all

There’s something at the end of the book of Esther that I never paid much attention to before. Maybe that’s because God has been sensitizing me toward social justice issues lately.

But look at the last verse of Esther, Chapter 10:3: “Mordecai the Jew was second in rank to King Xerxes, preeminent among the Jews, and held in high esteem by his many fellow Jews, because he worked for the good of his people and spoke up for the welfare of all the Jews.”

After his rise from humble gatekeeper to the king’s right hand, Mordecai could have been forgiven for thinking he’d outgrown his roots. He’d rescued the king and survived Haman’s hatred on his way to the top, and his golden years looked like they’d also be his glory days.

But this verse tells us that Mordecai used his new power and influence not for himself, but for his people. What jumped out at me this morning was that little three-letter word all. Mordecai didn’t leave anyone out. Sure for a city boy like Mordecai, there must have been some country bumpkin Jews that seemed a little backward. Probably after putting up with their snobbery for so long, he was a little sick of Pharisees. As a devout Jew he probably was not impressed by all those indifferent obeyers, the ones who thought life was easier if they acted more like their pagan neighbors.

But Mordecai spoke for all the Jews. All of them, even the ones he didn’t like or didn’t agree with. Of course, these days that’s two ways of saying the same thing – if we don’t agree with someone we don’t like them. Being right, and being acknowledged as right, is more important in our current culture than almost anything else.

That’s why I think the lesson of “all” is important. This morning I’m reminded that true followers of God are as inclusive as God is.

deceitful tongues

Psalm 120:2-4: “Save me, Lord,

from lying lips
and from deceitful tongues.
What will he do to you,
and what more besides,
you deceitful tongue?
He will punish you with a warrior’s sharp arrows,
with burning coals of the broom bush.”

I usually read Psalms and associate myself with the writer. This morning, I had to wonder.

My first thought is that I haven’t often been the target of slander campaigns. Whether those who know me are just too nice, or I’m not important enough – probably both – being the target of deceitful tongues hasn’t been a problem for me. It’s hard to put myself in the Psalmist’s shoes.

When that happens, I usually ask, “Lord, what’s here for me? I don’t relate.” As I was doing that in response to this Psalm, I got a clear answer in the form of a counter-question: are those lying lips mine?

I don’t think of myself as a liar; in fact, I’m usually careful only to make statements that are factually true. I’m known at my workplace for going overboard to correct myself if I ever put out inaccurate information.

Yet . . . there’s a nagging feeling that I might have something in common with the bad guys in this Psalm. Outright lies I don’t typically do, but am I capable of being deceitful in other ways? I want to say, No! I’m an honest person who prides himself on integrity.

Yet . . . might I sometimes present only information I think will help people reach the right conclusion? Am I willing to pass on stories that I don’t personally know to be true if they reinforce my position? Am I critical about things I retweet or repost or share, making sure they represent reality or promote good thinking?

I think, in keeping with the spirit of the age, I may sometimes be too willing to stack the deck in favor of my own argument, by cherry-picking the data or by drowning out alternate views. I might be the problem I claim to hate.

On the other hand, I can be the change I wish to see. I think a loving commitment to truth, always and in all ways, is a basic requirement of Jesus-followers. 

plans

Oh, the delicious irony.

Haman had big plans. In addition to his master plan to first impoverish, then destroy, the Jews, he had another plot against his arch-enemy Mordecai. That plot was hatched by his wife and friends, as told in Esther 5:14:

“His wife Zeresh and all his friends said to him, ‘Have a pole set up, reaching to a height of fifty cubits, and ask the king in the morning to have Mordecai impaled on it. Then go with the king to the banquet and enjoy yourself.’ This suggestion delighted Haman, and he had the pole set up.”

Then, early the next morning, Haman had a chance to add to all that a scheme to elevate himself. When the king asked Haman’s advice on how to honor someone, here’s how Haman took it, in Esther 6:6-9:

“Now Haman thought to himself, ‘Who is there that the king would rather honor than me?’ So he answered the king, ‘For the man the king delights to honor, have them bring a royal robe the king has worn and a horse the king has ridden, one with a royal crest placed on its head. Then let the robe and horse be entrusted to one of the king’s most noble princes. Let them robe the man the king delights to honor, and lead him on the horse through the city streets, proclaiming before him, “This is what is done for the man the king delights to honor!”’”

But God had his own plans, intended to foil Haman’s. God kept the king awake, and used that insomnia to remind Xerxes of the debt he owed Mordecai. And thus the exquisite plot twist, from Esther 6:10-13: “‘Go at once,’ the king commanded Haman. ‘Get the robe and the horse and do just as you have suggested for Mordecai the Jew, who sits at the king’s gate. Do not neglect anything you have recommended. . . .’ Afterward Mordecai returned to the king’s gate. But Haman rushed home, with his head covered in grief, and told Zeresh his wife and all his friends everything that had happened to him.”

Haman’s plot against the Jews is about to be undone too, but that’s a tale for another day. This morning, I’m smiling at how easily and completely God turns the tables on Haman the schemer. In human terms Mordecai was in for a very bad day. God, however, always has his own plans, and they never include allowing evil to triumph over his people.

another place

I read something remarkable in the book of Esther that I must have overlooked before. I’ve read Esther’s story dozens of times, but this seemed new to me.

The setting: Mordecai has notified Esther, now queen, of Haman’s plot against the Jews, and he calls on her to interceded with the king. Esther reminds him that she could be killed for approaching the king without being called for. And then this, from Esther 4:12-13: “When Esther’s words were reported to Mordecai, he sent back this answer: ‘Do not think that because you are in the king’s house you alone of all the Jews will escape. For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?’”

Did you see it? “. . . relief and deliverance from the Jews will arise from another place . . . .”

God had a thing he needed to do. He called Esther to a special place, and equipped her with all the access and influence of the queen. But he didn’t really need her. If she decides not to play, God will deliver his people anyway – Mordecai knows this, because he lives close to God and knows the history of the Jews.

So why did God bother? If it wasn’t to help him, it must have been to help her. I’m reminded of Henry Blackaby’s statement that in all things, God is either working through his followers, or on them. Maybe both. Esther was called on by God to show faith, and to risk herself to speak for those with no voice.

I pull two things from this. First, the smaller lesson that one reason, maybe the main reason, God gives us power and influence is to speak for those who can’t. I once attended a conference where CNN reporter Soledad O’Brien said, “True leadership starts in the conversation - get the truth on the table, give a voice to everyone. Leadership is about taking a stance for justice for those whose voices are not heard.” That seems Godly to me, especially based on what I read in Esther.

The second, bigger, thing is that God will do as he wills, even if I don’t do as he asks. That’s immensely reassuring, not just because I can’t mess it up. Think of the implications of this truth.

God doesn’t need me – I can’t give him a thing he doesn’t already have, or do anything for him that will help him. That makes it all the more overwhelming that he wants me. Everything about our relationship is about his desire to help me. It’s the only truly pure kind of love?

bad advice

Sometimes I get worried at the amount of power that men and women have, especially men and women who don’t honor, or in fact act against, the word of God. It’s easy to fall prey to the idea that the thing we need to advance God’s kingdom is worldly power.

That’s why it’s comforting to know that God isn’t a bit worried by these people. In fact, there are a lot of ways he manipulates even those who claim to oppose him. One of those ways is to sabotage them with bad advice. He did it to Absalom when he claimed the throne of David, and he did it to King Xerxes. Faced with the defiance of his wife the queen, look who he went to, in Esther 1:13-14:

“Since it was customary for the king to consult experts in matters of law and justice, he spoke with the wise men who understood the times and were closest to the king—Karshena, Shethar, Admatha, Tarshish, Meres, Marsena and Memukan, the seven nobles of Persia and Media who had special access to the king and were highest in the kingdom.”

This hand-picked group of the smartest people in the whole kingdom gave him really bad advice. As a result, he banished Vashti and picked a young Jewess to be queen. No way that was an upgrade in terms of statecraft and palace protocol.

But God wanted Esther in the palace, because he knew what was coming. A genocidal plot was afoot, and God’s people had no friends among the powerful in that land. We’re going to see, as we read through Esther, that God doesn’t need a king, or even a prince or a knight, to stop evil planned at the highest levels. All he needs is a teenage girl.

That’s comforting as I consider who rules nations and has control of nukes, or who runs businesses and leads or teaches in our universities. There isn’t enough power in this world to prevent the smallest part of God’s will from coming to pass.

just as before

Daniel 7:10: “Now when Daniel learned that the decree had been published, he went home to his upstairs room where the windows opened toward Jerusalem. Three times a day he got down on his knees and prayed, giving thanks to his God, just as he had done before.”

There once was a man trying to live out his faith in a culture that didn’t honor God. Recognizing that his God would be judged by his actions, he committed himself to being excellent in everything.

Soon, he advanced in his career, and made his non-Christian peers jealous.So they got a law passed that outlawed praying to God, thinking that would trap this man. And they lurked outside his window, waiting. Fully committed to his God, the man went home and continued his daily habits.

Time passed, and nothing happened. You see, this man wasn’t Daniel. For all his devotion to God, he’d fallen out of the habit of prayer. By the time he actually prayed again, the plotters had grown tired of watching him and gone away, so they didn’t see it.

I wonder how many members of my church pray daily? I know it’s a struggle for me, and I’d bet I’m not alone. This story of Daniel challenges me with a twist on the old “if you were on trial for being a Christian” question. If I had people plotting to catch me at prayer, how hard would it be?

decrees

I remember years ago talking to a friend, the father of one of my son’s classmates. His boy was seeing a girl that didn’t seem very good for him, and the mother wanted my friend to put an end to it. My friend told me, “I don’t think I can stop it, I just think I’ll drive it underground.”

That’s a hard truth about sin and temptation. The old saying, “You can’t legislate morality,” recognizes the truth that you can’t control peoples’ thoughts or hearts. It’s a struggle not to sin, especially if you think no one will know.

You also can’t legislate faith. Centuries ago, when Daniel’s friends were tossed into the fiery furnace by Nebuchadnezzar, God impressed the king so much by saving them that this is what happened, in Daniel 3:28-29:

“Then Nebuchadnezzar said, ‘Praise be to the God of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, who has sent his angel and rescued his servants! They trusted in him and defied the king’s command and were willing to give up their lives rather than serve or worship any god except their own God. Therefore I decree that the people of any nation or language who say anything against the God of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego be cut into pieces and their houses be turned into piles of rubble, for no other god can save in this way.’”

Quite a decree! The penalty for speaking out against God went beyond just death. And yet, neither Nebuchadnezzar nor his other officials converted, and Daniel would eventually be thrown into the lion’s den. This decree, as harsh as it was, didn’t result in a single soul being saved that we know of.

It’s tempting to think we can spark a revival in this country if we can just create the right conditions by passing laws that outlaw some things and require others. It’s tempting, until I realize that Jesus didn’t work that way when he was on earth. As Chuck Colson said, “Salvation doesn’t come on Air Force One.”

There’s no doubt that having God-fearing leaders is a good thing, but they can’t make your neighbor stop using drugs or university professors stop challenging the way God created us. They can’t make sinners want to stop sinning. And they can’t, by use of political clout, save anyone’s soul.

But they can save souls, if they do it the way Jesus taught. Any Christian who loves and befriends people and tells them the good news can be the catalyst for salvation. Souls are won one at a time, by encountering people who love Jesus. No law can do that. The good news is, no law can stop it, either.

wisdom

There are a lot of definitions of wisdom floating around these days – you know, “Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; wisdom is knowing not to use it in a fruit salad.” Or “Wisdom is using knowledge to come to good conclusions.” All of the definitions I’ve seen, though, miss a key part: wisdom is given by God.

We think first of Solomon when we think of God-given wisdom, but today I’m reading in Daniel, and it’s right there in Daniel 1:17: “To these four young men God gave knowledge and understanding of all kinds of literature and learning. And Daniel could understand visions and dreams of all kinds.” Daniel and his friends were literally wise beyond their years, because God chose to make them that way. And they prospered in the courts of the Babylonian king.

Until the king had bad dreams, and no one could help him. In his fear and rage, he ordered the execution of all of his wise advisers, including the four young men from Israel. And here’s where we see wisdom in action, in Daniel 2:14-15:

“When Arioch, the commander of the king’s guard, had gone out to put to death the wise men of Babylon, Daniel spoke to him with wisdom and tact. He asked the king’s officer, ‘Why did the king issue such a harsh decree?’ Arioch then explained the matter to Daniel.”

Note that part of wisdom here is tact – that’s another thing not in high favor these days. What we consider wisdom is usually accompanied by arrogance. But Daniel’s tact won him an explanation, and then there was something he could do. Daniel had been blessed, remember, to understand dreams.

But here’s another glimpse of what wisdom looks like. Before he secured himself by interpreting the dream for the king, Daniel praised God for this gift of wisdom – here it is, in Daniel 2:20-23:

“Praise be to the name of God for ever and ever;
    wisdom and power are his.
He changes times and seasons;
    he deposes kings and raises up others.
He gives wisdom to the wise
    and knowledge to the discerning.
He reveals deep and hidden things;
    he knows what lies in darkness,
    and light dwells with him.

I thank and praise you, God of my ancestors:
    You have given me wisdom and power,
you have made known to me what we asked of you,
    you have made known to us the dream of the king.”

I think part of wisdom is acknowledging where your wisdom came from. And if you think it came from anywhere but God, then you aren’t really wise.

I don’t know that I’m a wise person, but I have prayed to God for wisdom and in those cases he granted it. That’s good enough, and it helps keep me close to God.

wrong

Boy, did an old familiar Bible story hit me between the eyes today. I was reading through Jonah, and got to the part where God shows mercy to Ninevah. Here’s how it goes, in Jonah 3:10-4:2:

“When God saw what they did and how they turned from their evil ways, he relented and did not bring on them the destruction he had threatened. But to Jonah this seemed very wrong, and he became angry. He prayed to the Lord, ‘Isn’t this what I said, Lord, when I was still at home? That is what I tried to forestall by fleeing to Tarshish. I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity.’”

For whatever reason, all my previous readings of this passage have been intellectual, but today the connection was visceral. God’s mercy seemed very wrong to Jonah, and he said, “I told you! This is exactly why I tried to run away.” It sounded a lot like me.

Now, I don’t know exactly who God has saved and who he hasn’t, but I have a really good idea of who he should or shouldn’t. I know the good people who give to the church and show up for service projects; in fact, I’m willing to overlook their DUIs and shady business reputation. On the other hand, I’m can be judgmental about a whole other group of folks who don’t seem quite as nice to me, or who seem to consistently make bad choices that end up costing the rest of us to bail them out again.

Jonah got mad at God for being “a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity.” It’s laughable, except I’m afraid it gets close to an ugly truth about me. When it comes to some of those “others,” I’d like to see a little more fire and brimstone.

This morning, my prayer is that any animosity I have toward any of God’s image-bearers will be drowned in a flood of gratitude for my own salvation.

fear

It’s interesting that the sailors on Jonah’s ship were so afraid of God.

Jonah 1 tells me that they all worshiped different gods, but they were afraid when they heard the Jonah followed the one true God, the one who made the land and the sea. When Jonah told them to throw him overboard, at first they wouldn’t. Then this, from Jonah 1:14-15:

“Then they cried out to the Lord, ‘Please, Lord, do not let us die for taking this man’s life. Do not hold us accountable for killing an innocent man, for you, Lord, have done as you pleased.’ Then they took Jonah and threw him overboard, and the raging sea grew calm. At this the men greatly feared the Lord, and they offered a sacrifice to the Lord and made vows to him.”

There’s no reason to think any of these men were converted; just as likely, they saw God’s power and sought to appease him. In the same way, there were probably a lot of prayers said by people in Houston and Florida during the hurricanes who hadn’t prayed in the months before that. We’re wired to turn to God when we’re afraid and uncertain.

How much better simply to live day to day in the safety of God’s shadow and the comfort of his promises.

forgotten

There are a lot of things in life I’d like to forget. There are all those times when I made a total fool of myself – even today I can think of moments from high school and want to crawl in a hole. There are words spoken in anger, or just ignorance. There are things I did in moments of pressure, far from home and feeling in danger, that I have better answers for now. Satan has a way of dragging those things back through my memory at moments when I start feeling at peace with myself.

That’s why a promise of God that I read this morning in Isaiah 65:17 has such resonance for me: 

“‘See, I will create
new heavens and a new earth.
The former things will not be remembered,
nor will they come to mind.’”

God promises that once this journey on earth is done, when his plan for redemption of his people has run its full course and all of the elect are gathered to him, all of my bad choices will be forgotten. All of the hard trials of life won’t even be a memory. The pain I earned for myself and the pain life used to season and shape me will not even cross my mind, ever again. More importantly, they won’t cross God’s either. It will literally be as if they never happened.

What a blessing! Along with everything else that will be wonderful about heaven, this is wonderful. I am immortal, but my mistakes and the abuses done to me are not.

justice

Isaiah 61:8: “‘For I, the Lord, love justice;
I hate robbery and wrongdoing.’”

One of the things that is very clear throughout scripture is where God stands when it comes to justice. The verse above is part of a passage where God lays out his plans for his people and explains why he visits judgment on some.

If I want to have the heart of God, I should love justice. Do I? Do I love it when everything is fair, or do I kind of prefer that me and my kind have an advantage? My Tac Officer at the Infantry Officer’s Advanced Course frequently said, “You should never get into a fair fight. You fight only when the odds are in your favor.” Is that how I feel about life? Do I want the deck stacked so that I have the best chance?

That’s not justice. Loving justice means I should be able to say, “That law would cost me money, but it would sure help people who need help, so I’m all for it.” Loving justice means I should be able to say, “I’ve had success, sure, but not because I’m a better person. I can see that I’ve had supporters and opportunities that other people haven’t. We should work to open those same doors to more people.” Loving justice means I should be able to see the needs of other people as having priority over my own needs.

And loving justice means I should hate injustice. I should hate it when clever people manage to take things from honest people – that’s robbery, and it happens far too often in ways that aren’t technically illegal. I should hate it when people hurt other people, or diminish the beauty God created – that’s wrongdoing, and it seems often to be applauded rather than condemned. 

Do I love justice and hate robbery and wrongdoing, like God tells me he does? I want to think so, but does my life show it? To paraphrase the old challenge, if I was on trial for this, would there be enough evidence to convict me? If I want to say yes, then I should be able to point to that evidence.

not too short

Sometimes I have to bite my tongue, because the situation isn’t right and all I’m going to do is start an argument. I especially have that when people are frustrated that God did something they didn’t like, or more often, didn’t do something they thought he should have. 

I had that recently. A person said, “I’m done with God because nothing happens when I pray.”

Partly I bite my tongue in those situations because I never really know what to say. This morning, though, after reading Isaiah 59, I have better answer if I ever need it. Verses 1 and 2 say: 

“Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save,
nor his ear too dull to hear.
But your iniquities have separated
you from your God;
your sins have hidden his face from you,
so that he will not hear.”

These verses communicate a hard truth: God is capable of anything, and willing to do anything that’s good for me, but that doesn’t mean he has to. He’s not an enormous cosmic vending machine that I plug prayers into and things I want come out of. 

If my admittedly limited understanding of God is correct, then he is an intimate God, desiring a relationship with me. I think he’s that way because he knows the only way I’ll truly flourish is in that relationship. But his nature and character don’t require him to listen to people who are trying to manipulate him.

And that’s what I’m doing when I only go to God in times of trouble. If that’s how I live, then I’m really saying, “Stay out of my life until I want something, but then you’d better be there.” 

What person would respond to that? What spouse would support a person who says, “Don’t judge me, and stop telling me what to do. Now go make me a sandwich.”

God’s arm is not to short to do any mighty work I can imagine, and his ear is so sharp he hears even the things I don’t want him to. But if I’m choosing sin over obedience, he may decide to ignore me. And why shouldn’t he?

The good news is that it doesn’t take much to fix a relationship with God. He readily forgives, and he loves like no other.

watchmen

I think my name means something like Watchman by the Brook. Various sources say that Gregory means watcher, watchful one, or watchman. I’m told that, when translating Dutch names, “da” means by. Further, stegger is supposed to be a small stream. I put it all together and get Watchman by the Brook, or maybe Watcher by the Brook.

That pleases me. I like to think I’m a student, or watcher, of life, and one of my favorite pastimes is watching birds. My parents did a good job naming me. 

This morning, though, as I read in Isaiah 56, I wasn’t feeling as good. Isaiah talks about Israel’s watchmen, and I think by that he means those who are supposed to be alert and attentive on behalf of his people. In modern terms, I would read this passage as one that applies to God’s faithful people who should be watching for his coming, maybe, or maybe the leaders of the church who should be helping the people see threats to the faith. 

Either way, it could apply to me, so I didn’t feel good when I read verses 9-12: 

“Come, all you beasts of the field,
come and devour, all you beasts of the forest!
Israel’s watchmen are blind,
they all lack knowledge;
they are all mute dogs,
they cannot bark;
they lie around and dream,
they love to sleep.
They are dogs with mighty appetites;
they never have enough.
They are shepherds who lack understanding;
they all turn to their own way,
they seek their own gain.
“Come,” each one cries, “let me get wine!
Let us drink our fill of beer!
And tomorrow will be like today,
or even far better.”

Is that a description of leaders in a church that has lost its way? Is this a warning to those who lead my church, including me, as to what bad leadership looks like? 

I can think of nationally known church leaders who seem to seek their own gain, to be focused on the good life more than a life of faith. They seem to have mighty appetites that are never satisfied, and as a result their flocks might be easy prey for the beasts of the field.

Anyone who leads (which is any mom, dad, big brother or sister, elder, deacon, pastor, teacher or friend who has one person looking at them to see how to behave) should take this passage to heart. Our responsibility to God’s people is to keep faithful watch, over them and for dangers to them. How can we do that if our daily call (figuratively or literally) is, “Let me get wine!”

beautiful feet

I think I have ugly feet. 

For one thing, they’re long and narrow, so they look big even though they’re actually not. Then I have these long skinny toes that never really relax, and they have ugly peeling caluses on the ends from all the running I do. My heels also have dry scaly places. 

But I think sometimes I might have Biblically beautiful feet. Isaiah 52:7-8 says: 
“How beautiful on the mountains
are the feet of those who bring good news,
who proclaim peace,
who bring good tidings,
who proclaim salvation,
who say to Zion,
‘Your God reigns!’”

I guess it doesn’t really matter what my feet actually look like, if I use them to bring God’s word then people will be glad to hear them on the floor and see them climb the pulpit steps

It’s a good reminder that worldly standards of beauty have little to do with what God thinks is beautiful. God loves to see obedience, and love, and service. Hands and feet that do those things, especially giving the glory to God, will always please him.

engraved

For a fire-and-brimstone prophet, Isaiah had some comforting things to say. One of my favorites, another passage I often use as God’s greeting when I lead worship, is from Isaiah 49:15-16:

“‘Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
I will not forget you!
See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
your walls are ever before me.’”

This image of a love stronger than a mother’s always touches me, because I watched my wife mother our children with the same tender selflessness she now shows our grandchildren. It’s hard to imagine anyone loving me that much, although I know my Mom does; that God loves me even more is mind-blowing.

On top of that, he has carved my name into his palms; more than just a tattoo, he has used something like a knife or acid to engrave my name where he will always see it. He was willing to go through the pain and disfigure himself permanently as his commitment to remember me forever. Even though it’s all metaphor, it was still the way God chose to explain how he loves me.

There’s no room in this to ever feel sorry for myself; no matter how hard I think my life is, I am not forgotten. God remembers me, he’s watching and aware; he’ll intervene as soon as it looks like I’ll need it. In the meantime, he knows he’s equipped me already to deal with a lot.

When I don’t see him, it doesn’t mean he’s not there. It just means I’m not looking.

no one sees

I used to travel with a man who loved the night life. He did things on the road that he would never do at home, and, when asked about it, would say, “Who’s going to know?”

I thought of him this morning when I was reading in Isaiah 47. God is speaking to people he calls “lovers of pleasure,” a group he describes as “lounging in your security,” and to them he says this, in verses 9 and 10:

“‘You have trusted in your wickedness
and have said, “No one sees me.”
Your wisdom and knowledge mislead you
when you say to yourself,
“I am, and there is none besides me.”
Disaster will come upon you,
and you will not know how to conjure it away.”

No one sees me. I’m not hurting anyone. Who’s going to know? These are the things we say to ourselves to rationalize our sins. But when I’m tempted to think like that, I have to remember a couple of things.

First, God will know, and God is the one who told me not to do that. Do I really fear the consequences of other people knowing of my sin more than God? Or do I trust so much in God’s grace that I don’t fear him anymore? That’s cheap grace, something I hope I’m never guilty of.

The second thing, though, is that there’s a reason God told me not to do that, and the reason is this: that thing is bad for me. That thing will make it harder to live right, it will steal my joy, it will compromise my witness, and it will damage my relationship with God. All of the things that that I was made for will be diminished, first among them my happiness.

“Lovers of pleasure, lounging in your security” is a good description of many Americans, and of many Christians. I need to be sure that my earthly knowledge and wisdom don’t deceive me.

Who’s going to know? I will, and God will, and it will make both of us unhappy. Beyond that, it shouldn’t really matter if anyone sees.

ignorant nothing

There is a kind of person who is an ignorant nothing. I know, we’re not supposed to say mean things like that, but I’m just repeating what God said. Here it is, in Isaiah 44:9-10:

“All who make idols are nothing,
and the things they treasure are worthless.
Those who would speak up for them are blind;
they are ignorant, to their own shame.
Who shapes a god and casts an idol,
which can profit nothing?”

Later in Isaiah 44 the prophet talks about a man who cuts a log from a tree. Half of it he burns for heat, and he carves an idol from the other half. This man, evidently a common figure of that day, literally was worshiping firewood! A man like that, according to this passage, is ignorant. He’s nothing.

Good thing I’d never do that. I’d never put my hope in a created thing instead of the creator. I’d never look to a politician for my safety. I’d never find security in my job. I’d never pin my hopes for good health on food. I wouldn’t do any of those things, would I?

It’s worth remembering in this time of talking heads and celebrity evangelical spokespersons that those who would speak for these modern-day idols are ignorant, and those who would attempt to make idols of these things are nothing.

It’s a good reminder to me that the true voices for God, the true prophets of our age, are the ones who speak Christ crucified and nothing else. Only the Prince of Peace can save us, and anyone who says anything else is an ignorant nothing.

by name

I read one of my favorite passages this morning, one I often use for God’s greeting when I lead worship. Here it is, the Lord speaking to his people from Isaiah 43:1-3:

“‘Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.
For I am the Lord your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior . . . .’”

Today, with the devastation of Hurricane Harvey and the continuing threat of fire in Montana and other places out west, these words seem especially significant. People here at home and around the globe are being tested in the water and fire, and, as he has promised, God is right there with them.

I think I like the realism of this promise. God doesn’t say my life will be easy. He doesn’t use the word “if.” What he says is that when the trouble comes, I won’t face it alone. When the danger threatens, I will still be secure. When events make me fear, God will grant me peace.

That’s not just a commitment by God to his people; it’s God’s vow to me. He summoned me by name, verse 3 says. He knew me personally, called me individually, and makes this promise to me as a person. He says, “Greg, there isn’t a thing you’ll face alone in all of your life. No matter what happens, Greg Steggerda, you’ll be fine because it will be you and me together. And I’ll make sure none of it touches you, if you just keep holding on to me.” This is literally a promise with my name on it.

I am loved and called to an intimate relationship by a personal God. What an amazing thing that is!

corners of the earth

I’m overwhelmed today by how much God wanted a relationship with me.

Look at this, from Isaiah 41:8-10:

“But you, Israel, my servant,
Jacob, whom I have chosen,
you descendants of Abraham my friend,
I took you from the ends of the earth,
from its farthest corners I called you.
I said, ‘You are my servant’;
I have chosen you and have not rejected you.
So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

As a spiritual son of Abraham, I take these verses as addressed to me, and I’m struck by this description of what God has done to build his kingdom. He’s traveled to the ends of the earth, and from all its corners he has called his elect.

My corner happens to be Dutch Protestant northwest Iowa. I’ve been privileged so far to meet Azeri Christians from Baku, a Micronesian, Laotians, Somalis and Latinos. I’ve worshipped with black Southern Baptists in Atlanta, Koreans in Waegon, Anglicans in London and Lutherans in Heidelberg. All of us have in common that God called us from that part of the globe where he placed us, and put us to work there.

I hope someday to meet converted Taliban, of whom I’ve heard, and former atheists and Neo Nazis, because God not only looks to every people and language, he saves us out of every kind of false or mistaken belief. For even the most hostile world view, God has an answer of love, delivered through his people, that overwhelms the hate.

I don’t know why. I know that I’m a pretty feeble addition to God’s army, although my heart is in the right place. God doesn’t really need me, but he called me, and (look at verse 10) he holds and helps me every day out of his great strength. The deal seems pretty one-sided.

That’s not stopping me from doing my best, though. Not being able to do everything, to paraphrase the quote, isn’t keeping me from doing the things that are in my reach every day. While I muster my strength and courage for that grand thing I hope to do for God one day, I will serve with a multitude of smaller tasks.

That may be why he calls us from all of the corners of the earth. Maybe hoeing weeds diligently in my small mission field is all God expects in return for this amazing grace.

special

I had a rough week. I was in Tulsa, trying to keep my calorie count under control, and it was a struggle. One night I had to settle for bourbon bacon chili. Another I ate Texas spring rolls, which are super-sized and stuffed with pulled pork. Last night it was four-cheese mac’n’cheese with jambalaya shrimp on top.

It occurred to me on the way home that I have an unusual problem with food: I can afford as much of it as I want, and really good food at that.

That bit of introspection struck me as I read through Isaiah this morning. In Isaiah 25:6 I read this:

“On this mountain the Lord Almighty will prepare
a feast of rich food for all peoples,
a banquet of aged wine—
the best of meats and the finest of wines.”

At first the only thing that seemed really good about this prophesy was the quantity – I noticed words like feast and banquet. I blew right past the terms “rich food” and “best” and “finest.” That’s a mark of how abundantly I have been blessed. To most people, those would be exciting words.

The fact is, this is a vision of inclusion. I forget constantly that I am among the most privileged, that many, maybe most in this world and even in this country don’t often get a chance to eat rich food. The best meats – how about a tuna steak or porterhouse? – aren’t unusual for me, but are pipe dreams for many.

And then there’s the fact that food in this passage can be taken as a metaphor for blessings of all kinds. All the people who are on the outside looking in because of their poverty or skin color or gender or primary language will, in God’s kingdom, be elbow to elbow with me and my kind.

This morning I’m grateful for the fantastic wealth of what we in America consider being middle class. Moreso, I have a renewed appreciation for the easy life I have because God chose to put me with a white family in Northwest Iowa.

Mostly, I’m grateful for the fact that, when it comes to my salvation, none of that makes any difference. God loves me for other reasons, the same reasons he loves the Azeri street sweepers and Ethiopian gem miners and Laotian immigrants and unemployed West Virginian coal miners. He loves us all because he decided to, in his grace. And he invites us all to the great banquet of his blessing in eternal life.

I’m nothing special, but I’m also something special: a child of God, saved as an act of grace by the sacrifice of Jesus out of God’s great mercy, for no reason except God chose to. It’s what God wanted for every one of his image bearers. How can I love them any less?