Breakthrough.

(11.01.09, noon)

Jesus, You are Lord of all.  Neither man’s decree nor hand rises above Yours; it answers to You and submits to Your headship and authority and lordship over all — great and small, righteous and unrighteous, natural and synthetic, animate and inanimate, dead and living…all.

Are you sovereign over suicide and death?  Mysteriously, rightly, yes.

How?  Why?  I don’t know.

But I submit to the God whose ways and thoughts are higher.  To the God to whom the secret things belong.  The God who works all things for the good of those who love Him.  The God from whom, through whom, and to whom are all things.  The God who holds the king’s heart like a stream of water in His hand, turning it whichever way He pleases.  The God who commanded the wind and waves to “be still” at one time and let them blow and crash at another.  The God who instructs the sun where to stand and instructs the waves to come no further.  The God whose way was through the sea, with footprints unseen.  The God whose wisdom is deeper and surpassing that of men; the God who needs no counselor, for there is no other God Only Wise.  The God who makes even the wrath of man to praise Him.  The God who knew and loved before the foundations of the world.  The God who neither slumbers nor sleeps nor shows partiality.  The God who is holy.  The God who foreordained the death of His only Son for sinners.  The God of the resurrection.  The God who is great and worthy of praise.  Oh Lord, not a hard Master but a kind Lord, I submit to You.  I bow the knee.

You are Lord.  You are Creator.  I am Yours.  I am created.  I put my hand over my mouth.  You have done what is good.  You do and will do all things well (oh, to believe that in my heart of hearts!).  You make no mistakes.  You are not a man that You should have regrets.  Who is God Most High but You?  The Potter need not answer to the clay.  Do as You see well to do.  Give us hearts to love You, trust You, and humble ourselves before You.  Your will is good, perfect, and acceptable.

You are God.  There is no other.

The secret things.

Her Father: Your brow speaks of heavy thoughts, child.  Come, tell them to Me.

Her: But they are so many, Abba.  And my questions are so many.  I would weary You with words, not to speak of heart heaviness.

Her Father: Child, I know your heart.  I know your thoughts.  I am not wearied.

Her: But these things I don’t understand, questions without answers … Who can know them?  Who can understand them?

Her Father: The secret things belong to Me, child.

Her: Yes, but …

Her Father, gently: Child, they belong to Me.  Will you rest in that?

How He loves.

Junior year of college, the song Who Am I? by Casting Crowns brought tremendous comfort to me during an emotional time.  Lighthouse’s orchestra was practicing it to accompany Eugene and Christine during church service, and I remember just taking the CD and sheet music to UCSD’s “underground” piano rooms and playing for hours, crying and praying my way through the song … over and over again.  In just a few weeks, we’d play it for the church, and did I believe what I was playing?  Would I rend the garment and not my heart?  God was good to give that song, among other things, during that time.  Where plain words would have been hard, truth sung and played to me brought untold comfort.

This past weekend, that “song” for me has been How He Loves by John Mark McMillan.  From what I understand, McMillan wrote it after losing a dear friend.  On Friday, I lost a dear friend, Michael — “dear” in terms of the place he had in my heart (in all our hearts) as I watched him grow from a little boy to a man who dreamed of being a teacher like his dad.  And I’ve never been so tempted to call a death “untimely” before, but this one … this one seems so untimely.  And my imagination fails me to foresee how God could possibly bring good from this, but this I know: He is good.  And He loves.  Oh, how He loves.  And sometimes, that is all we can do as we grieve: weep in the arms of our good and sovereign Abba who loves us.

I was asked yesterday to play during the offertory today at the church where we grew up, so I went to the church last night and practiced this song, How He Loves, again and again and again.  Grief and hope and pain and praise all stumbling over one another, trying to walk in harmony.  This morning, after I played for first service, I walked to the back of the church and cried with JoAnna.  It is possible to grieve and sing His truth at the same time.  And perhaps again, where plain words would be hard, truth sung and played apply the balm in just the right way.

Some songs are mostly great because of the lyrics; others are mostly great because the music expresses a yearning that words can’t articulate.  I think this is one of those songs.

How He loves.

He is jealous for me,
Loves like a hurricane,
I am a tree bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy.

When all of a sudden I am unaware of these
Afflictions eclipsed by glory.
And I realize just how beautiful You are and
How great Your affections are for me.

Oh, how He loves us.
Oh, oh, how He loves us,
How He loves us all.

And we are His portion and He is our prize,
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes.
If His grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking.

And heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest.
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets when I think about the way…

Oh, how He loves us.
Oh, oh, how He loves us,
How He loves us all.

How He loves!
Yeah, He loves us,
Oh how He loves us,
Oh how He loves us,
Oh how He loves.

Please pray especially for Michael’s mom.  She’s now lost both husband and only child — and both so suddenly.  As our pastor asked us to pray today, please pray that God would heal the deep places of her heart as only He can.

A conversation with Doubt.

CHRISTIANA, weeping.

DOUBT:

What does your love for Him avail you?  Miser, look about you.  Do not tell me that you see Love’s workings here.

CHRISTIANA:

Doubt, I cannot keep you from speaking into my ear, but I will not cherish your counsel.  You would bring me down to Sheol.

DOUBT, with feigned surprise:

What?  I merely said to — look — about — you.  Can you confidently tell me that this is the working of a God who loves you?

CHRISTIANA, with a struggle:

He loved His Son.  And for my sake, He did not withhold His hand from His only Son.  How can you now ask me to doubt Him?

DOUBT:

But that was then.  You trust His hand even now as He lays down this heavy stroke?

CHRISTIANA:

It is true — I cannot see the full extent of His hand.  It is shrouded in mystery, as it was when His only Son cried to Him on the cross.  I cannot see the full extent of His hand, but I know His person.  I know His character.  I — know — Him.

DOUBT, sarcastically:

A likely tale, no doubt.

CHRISTIANA:

Doubt, would you answer a few of my own questions?

DOUBT, smugly:

Sure.

CHRISTIANA:

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose.  For those whom He foreknew He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, in order that He might be the firstborn among many brothers.  And those whom He predestined He also called, and those whom He called He also justified, and those whom He justified He also glorified.

DOUBT:

Miser, I recognize your sword.  You are speaking His Word, but where are your questions?

CHRISTIANA:

I continue: What then shall we say to these things?  If God is for us, who can be against us?

He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things?

DOUBT, mockingly:

Yes — look at what He has so graciously given you.  What has He given to you but loss?  What has He given to you but tribulation and distress and persecution and famine and nakedness and danger and sword?

CHRISTIANA:

But you evade my questions, Doubt.  Answer me this: Who shall separate us from the love of God?  Shall tribulation — or distress — or persecution — or famine — or nakedness — or danger — or sword?

DOUBT, wincing:

You would believe that though you are being slayed?

CHRISTIANA:

Doubt, it is not I who is being slayed at the moment.  Who shall separate us from the love of God?  Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?  As it is written, ‘For Your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.’  No — in — all — these — things — we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.

DOUBT, desperately:

But look!  You are weeping, woman!  Can tears yet speak of trust?

CHRISTIANA:

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

DOUBT, crying out:

You — You’ve thrust me through!

CHRISTIANA:

So I have.

DOUBT, clutching his side:

Oh, I see what you are about, woman.  I will leave this time, but I won’t be far.  And I assure you, you won’t recognize me so quickly the next time we meet.  I’ve crushed the mightiest of men and will not be so easily defeated. I’ll be back again, miser.

CHRISTIANA:

So you will.  And so my God and His Word will be nearer still.

—

(Inspired by John Piper’s A Conversation with Death on Good Friday.)

Oh, not to be surprised!

(J.C. Ryle, Holiness, p. 301)

“Man,” said a thoughtless, ungodly English traveller, to a North American Indian convert, “Man, what is the reason that you make so much of Christ, and talk so much about Him?  What has this Christ done for you, that you should make so much ado about Him?”

The converted Indian did not answer him in words.  He gathered together some dry leaves and moss, and made a ring with them on the ground.  He picked up a live worm and put it in the middle of the ring.  He struck a light and set the moss and leaves on fire.  The flame soon rose, and the heat scorched the worm.  It writhed in agony, and, after trying in vain to escape on every side, curled itself up in the middle, as if about to die in despair. At that moment the Indian reached forth his hand, took up the worm gently, and placed it on his bosom.

“Stranger,” he said to the Englishman, “do you see that worm?  I was that perishing creature.  I was dying in my sins, hopeless, helpless, and on the brink of eternal fire.  It was Jesus Christ who put forth the arm of His power.  It was Jesus Christ who delivered me with the hand of His grace, and plucked me from everlasting burnings.  It was Jesus Christ who placed me, a poor sinful worm, near the heart of His love. Stranger, that is the reason why I talk of Jesus Christ, and make much of Him.  I am not ashamed of it, because I love Him.”

If we know anything of love to Christ, may we have the mind of this North American Indian!  May we never think that we can love Christ too well, live to Him too thoroughly, confess Him too boldly, lay ourselves out for Him too heartily!  Of all the things that will surprise us in the resurrection morning, this I believe will surprise us most: that we did not love Christ more before we died.

Overheard in an orchard.

Said Robin to Sparrow,
“I should really like to know
Why these anxious human beings
Rush about and worry so.”

Said the Sparrow to the Robin:
“Friend, I think that it must be
That they have no Heavenly Father
Such as cares for you and me.”

(Elizabeth Cheney)

The last mile.

The half-marathon was so much fun.  My training waned a little the last month and a half, and I never ran the full 13.1 miles in the weeks leading up to the half-marathon.  I tried to conserve as much energy as possible in the beginning of the race and started off slow (maybe too slow), but I started picking up speed towards the middle.  The last mile was the best.  I sprinted the whole way.

I hope the last mile is always the best one.

Esther Lentz.

Esther Lentz was the church secretary at the church I grew up in.  But she wasn’t just the secretary.  She was the Lord’s beloved (and our church’s beloved) in every way.

She was diagnosed with brain cancer several months ago.  She was unconscious since last weekend.  But today, she finally woke up — not to an invalid’s bed, a body wracked with pain, the temptations that come with being ill, the concerned faces of loved ones, or the cares of this world.  She woke up to joy inexpressible, a new body that knows neither pain nor age, the victory of Christ over the sting of sin and death, the face of her Savior, and a lasting city where there is “no need of sun, or moon … because the Lord Himself doth lighten it.”

Praise God that death is not the end for those who love Christ.  Praise God it is the beginning of life, true life.

Praise God these aren’t just the words of delusional, wishful-thinking grievers.  We can take Him at His word and grieve with a hope that will not disappoint.

—

A brother in Christ wrote a few months ago about his mom, cancer, and her journey Home.  I pray you’re encouraged as you read (click the title, “Loss Is Gain,” below).

Loss Is Gain

Here he raised his Ebenezer.

Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen and called its name Ebenezer; for he said, “Till now the LORD has helped us.” (1 Samuel 7:12)

Was that the stone? He brushed the dust from his lashes with the back of his hand.  It was much smaller than he had expected.  He pulled a browning map from his satchel and examined it carefully.  He squinted, as if squinting would help him decipher Grandpa’s scrawled writing.  Time had begun to blur some of the writing, but according to all of Grandpa’s notes, this had to be the stone.

Homely and small, but tremendous in significance.  He was beginning to find that many things in life were like that.

Gazing now at Ebenezer, he could almost hear Grandpa’s voice, wavering with age but still strong, recounting the story of old, “My boy, thousands of our men fell in battle against the Philistines at Ebenezer!  The ark of God was also captured there, and in the end, all our mighty men took to their heels and fled to their homes!  Fear and grief and bitterness gripped us for some time.  But by and by, we repented and Samuel prayed.  Boy, how — he — prayed!  And God delivered!”

Grandpa would then pause, knead his brow with his forefinger and thumb, and say in a low voice, “Boy, Ebenezer was the place of bitter defeat, but as the LORD lives, Ebenezer later marked the place of victory.”

And his own boyish voice would ask, “But Grandpa?  How ’bout today?  Does God still help us today?”

Grandpa’s voice always rumbled then with explosive conviction, “My boy, yes!  As the LORD lives, yes!”

Tears fell as he suddenly missed Grandpa.  It was a year since Grandpa was buried.  Home was exceedingly difficult, and though he had turned 15 just a few months ago, he still wished he could hide in Grandpa’s firm grasp.  The tears fell more swiftly and freely, hitting the ground with light thuds.  He felt as though his heart would break under its burden.

But as he looked on Ebenezer, that “stone of help,” he remembered Grandpa’s words.

“My boy, yes!  As the LORD lives, yes!”

Give me Jesus.

As I get older, simple things are so much more meaningful.  Minus the glitz, minus the lights, minus the bells and whistles, minus the elaborate packaging, minus the “much ado about nothing.”  Simple joys.  Simple truths.  Simple promises.  A single Treasure.  Things (Persons) that are precious and speak for themselves.  They don’t require the “much ado.”

I currently have this Jeremy Camp song on repeat.  Simple lyrics.  Simple longing, but deep — permeating.  Love it … now to live it.

In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise
Give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus.
You can have all this world,
Just give me Jesus.

When I am alone,
When I am alone,
When I am alone,
Give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus.
You can have all this world,
Just give me Jesus.

When I come to die,
When I come to die,
When I come to die,
Give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus.
You can have all this world,
Just give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus.
You can have all this world,
You can have all this world,
You can have all this world,
Just give me Jesus.