Standing in ocean surf will remind you where you fit in the world. At its mildest, the sea will pull the sand out from under your feet, while when the surf is up it will knock you over and pull you out. As you stand, the waves come at you endlessly all the way from the horizon. Those waves can pound boats to pieces and, over time, change the shape of the rocks themselves.
I was thinking all that this morning, thinking of walking the tide line at Moro Bay and swimming in the Atlantic off the Panama Canal, two times that the ocean exhausted me. Here’s what triggered my memories, from Psalm 93:3-4:
“The seas have lifted up, Lord,
the seas have lifted up their voice;
the seas have lifted up their pounding waves.
Mightier than the thunder of the great waters,
mightier than the breakers of the sea—
the Lord on high is mighty.”
The irresistible weight of the ocean is part of God’s revelation, one that speaks in particular to his power and might. In the same way, the rain and sun and seasons tell of his providence, and birds and flowers show his love for beauty. Grandmothers who tell Bible stories are evidence of the covenant, and children who love Jesus show God’s faithfulness to all generations.
This whole world sings of God, if we just take the time to listen.
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
praise song
The other night, I was sitting on my deck with Dawn as the sun set, reading and watching the barn swallows. I thought then, and said to her, “This is good.”
When I think of good things, or the good life, I think of things like that. Those are the moments that seem the best, the part that makes all the struggle and so-so days and really awful days worthwhile.
This morning, as I read Psalm 92, I was challenged a little bit in that kind of thinking. I still think I’m mostly right, but I stop short. Look at the first three verses of that Psalm:
“It is good to praise the Lord
and make music to your name, O Most High,
proclaiming your love in the morning
and your faithfulness at night,
to the music of the ten-stringed lyre
and the melody of the harp.”
Whenever I have one of those “this is good” moments, I think the next thing I should do is sing. I should let everyone in earshot know of God’s love and faithfulness; I should let them know that my God is the source of every good thing in this world.
In fact, I should be singing a lot more than I do. Praise songs (and this Psalm is one) are part of worship, and worship should happen in my heart and home every day.
Maybe someday those moments of singing will themselves be the good thing I’m grateful for.
Monday, August 7, 2017
rescue
I’ve taken refuge in a lot of different places and ways. I hid under a canoe during a violent hail storm once, and sat out a tornado in a coal cellar. I waited out a bull on a shed roof, stood watch in a foxhole, and ran from wasps. I’ve also hidden behind my rank, wealth and privilege to avoid emotional unpleasantness. Too often these are the things I rely on.
Psalm 91 is all about taking refuge in God. I especially like verses 14-16:
“’Because he loves me,’ says the Lord, ‘I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
He will call on me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation.’”
In return for my love, God promises me the ultimate in protection plans. He has me covered for any kind of trouble in my life, which he says will be long and satisfying. He also has a great plan for my eternity. With God, I don’t have to fear physical harm, mental pain, or corrupting sin. Body, mind and soul are secure under his protection.
I wonder why I so often look for worldly protectors when I have this promise?
Psalm 91 is all about taking refuge in God. I especially like verses 14-16:
“’Because he loves me,’ says the Lord, ‘I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
He will call on me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation.’”
In return for my love, God promises me the ultimate in protection plans. He has me covered for any kind of trouble in my life, which he says will be long and satisfying. He also has a great plan for my eternity. With God, I don’t have to fear physical harm, mental pain, or corrupting sin. Body, mind and soul are secure under his protection.
I wonder why I so often look for worldly protectors when I have this promise?
Friday, August 4, 2017
run away
I would never have the temerity to ask God, “What were you thinking?” Sometimes, though, I really wish I knew, because I don’t understand what I’m reading in scripture. That’s true of the story of Jehu, recorded in 1 Kings 9 and 10.
Things get off to a bizarre start with the anointing of Jehu, in 2 Kings 9:1-3: “The prophet Elisha summoned a man from the company of the prophets and said to him, ‘Tuck your cloak into your belt, take this flask of olive oil with you and go to Ramoth Gilead. When you get there, look for Jehu son of Jehoshaphat, the son of Nimshi. Go to him, get him away from his companions and take him into an inner room. Then take the flask and pour the oil on his head and declare, “This is what the Lord says: I anoint you king over Israel.” Then open the door and run; don’t delay!’”
That’s my first “what were you thinking” moment. Run away? Like escaping from something? What’s that all about. Prophets often acted in strange ways to get the attention of the people, like Jeremiah binding himself with ropes, but usually they explain it.
But as I read on, it seemed appropriate; Jehu was a guy to run away from. He was a lethal and prolific executioner who cut a bloody swathe through Israelite and left dozens of dead behind him. The story of Jezebel’s death is one of the most gruesome you’ll find anywhere.
Yet God is pleased – that’s the second thing I don’t understand. Look at this, from 2 Kings 10:30-31: “The Lord said to Jehu, ‘Because you have done well in accomplishing what is right in my eyes and have done to the house of Ahab all I had in mind to do, your descendants will sit on the throne of Israel to the fourth generation.’ Yet Jehu was not careful to keep the law of the Lord, the God of Israel, with all his heart. He did not turn away from the sins of Jeroboam, which he had caused Israel to commit.”
I get that Jehu was God’s judgment on Ahab and Jezebel, but why did God look past his sins (Jeroboam set up the golden calfs for worship, which Jehu continued) and give him four generations on the throne? In so many cases God punished men and women for so much less. I don’t like Jehu, and I guess I don’t want God to like him either.
I don’t get it, but there’s some comfort here for me: God doesn’t require perfection in his servants, only obedience. I’ll never be perfect, but I can obey.
Things get off to a bizarre start with the anointing of Jehu, in 2 Kings 9:1-3: “The prophet Elisha summoned a man from the company of the prophets and said to him, ‘Tuck your cloak into your belt, take this flask of olive oil with you and go to Ramoth Gilead. When you get there, look for Jehu son of Jehoshaphat, the son of Nimshi. Go to him, get him away from his companions and take him into an inner room. Then take the flask and pour the oil on his head and declare, “This is what the Lord says: I anoint you king over Israel.” Then open the door and run; don’t delay!’”
That’s my first “what were you thinking” moment. Run away? Like escaping from something? What’s that all about. Prophets often acted in strange ways to get the attention of the people, like Jeremiah binding himself with ropes, but usually they explain it.
But as I read on, it seemed appropriate; Jehu was a guy to run away from. He was a lethal and prolific executioner who cut a bloody swathe through Israelite and left dozens of dead behind him. The story of Jezebel’s death is one of the most gruesome you’ll find anywhere.
Yet God is pleased – that’s the second thing I don’t understand. Look at this, from 2 Kings 10:30-31: “The Lord said to Jehu, ‘Because you have done well in accomplishing what is right in my eyes and have done to the house of Ahab all I had in mind to do, your descendants will sit on the throne of Israel to the fourth generation.’ Yet Jehu was not careful to keep the law of the Lord, the God of Israel, with all his heart. He did not turn away from the sins of Jeroboam, which he had caused Israel to commit.”
I get that Jehu was God’s judgment on Ahab and Jezebel, but why did God look past his sins (Jeroboam set up the golden calfs for worship, which Jehu continued) and give him four generations on the throne? In so many cases God punished men and women for so much less. I don’t like Jehu, and I guess I don’t want God to like him either.
I don’t get it, but there’s some comfort here for me: God doesn’t require perfection in his servants, only obedience. I’ll never be perfect, but I can obey.
Thursday, August 3, 2017
God for us
Look at the things that our Lord has done!
2 Kings 7:5-7: “At dusk they got up and went to the camp of the Arameans. When they reached the edge of the camp, no one was there, for the Lord had caused the Arameans to hear the sound of chariots and horses and a great army, so that they said to one another, ‘Look, the king of Israel has hired the Hittite and Egyptian kings to attack us!’ So they got up and fled in the dusk and abandoned their tents and their horses and donkeys. They left the camp as it was and ran for their lives.”
For the Israelites, this was the kind of thing worship sprang from. Worship songs, which we call Psalms, were written about these things, and the elders talked of them while the village listened. God was very real to them, because these were the stories of their grandfathers and great-grandfathers.
They’re still the stories of our God, though. That’s precisely why they were dictated by the Holy Spirit to men who wrote them down for us. They are part of what we need to know about God.
Sometimes when I read these stories – stories like Elisha making the ax head float, or multiplying the oil and the flour – there’s a part of me that wonders if they’re just fables. It would be easy to dismiss them as tales that teach a moral but didn’t actually happen, but that’s because our little minds struggle to fathom the least of what God can do.
The truth is, for our God these things are nothing, the equivalent of parlor tricks. Pulling an ax head from the bottom of a river and making scary noises in the tree tops impress us, but I’m thinking those things would be relatively simple to God.
A more amazing miracle, in my mind, is my salvation. Somehow God, through the cross and Jesus’ sacrifice, made it possible for me to have a relationships with him. Somehow, he moved my heart to want one. And somehow, he helps me every day to resist the pull of the world and turn to him. That’s an accomplishment that takes planning, effort and daily attention, yet God does it for millions.
Look at the things our God has done, and, like the Israelites, we will be moved to worship.
2 Kings 7:5-7: “At dusk they got up and went to the camp of the Arameans. When they reached the edge of the camp, no one was there, for the Lord had caused the Arameans to hear the sound of chariots and horses and a great army, so that they said to one another, ‘Look, the king of Israel has hired the Hittite and Egyptian kings to attack us!’ So they got up and fled in the dusk and abandoned their tents and their horses and donkeys. They left the camp as it was and ran for their lives.”
For the Israelites, this was the kind of thing worship sprang from. Worship songs, which we call Psalms, were written about these things, and the elders talked of them while the village listened. God was very real to them, because these were the stories of their grandfathers and great-grandfathers.
They’re still the stories of our God, though. That’s precisely why they were dictated by the Holy Spirit to men who wrote them down for us. They are part of what we need to know about God.
Sometimes when I read these stories – stories like Elisha making the ax head float, or multiplying the oil and the flour – there’s a part of me that wonders if they’re just fables. It would be easy to dismiss them as tales that teach a moral but didn’t actually happen, but that’s because our little minds struggle to fathom the least of what God can do.
The truth is, for our God these things are nothing, the equivalent of parlor tricks. Pulling an ax head from the bottom of a river and making scary noises in the tree tops impress us, but I’m thinking those things would be relatively simple to God.
A more amazing miracle, in my mind, is my salvation. Somehow God, through the cross and Jesus’ sacrifice, made it possible for me to have a relationships with him. Somehow, he moved my heart to want one. And somehow, he helps me every day to resist the pull of the world and turn to him. That’s an accomplishment that takes planning, effort and daily attention, yet God does it for millions.
Look at the things our God has done, and, like the Israelites, we will be moved to worship.
Wednesday, August 2, 2017
eyes wide open
Life seldom goes as I want. Usually it just surprises me or maybe annoys or frustrates me, but sometimes it scares me, and sometimes I want to despair.
Those times I’m like Elisha’s servant, facing the army of Arameans who had come to capture Elisha. With possible abuse and death looming, there didn’t seem much that two men could do. Elisha’s servant despaired, but Elisha didn’t. Here’s his reaction, in 2 Kings 6:16-17:
“‘Don’t be afraid,’ the prophet answered. ‘Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.’
“And Elisha prayed, ‘Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see.’”
What the servant saw, of course, was a mighty flaming host of heavenly warriors, present for the duty of ensuring Elisha’s safety. Elisha, whose God had made an ax head float and whispered to Elisha every plan of the king of Aram, knew that he had nothing to fear. His faith in God was fixed.
It’s a message I need, as I watch change come to our public life and erosion wear away the morality I grew up with. When violence splatters our cities in blood and every kind of depravity is just a few clicks away, and holders of the highest offices in the nation have vulgar mouths and worse lifestyles, I’m tempted to despair. It’s tempting to let my voice go silent and try to escape notice of all the haters and judgers out there.
But those who are with us are more than those who are with them. It would be a huge mistake for me to look at all the attacks and lose faith in God. Like Elisha, I have a lifetime full of God’s faithfulness and providence to look back on. So this morning I’m praying Elisha’s prayer for myself: “Open my eyes, Lord, so that I may see you at work in this world.”
Those times I’m like Elisha’s servant, facing the army of Arameans who had come to capture Elisha. With possible abuse and death looming, there didn’t seem much that two men could do. Elisha’s servant despaired, but Elisha didn’t. Here’s his reaction, in 2 Kings 6:16-17:
“‘Don’t be afraid,’ the prophet answered. ‘Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.’
“And Elisha prayed, ‘Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see.’”
What the servant saw, of course, was a mighty flaming host of heavenly warriors, present for the duty of ensuring Elisha’s safety. Elisha, whose God had made an ax head float and whispered to Elisha every plan of the king of Aram, knew that he had nothing to fear. His faith in God was fixed.
It’s a message I need, as I watch change come to our public life and erosion wear away the morality I grew up with. When violence splatters our cities in blood and every kind of depravity is just a few clicks away, and holders of the highest offices in the nation have vulgar mouths and worse lifestyles, I’m tempted to despair. It’s tempting to let my voice go silent and try to escape notice of all the haters and judgers out there.
But those who are with us are more than those who are with them. It would be a huge mistake for me to look at all the attacks and lose faith in God. Like Elisha, I have a lifetime full of God’s faithfulness and providence to look back on. So this morning I’m praying Elisha’s prayer for myself: “Open my eyes, Lord, so that I may see you at work in this world.”
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
last resort
It’s happened to me more than once: after some tale of woe in which I describe a mistake or a wrong turn or a lesson learned, someone says, “I could have told you that.” And I’d guess they’re right. Someone else already knows everything I need to learn, if I just knew who to ask.
That’s a truth that I should apply to my relationship with God. In matters of life, I already know who can advise me, but I never ask him. I’m kind of like kings Joram and Jehoshaphat in the story in 2 Kings 3. On their way to make war against Moab, they ask each other the best way to go and decide to traverse the desert. A week later, they’re out of water and in deep trouble, and that’s when they come to their senses, as described in 2 Kings 3:11: “But Jehoshaphat asked, ‘Is there no prophet of the LORD here, through whom we may inquire of the LORD?’”
It begs the question, why wait until things look bad to ask God? Once they did, God helped them avoid death by dehydration, and then helped them defeat their enemies.
Why is God so often my last resort? Why do I first try things on my own, then go to my friends for advice, then look it up on the Internet and then, when all else fails, pray? Wouldn’t it be far easier to pray as I make my plans instead after they’ve gone off the rails?
It’s something I intend to do better at.
That’s a truth that I should apply to my relationship with God. In matters of life, I already know who can advise me, but I never ask him. I’m kind of like kings Joram and Jehoshaphat in the story in 2 Kings 3. On their way to make war against Moab, they ask each other the best way to go and decide to traverse the desert. A week later, they’re out of water and in deep trouble, and that’s when they come to their senses, as described in 2 Kings 3:11: “But Jehoshaphat asked, ‘Is there no prophet of the LORD here, through whom we may inquire of the LORD?’”
It begs the question, why wait until things look bad to ask God? Once they did, God helped them avoid death by dehydration, and then helped them defeat their enemies.
Why is God so often my last resort? Why do I first try things on my own, then go to my friends for advice, then look it up on the Internet and then, when all else fails, pray? Wouldn’t it be far easier to pray as I make my plans instead after they’ve gone off the rails?
It’s something I intend to do better at.
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