yesteryears

Say not, "Why were the former days better than these?" For it is not from wisdom that you ask this.

- Ecclesiastes 7:10, ESV

 

There is a tendency embedded deep within the human soul to long for the “good old days.” Even in the relatively-brief span of my 27 years, I find this to be true. How easy it is to lay side-by-side in my mind the past state of things and those of the present, and declare the former better than the latter! I have often wondered why our memories become gilded, particularly when I consider the troubles that coexisted with what I remember so fondly. Perhaps there is truth to be found in the old adages, “time heals all wounds,” and “[chronological] distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

 

Psychologically speaking, this disposition is understood as a loophole of sorts. Psychologists cite a “powerful psychological payoff for holding onto the past,” suggesting that it “allows people to avoid personal responsibility” (Carl Alasko, Ph.D., Psychology Today). In a very real sense, it is an escapist mentality which enables us to avoid the pressing issues of the moment.

 

Whatever the underlying motive may be, Scripture pointedly states it is both unhealthy and foolish. A different translation has it this way: “Don't always be asking, ‘Where are the good old days?’ Wise folks don't ask questions like that” (The Message). And this is not an isolated occurrence either. Paul also understood the value of living in the present:

 

I am still not all I should be, but I am focusing all my energies on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I strain to reach the end of the race and receive the prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us up to heaven. (Philippians 3:13-14, NLT)

 

It is significant that the Apostle Paul, arguably the foremost evangelist and church planter who ever lived, was intentional in doing the exact opposite of the behavior in which we so frequently indulge. Instead of glorifying the past at the expense of the present and future, he disregarded the past so he could concentrate all his energies on his present course and attain a future glory. Not only so, but he was quick to admit his own culpability (“I am still not all I should be”) – precisely what we endeavor to avoid. Perhaps Paul’s great success in planting, growing, and sustaining thriving churches was, in part, due to this outlook.

At the other end of the spectrum, could it be that this pernicious human bent is at the root of church mortality? It is indeed. I recently read an article written by a professional church consultant entitled Autopsy of a Deceased Church. In it, the author, Thom S. Rainer, made the following statement about a now-dead church: “The members idolized another era… They saw their future to be returning to the past.”

 

Should we summarily dismiss our heritage? Absolutely not! Scripture also clearly emphasizes the importance of remembering where we have been (Deuteronomy 6:6-12; Isaiah 46:9). The point is that we cannot anchor ourselves to that past because doing so would hinder forward progress. God is not merely God of the then; he is God of the now and the will be. Jesus is the one “who is and who was and who is to come” (Revelation 1:4, ESV). So while we can warmly remember things of old and learn from them, we cannot afford to ignore the realities of today.

 

Let us attend to God’s words, penned by the Prophet Isaiah: “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (43:18-19, ESV). And in our doing so, God promises to bring life to the dry and barren places among us.

red ink

I recently read about a school in England that banned the use of red ink. Teachers at Uplands Manor Primary no longer mark students’ papers with the standard hue, opting instead for the gentler tone of green. Obviously, color is not the real issue here. Reading between the lines, one is left to assume that educators are fearful of bruising young egos. But the question stands: Shouldn’t that shocking glare of red be used to get students’ attention? Shouldn’t pupils be given a clear, unedited picture of their standing, regardless of how unpleasant it may be?

 

There is a similar argument regarding issues of much greater weight than marks on a paper. Yet the fundamental principle is the same: God’s red ink is much too harsh and must be toned down for fear of insulting or turning people off to the Gospel.

 

Now, by no stretch of the imagination do I consider myself to be a “hellfire and brimstone” preacher – though such elements are undeniably present in Scripture (Jesus spoke about hell more often than any other individual in the Bible). Nor do I endorse a “bully pulpit” model. In addition, I believe the central message of the Christian faith is one of love, grace, forgiveness, and reconciliation (see John 3:16-17). God is, without question, a God of love. Nevertheless, you cannot have the latter without the former; if sin and hell are not real, there is nothing to be forgiven of or saved from, and a savior is irrelevant.

 

It also stands to reason that if souls are in peril, they must be told so. In other words, they must see red ink. As Christians, we cannot and must not be afraid of giving offense. While we should certainly seek to make truth known in a spirit of love (Ephesians 4:15) and avoid being intentionally abrasive and needlessly offensive, the fact remains that offense is a necessary part of salvation. Is this not the essence of conviction, which leads to repentance? I am wrong and Jesus is right.

 

Some argue that we preach a message of bigotry, intolerance, and hatred. I argue that nothing could be further from the truth. If love’s greatest act was the substitutionary death of Jesus for the sins of humanity, its second is the declaration of that Savior. To withhold that message is the truest act of hatred.

 

So yes, I preach about sin. I call it what it is. But that is so I can also proclaim this wonderful Savior who saved me from my red ink.

glorious

Who is Jesus to us? Do we see him for who he truly is? These are the questions which surround the event known to us as the Transfiguration. High on a remote mountainside, three of Jesus’ disciples – Peter, James and John – caught a glimpse of Jesus in all his glory. Their missteps and lessons learned in the process are our own.

 

On one of their many journeys, Jesus asked the Twelve, “Who do people think I am?” After a barrage of varied responses, he redirected: “But who do you say that I am?” (Matthew 16:13-15). Jesus was drawing their attention to the frequent disparity between opinions and truth. What matters most to him is neither approval ratings nor public sentiment, but identity. Church, who do we say he is?

 

Is he merely a nice guy; a good, but optional, example of how to live? There is no shortage of people in our world who will agree that Jesus is among the greatest men who ever lived. They will heartily affirm that he was an enlightened person, even a prophet. But they stop short of recognizing him as God. These same well-meaning individuals say that we, too, can become enlightened; that we can become our own saviors. Yet suggesting that we can somehow mend the brokenness inside of us is like attempting to perform open heart surgery on oneself. It doesn’t matter how skilled a doctor you may be; it is a bad idea that is not going to end well.

 

If Jesus is not God – if he is just another decent man who taught us how to live a moral life – then we have no hope. We might as well all go home and padlock the church doors because religion cannot save. Every mainstream alternative to Christianity– Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism – requires us to be good enough; we must work our way to God. But if by definition God is perfect, how can we as flawed individuals ever measure up to that standard?

 

On the mount of transfiguration, Peter, James and John saw in inexpressible glory the affirmation of what they believed to be true: Jesus is “the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16, ESV). He alone has the power to save us.

 

Still, another question remains: After seeing Jesus for who he is, how do we respond? The disciples exhibit three typical – and very different – reactions. The first is to ignore him. “Peter and the others were very drowsy and had fallen asleep” (Luke 9:32, NLT). Jesus took these men up the mountain to pray, but instead they fell asleep. Today this might be expressed as, “I get it, Jesus. You are God. But I have better things to do with my life than follow you.” If this is our attitude, we are going to miss it – that one moment when Jesus shows up in all his glory, the moment that will change our lives and the way we see God and this world. We will miss it because we are spiritually asleep.

 

Next we can be religious: “‘Teacher, this is wonderful!’ Peter exclaimed. ‘We will make three shrines – one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’” (Mark 9:5, NLT). After waking to the sight of Jesus conversing with the long-dead prophets, Peter suspected his best recourse was to memorialize the moment. So he offered to build three shrines. Again, he missed the point. The purpose of the vision was not only Jesus’ transformation, but his own. Our glory and our worth is irrevocably bound up in that of Jesus, for we are his image-bearers (Genesis 1:27; 1 John 3:2). Yet Peter thought he had to do in order to merit the glory he witnessed. Sadly, this is not an anomaly among Christians. Many who follow Jesus still believe they must somehow earn God’s love; they treat grace as a debt they must pay off. But Jesus does not need or want our religious constructs. The good we do must be an act of gratitude for the love he has already given – not an attempt to earn it.

 

Lastly, we can worship:

 

A bright cloud came over them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my beloved Son, and I am fully pleased with him. Listen to him.” The disciples were terrified and fell face down on the ground (Matthew 17:5-6)

First they slept, and then they became religious. In vacillating between extremes, the disciples failed to see the point of what was happening. So the voice of God interjected: “Pay attention! Stop what you are doing and focus!” The big idea here is Jesus – that’s it. When the disciples get that, what do they do? They immediately fall on their faces in worship; they’re shaken to their core. When we see Jesus for who he is, when we see his glory and perfection and recognize what he has done for us, the only fitting response is deep, overwhelming gratitude.

 

Have you ever truly seen Jesus for who he is? How are you responding to him?

you feed them

Two weeks ago, around 35 students from our Zeke37 youth program participated in World Vision’s 30 Hour Famine. This year’s theme was Feed Your 5,000. For a little over a day we fasted, taking in only liquids. In itself, it was a worthwhile experience. But with the help of our community, we also had the privilege of raising more than $2300 – enough to feed a child from infancy to well past their sixth birthday.

 

To some, this may seem inconsequential. “What is a single child amidst the 7,000 who die every day from hunger-related causes?” they ask. “And what is to say that, after eating for 6 ½ years, that child will not starve?” Others, the pragmatists, suggest that the problem is simply too large; after all, how can a few dozen students from small-town Delaware expect to change the world?

 

The Twelve were skeptics who asked the same sort of questions. In the course of their training, they saw a seemingly unending line of needs – masses of the sick, disabled and destitute. Time and again, these encounters served as the proverbial sandpaper that honed their attitudes toward a Kingdom bent. One in particular, the feeding of the 5,000, revealed the discrepancy between their hearts and the heart of Jesus.

 

It was late in the evening, and everyone was weary from a demanding season of ministry. They had tried to slip away unnoticed for a much-needed vacation, but to no avail; thousands followed them to their destination. Tired as he was, Jesus began to heal and teach the people. But as the sun sank toward the horizon, the disciples grew impatient: “It’s getting late, we are in the middle of nowhere, and these people haven’t eaten. Don’t you think you should send them away so they can find some food?” Yet Jesus didn’t seem concerned. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “You feed them” (Mark 6:37a).

 

Predictably, the disciples protested. “How do you expect us to do that, Jesus? Have you seen the size of this crowd? We don’t have any food, and we don’t have nearly enough money” (verse 37b). They got hung up on the size of the problem at hand and the lack of resources at their disposal. Instead of focusing on who was with them, they reverted to asking how it could be done. Such a relapse is faith killing. It impairs our effectiveness for the Kingdom. Its implicit declaration is, “Jesus, I know you’re God, but this issue is just too big.”

 

Yet Jesus graciously overlooked the slight, redirecting them to take inventory of what they did have. In the crowd, the disciples found a boy who packed a sack lunch. And that child’s now-famous five loaves and two fish – the equivalent of a few slices of Wonder Bread and some lunchmeat – became the makings of a miracle in the hands of Jesus.

 

What if the one child our efforts saved is holding the makings of a modern-day miracle?

 

The story ends with more than enough food to go around. So much, in fact, that twelve full baskets of leftovers were gathered – one for each of the disciples. The cynics now held the evidence and the ingredients of the miraculous within their hands. Jesus’ message to them was clear: The miracle of multiplication would not stop that day.

 

Friends, we are the Twelve. And the fragments we hold, when given to Jesus, are more than enough to meet the needs of this broken world. The question we must answer is this: Are we willing to let go of them? Jesus’ command still stands: You feed them.