge to testify regarding something they have seen or learned about, they will be held responsible.’
Leviticus 5:1 (NIV)

Sin is a subject that carries a tremendous amount baggage with it. Along my life journey I’ve observed fundamentalist types who use sin as a tool for social control rather than treating it as the universal spiritual condition that it is. Particular sins get called out and heightened to a heightened level of public and social shame so as to ostracize those commit. Just recently I heard of a young couple who had sex and got pregnant before they were married. They were forced to stand in front of the church and publicly confess their sin and shame. Personally, I think every member of that church’s elder board should submit their tax returns for a thorough audit to see if any of them need to stand before the church and confess their greed. Subsequently, they should have a weigh-in at the next church potluck to see if anyone needs to stand before the church and address the sin of their gluttony and the abuse of God’s temple, their bodies.

As Jesus said to the fundamentalist religious types of His day, “he who is without sin can cast the first stone.”

As Shakespeare put it, “there’s the rub.” Religion loves to make a major deal about certain moral behaviors and particularly public sins, but then completely ignore others wholesale. The result is that the world sees the hypocrisy and dismisses the religion.

That still doesn’t address the problem of sin and the guilt of responsibility.

In today’s chapter God introduces the final of the five prescribed offerings for the ancient Hebrews to bring to His altar. It’s a guilt offering, and the chapter begins by calling out the responsibility one bears for speaking up when you have evidence of wrongdoing, and the guilt of remaining silent.

As I’m reading this, I put myself in Moses’ sandals and imagined him receiving this particular specific instruction. Moses was a murderer. During the old days in Egypt, Moses happened upon a slave driver who was beating one of his fellow Hebrews. Moses murdered the man. All of his fellow Hebrews who were there saw it. Moses was responsible for the act, and they were responsible to tell the truth about what they saw. I have a hard time believing that Moses didn’t feel something inside as God gives him these instructions for a “guilt” offering. That’s the key difference between a fundamentalist use of “sin” as a social control tool, and addressing the very real human need to take responsibility for the things we’ve done.

As I meditated on these things in the quiet this morning, I remembered an event that happened in college. I was driving with my sister late on a winter night. We witnessed a hit and run and I sped to try and get the license plate number of the person who “ran.” We hit a patch of ice, spun out of control, and into on-coming traffic. The young woman we struck was pregnant. Thank God, she and the baby were alive despite her injuries landing her in the hospital. A few days later, my sister visited the woman in the hospital to apologize and express her sorrow for what happened. I, however, didn’t go. The guilt and shame I felt was overwhelming. I was afraid to face her. I was afraid to speak up and be responsible. I still feel it as I remember and write these words.

That is the sin problem God came to address. I look back at my life journey and the road is dotted with things for which I know I am responsible. Not only am I responsible for the mistakes I willfully made and the wrongdoing I willfully committed, but I’m also responsible for the things I should have done and failed to do. How amazing that God not only initiated a way to address the problem for Moses and the ancient Hebrews, but that He ultimately chooses to sacrifice Himself in order that I might be graciously and mercifully forgiven.

The words of a Bob Dylan lyric come to mind:

“Don’t have the inclination to look back on any mistake.
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break.
In the fury of the moment. I can see the Master’s hand,
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.”

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

These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!

“The Why”

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.
Ephesians 2:8-10 (NIV)

On a shelf in my office you’ll find some notebooks. The notebooks contain character studies of different parts I’ve played as an actor. When I trained as an actor in college, I was taught that being an actor is not so much pretending to be a character (like putting on a costume, from outside in) but understanding a character so thoroughly that you transform into that person from the inside out. A great performance on stage begins, not on stage, but in my study with a notebook, the script, and all the resources I can muster. Understanding why my character makes certain choices, says the words he says, and does the things he does requires a cocktail of psychology, imagination, investigation, and meditation. The “why” is critical to the “what.”

Along my journey, I have found this to also be a spiritual truth.

Today’s chapter contains two verses that are foundational to an understanding what it means to be a disciple of Jesus. Ephesians 2:8-9 are well known verses:

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.

I have found, however, that this is one of the most difficult truths for people to truly believe. Not just cognitively understand, but experientially understand. Throughout my life journey I have continually observed believers who pressure themselves (and their children) to do the right things, say the right things, and keep up appearances of goodness in order to conform to religious social pressure, avoid being ashamed, and to hopefully live a good enough life to be welcomed into eternity with a “well done, my good and faithful servant.”

The problem with this scenario is not in the what but in the why.

As I meditated on the chapter in the quiet this morning, it struck me that I’ve heard Ephesians 2:8-9 quoted regularly my entire life. Not once, however, have I heard someone quote verse 10 with it:

For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

Yet this is a critical and essential context! The “good works” flow immediately out of being “saved by grace through faith.” If I were an actor doing a character study of a sincere disciple of Jesus, I would dig into the “why” of their good works and find that the motivation is gratitude for Jesus’ kindness, grace, and mercy. I have observed in others that their good works are motivated by ingratiation — both the hope of maintaining acceptance and social status among the religious set and also punching one’s ticket of admission into heaven.

This distinction of “the why” is critical for any true understanding of Jesus and His teaching. I make certain choices, say the words I say, and do the things I do “because of his great love for me, God, who is rich in mercy, made me alive with Christ even when I was dead in my transgressions.” The good works don’t flow into salvation but out of it.

If I, in my heart and soul, don’t get the “why” right, then all of my good works are simply a shitty performance on the stage of life.

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

“…the More They Stay the Same.”

“…the More They Stay the Same” (CaD Ezk 25) Wayfarer

For this is what the Sovereign Lord says: Because you have clapped your hands and stamped your feet, rejoicing with all the malice of your heart against the land of Israel, therefore I will stretch out my hand against you and give you as plunder to the nations.
Ezekiel 25:6-7 (NIV)

Sometimes on this chapter-a-day journey there are moments of synchronicity. Today is one of those days.

Today marks the one-year anniversary of the Hamas’ massacre in southern Israel. The horrific acts of that day included rape, the murder of infants, children, and women, decapitation, and the mutilation of the living and the dead. It was the worst terrorist act ever perpetrated against the modern state of Israel and the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust.

What has been fascinating to watch over the past year is not just the diminishment of the event and its atrocities but the schadenfreude and rejoicing on a grand scale. The depth and scale of anti-semitism that remains in this world has come to light.

In today’s chapter, God’s prophetic messages through Ezekiel make a clear and dramatic shift. After 24 chapters of prophetic warnings to His own people, God now turns his lens onto the surrounding nations. In Biblical numerology, seven is a number that designates “completeness” (e.g. Seven days of creation). Today’s chapter begins a series of seven prophetic messages to seven different neighbors of ancient Israel. The seventh message has seven parts to it.

The four nations mentioned in today’s chapter are Ammon, Moab, Edom, and Philistia. All of them were longtime enemies whose lands bordered and surrounded Israel. God cries out against them because they rejoiced in Israels downfall, they refused to help refugees fleeing the Babylonian and Assyrian massacres, and used the opportunity to carry out vengeance.

In the quiet this morning, I can’t help but be a bit awed by the sheer irony of it. Prophecies uttered some 2,500 years ago feel eerily like they are addressing current events. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

When I visited Israel, during the second intifada, I had the unique experience of having two guides. One was Jewish woman named Devorah. One was Arab man named George. They were both amazing, wonderful individuals with very different perspectives about almost everything. Despite their profound disagreements (they argued in Hebrew), they loved and respected one another. They were both followers of Jesus. In the time I spent with them, I realized that, for the two of them, Jesus’ command to love your enemies and bless those who curse you came with a lot more baggage than I will ever know. That baggage is thousands of years old, and it is still with us.

I find myself grieving the massacre of October 7th this morning, the hostages that remain to this day, and the timeless conflict from which it sprang. I have no profound answers to this historic hatred which is rooted in the depths of the Great Story. I’m simply reminded that Jesus calls me to be an agent of love, mercy, grace, peace, and truth. Not just with my allies, but also my enemies.

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