Backstage

I have a perception problem. It has nothing to do with my eyesight and everything to do with my attitude. I find myself, in the midst of a struggle, asking, “why me?” But, in the interest of full disclosure, my question is not a random articulation of despair thrown like liter to the ground. No, I often level my expressions of frustration at my God. So, the real question I’m frequently asking is, “why would You let this thing happen to me? If you love me and want the best for me, then why am I facing this difficulty?” Recently, though, I received an inadvertent lesson in God’s providence through His careful and clever arrangement of even the most insignificant details of my life. Let me explain.

Like many churches, my family’s church has a regular worship program for pre-school aged children complete with puppets, actors, storytellers, and an assortment of other Biblically oriented info-tainment geared toward children. Of course, the focal point of all the activity is the stage. Ours is a garden-variety twenty-foot wide rectangle with a clever backdrop consisting of three facades decorated to resemble houses – miniature houses – each having its own front door, faux yard, and white picket fence. It is a carefully fabricated piece of Americana. Behind each door “lives” a different felt-skinned character who imparts Biblical wisdom in lively and engaging fashion (so engaging that my children are more likely able to tell you what virtue an orange hued puppet extolled three Sunday’s ago than what chore I asked them to do three minutes ago).

Not long ago, my son – newly graduated to Kindergarten – accompanied me on an errand to church on a Thursday afternoon. Our task required us to venture near the children’s worship area and, as Thursday afternoons tend to be rather quiet in even the most robust church, the pre-school worship room was deserted. So, when my son, with his explorer’s heart, requested that we look around the room, I agreed. And, though he didn’t intend to, he taught me a lesson.

Oh! If you could have seen the wonder in his eyes as we stepped through the threshold of the first house and he peered behind the scenery at the meticulously organized, yet dreadfully plain rear of the stage. “Daddy! It’s all one room. They’re all connected. I thought there were three houses!” And, while it didn’t strike me at that very moment, as I later shared the event with my wife, I recalled the words God spoke to Jeremiah as He explained His divine protection and plan for the nation of Israel. “For I know the plans I have for you…plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future,” (Jeremiah 29:11 NIV).

In those words, my perception problem met the precise preparation of the Almighty. I began to understand the inordinate amount of preparation and skillful choreography that my Father in heaven puts into each minute of my life. Despite my wonderings. In spit of my tantrums. My God has plans for me. If He has a plan for the destiny of a nation, how much more does He have a plan for me. In those moments when life seems to get the best of me I shouldn’t behave like a pre-schooler watching a performance gone astray. I ought to remember that, backstage, the Director is directing. But, most of the time I don’t.

That, of course is when the real problems begin. When I chose to see life as a cosmic free-for-all the results are never pretty. In the best of circumstances, I become a petulant child, throwing myself to the ground and expressing rage at my Father for not making things go my way. I stomp my feet, clench my fists, and flail. I scream. I pout. I thrash about. I see my life and my situation as an audience member witnessing a performance gone horribly awry. I have paid good money for these tickets and this is not the performance I expected. I quickly forget the work done behind the scenes, believing that what I see is what I get.

Worse, still, I sometimes decide that the only effective course of action is my course of action. So, with utmost haste, I (attempt to) take control and direct the play and its players myself. The problem is I have no directorial experience. I have no production experience. I am an actor of the worst kind; I lack any serious talent and have a diva complex. I often forgets my lines, skip rehearsals, and require only the finest bottled water. I pout and throw fits, and because I think I am in charge, I expect people to respond. I am, after all, the center of the Universe and if God can’t remember that, well…everyone else better.

What’s amazing is that the Master of all Universes – my minuscule one included – is not amused, but somehow manages to be patient. While either of my approaches is horribly glorious in its myopic humanness and neither acknowledges that the same God who thought me into being might have an idea as to how to handle my current situation, the simple truth is that He has His eyes on me now as much as when He does when life is easy. And, though God doesn't seem to use His “Easy Button” as much as I think He ought to, the Bible teaches that our Heavenly Father “works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Rom. 8:28 NIV).

Simple words. Profound message. God works for good…

Career quagmire? God works for good.

Poor prognosis? God works for good.

Fractured family? God works for good.

Disabling debt? God works for good.

Some say that there are no atheists in foxholes, but it may be that foxhole situations only reveal our true leanings. For every unbeliever who cries out to God for his salvation, I imagine there is a Christ follower who simply cries or worse cries out to himself for salvation. Nevertheless, while it is easy to thank God in the midst of comfort and peace, we are compelled to recall that in times of despair God works for good.

Don’t agree? Ask Joseph. Sure, he had a little bit of a superiority complex. Still, did Joseph really deserve what his own brothers did to him? If you think the sneers you tolerate across the Thanksgiving table are bad you might step into Joseph’s hole (literally). After tossing him in a pit, his brothers began debating whether they should kill him. Lucky for him, cooler heads prevailed and they only sold him into slavery – sarcasm intended. But it doesn’t end there. After being poked and prodded on the slave-house auction block, he had to suffering the indignity of an attempted rape at the hands of his owner’s wife only to be tossed into an Egyptian prison after she accused him of the same crime, a crime he didn’t commit! Still – and it’s a long story – it didn’t last forever. When famine forced his brothers to travel to Egypt in search of food they found themselves pleading at the feet of none other than their scorned sibling. Instead of Joseph the slave or Joseph the prisoner, however, they find Joseph, Pharaoh’s chief of staff. And better still, he welcomed them saying – don’t miss it because here is the lesson – “…it was not you who sent me here, but God.” (Gen. 45:8 NIV). How did that happen? God works for good.

Still not sure? Ask Paul and Silas. They were in jail…again. After being beaten in the brutal fashion sanctioned by a Roman government determined to keep the peace, they were chained to and hung on a wall. Aching. Injured. Shattered. Battered. But, not defeated. Instead of lamenting, Paul and Silas sang, and not in a figurative sense. They literally opened their mouths, the same mouths that had been bloodied by the beating, and praised Jesus the Savior in song. In prison, in want of rescue, they praised a Savior who allowed them to be in this situation. That is faith. That, of course, is when it happened. In the flash of a miracle that could only have come from God, “all the prison doors flew open, and everybody's chains came loose.” (Acts 16:26 NIV). Earthquakes might open doors, but earthquakes don’t loosen chains – that’s God’s handiwork. When the jailer entered, sword drawn, prepared to commit hari-kari rather than suffer the inevitable beating (one similar to what Paul and Silas had just endured) that would be visited on him as punishment for the mass flight of his prisoners, what did he find? Two Jesus freaks more interested in evangelism than escape. That night, the jailer – and his entire family – was saved. If not for Paul and Silas’ imprisonment, what would have become of the souls of the jailer and his kin? No telling, but one thing the jailer, his family, and Silas would say (and Paul did say); God works for good.

Need more proof? Ask Jesus. Not long ago He had entered Jerusalem amidst shouts of “Hosanna!” The people thought Him to be the king sent to save them from an oppressive occupying force. Instead, He went from hero to zero in less time than it took a Pharisee to wash his hands. From celebrated to reviled in less than a week. Why? He claimed to be more than a king, He claimed to be the King of kings and those in authority would have none of that. One has to wonder, though, did they not witness miracles done in the name of the Most High God? Did they not see Him fulfill prophecy after prophecy with their own eyes? They did, but this was how it had to be done. In order to become an atoning sacrifice He had to endure and ultimately die in the most shameful and painful of manner ever devised; stretched naked, skin in ribbons, suffocating, and ridiculed, the Maker of Heaven and Earth was made to hang on a cross. In that moment along with an innocent carpenter from Nazareth all of humanity hung in the balance. But, before His last gasp the divine Director of life, clothed in humanity and nailed to a cross, asked the same question we all ask in the most difficult of circumstances, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mt. 27:46 NIV). He did not have a perception problem. He knew what was and is and is to come, but He asked it anyway. Though there are certainly a myriad of theological explanations as to why the Son, who knew the plan, asked the Father this question, I believe it was to show us that the question is not out of bounds. We hear it from Jesus and it resonates in our souls. He knew it then and we understand it now, though it was horrific this was the only way we could be redeemed. Our sin required a permanent atoning sacrifice of an unblemished lamb and only Jesus had the credentials. His death was tragic, but is was also triumphant. Though His lungs no longer inflated and His heart no longer beat. Though He died. Now, He lives. Dead men don’t walk and they don’t talk. Jesus did both. Three days after His shocking and gruesome sacrifice, Jesus stepped out of the grave. The murder of God on the cross of Calvary turned out to be the hinge of all history, the glorious redemption offered to all of mankind was born in His resurrection. Even in the deepest dark, God works for good.

There is more to Romans 8:28 than God's promise to work for good. The passage goes on to tell us for whom God’s good work is designed – “those who love him” – and for what aim – “who have been called according to his purpose.” Joseph. Paul. Jesus. Me. You?

The good news is that God is at work in all we are and all we do. Yet, that is not all. His work is for His objective. Surely, Joseph would have liked to be Pharaoh’s number one advisor without the trials that brought him there, but without those trials Joseph would not have been the man he was when his brothers found him. Paul and Silas, too. Missionary work is hard work and, despite Paul’s writings regarding the joys of suffering for the Gospel message, there is little doubt that he, like the rest of us, would have gladly preached without ever-present danger lurking around every corner. Even Jesus prayed in Gethsemane, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” (Lk. 22:42 NIV).

But, if you are His. If you have placed your trust in the Suffering Savior who left the palatial glory of Heaven to endure the hardship of this Earth and the scorn of His creation you can rest assured that whether life is good or bad – in the noise and in the silence – He is looking out for you. As the Psalmist tells us, “the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.” (Ps 121:8 NIV). The same Creator that hung each star in the heavens, who formed each water molecule in the oceans is the same Weaver who stooped down from Heaven and created your inmost being, who knit you together in your mother's womb. (Ps. 139:13 NIV paraphrase mine). There it is, the God who created all things large and small, is the same God who takes interest in each of us. He did not set the Earth in motion only to sit back and watch us spin out of control. He is not asleep at the wheel. (Ps. 121:4 NIV). He is at work. He is backstage directing.

So, what’s your problem, is it perception?

'Till We Go Home

There is a house I often pass when I run. It is a non-descript, one story brick home. It blends in with the other houses on the street in the quaint and quiet manner befitting middle-American suburbia. The hedges are trimmed, not ornately, but neatly. The roof needs mending, but is far from disrepair. The driveway's cracks hint at gradual, but graceful, aging. Beyond those details, however, I can describe little else. I can’t tell you the color of either the shutters or the trim. I don't know the house number and I can't recall if it has a garage. Is the drive asphalt or concrete – I don’t know. It is so plain – so gleefully ordinary – that, except for one distinct feature, I would not have given it a second glance.

Out in front, pulled by an unseen wind, waves a worn and formerly yellow flag with lettering that only hints at ever being red. Its satiny cloth flaps ever-so-slightly in the autumn breeze. While I watch, it falls without a puff of air to bolster it and slowly, hesitantly, rises again with a weary sigh of a hard day’s work as the light wind resumes. With each movement carrying with it the appearance of a Herculean effort, the banner shrugs its shoulders and quietly billows on. But, even with its hushed voice, this flag shouts a message to all who care to listen.

And, with my eyes, I listen.

I see the flag and hear the groans of the slowly growing heartache of the family inside the four walls. Immediately, I understand that this is no ordinary family. This is a family with firsthand knowledge of longsuffering. These people are acquainted with waiting, accustomed to wanting, anxious and worried. But, while they suffer in silence, with only the muted yellow banner to serve as the family spokesman, all who pass this way behold the lingering sting of loneliness. Like a routine loser, their poker face is substandard. The flag tips their hand. The slowly droning “pop…pop…pop” of the tattered edges gently whisper that the wait has been long. Their pain and pride are manifest.

Pain from the empty seat at the dinner table. Pride for the sacrifice.

Pain from the backbreaking burden of concern. Pride for the service.

I don't know them, but I know about them. They are a military family and, as their loved one wages a distant war, each member of this household engages in an inner-war of personal disquiet. Each one can attest to sleepless nights and restless days. Is it a son or daughter, cousin or nephew, father or wife who is absent with leave? I don't know. Are they missing an Airman, Sailor, Soldier, or Marine? No idea. All I know is that their longing is abundant as long as their family member is in short supply. The flag tells me as much.

It's message is simple, " 'Till they come home."

But, as I look upon this monument to a warrior, I can’t help but think of another partially empty house missing a host of combatants and bearing a similar banner. This house, though, is unlike the simple ranch in nearly every way. This house is anything but nondescript. It has more rooms that a downtown high-rise. The bushes appear to have been trimmed by DaVinci. The roof is in fine shape, but most people don’t even notice it as they are too busy gaping at the gilded gateway to look up and notice the roof. The sheer perfection of it is nothing less that glorious. It is majestic. It is simply supernatural.

But, the exterior is only the start, do you know who lives in this place? That information will tell you all you need to know. This is the Heavenly house of a doting Daddy – Abba's abode. The mansion of the Maker and manor of the Messiah. This, this is the “crib” of all “cribs” for the King of all kings. This is better than Graceland it is the Grace-land.

But, even as I picture the splendor of this dwelling and the majesty of its occupants, I find my mind's eye wandering to that one thing this magnificent palace in this magnificent place must have in common with that humble ranch on that humble street. The flag. Like the family in that one-story residence, the Father, Son, and Spirit have empty seats at their dinner table. Though many of those previously unoccupied have been filled by saints who have completed their tour of duty to the adulation of a glorious reception. Still, many remain vacant. Each vacancy represents a war weary participant entrenched in the daily conflict we call life. Still, we can be comforted as we pause each day to “put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, [we] may be able to stand [our] ground.” (Ephesians 6:13 NIV). “For [the Christian’s] struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” (Ephesians 6:12 NIV).

But the hardship of a hard-fought battle is not always dramatic explosions and chaos. Certainly there are believers on the front lines of persecution and violence. However, many of us skirmish in monotony. We mêlée in the mundane. As we “do” life, it is often difficult for us to imagine our impact in the battle for the souls of men. We yearn for something bigger, something with meaning. We long for significance, for a life lived past the edges, for time spent coloring outside the lines. We want to be men and women consumed by a holy fire. Instead, as we wait, we wonder why the war goes on while we toil in mediocrity?

As Mordecai said to Esther, “who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14b NIV). And there it is; we are neither forgotten nor are we mere cogs in the mechanism of an uncountable army of the King. Dispensable and disposable. Rather, we, as believers in the redemptive grace of Jesus Christ, have been so redeemed. We are new and so are our assignments. Whether our participation is in the fray or the fringe, we are assigned a only one of a kind task. Each soldier is also an envoy with a unique pilgrimage, designed to carry a distinctive message of deliverance to those appointed by the Maker of Time and Space to occupy our company in given time and space. And that is our duty, our role. That is our privilege.

For our Father in his Heavenly home, despite our mission on His behalf, each absentee brings Him equal pain as He longs for our company in His presence. Like the picture provided by Jesus of the father waiting for his prodigal son to return from the far country, our Creator longs to see us crest the hill of Heaven. He misses walking and talking with each of us and, because of that, there is a banner waiving in Heaven, an indication of His yearning to be reunited with each us.

Though there is no decay in Heaven and moth and rust do not destroy, I would not be surprised if the celestial flag bore the same appearance of age as the other. (Matthew 6:19-20 NIV). Somehow it would not seem out of place if it were to heave under the burden of waiting and bear the tell-tale signs of longing. If the red letters had the tinge of a washed out pink, I would not question the truth of the perfection of Heaven. In fact, if our Father runs to His reckless and irresponsible children when they understand His grace, how much more will he welcome us as we wander home weary from a life of warring with our flesh and with the Enemy.

We can rest assured in the promise of our Lord, Jesus, who said with all authority, “In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.” (John 14:2-4 NIV). And, I imagine that the first thing He did in His divine preparation was raise a flag to remember his warriors on the front lines, in the trenches, and even adrift in the seemingly commonplace.

Let us continue to bedevil the Devil with our steadfastness and rest on the promise of Jesus. Let us, like soldiers in a distant land or ambassadors to a far country, dream of the day when we can enter our Father’s house and watch as He lowers the flag and say as Jesus said to the church at Ephesus, “[y]ou have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary.” (Revelation 2:3).

Just Jesus

You’ve heard it before, maybe you asked it. You might have even had it asked of you, “if you were walking down an isolated and dark street late at night in the sketchiest part of town and suddenly saw a cluster of men coming toward you, would you rather they be carrying beer bottles or Bibles”? The question usually comes as a well-meaning response to an accusation that Christians are no better than non-Christians.

It is a curious query, both subtle as a summer breeze off the ocean and obvious as a chimpanzee in a powder blue tuxedo. Obvious in its intent to press the respondent into admitting that Bible-studiers are generally better that the Biblically illiterate; subtle due to the tacit implication that outward appearances of devoutness equal inner holiness – that merely looking and acting the part is all that is necessary to enter through the narrow gate.

But, take hold – with both hands – of the question while standing in the shoes of the questioned. Sneakers worn thin in the toes, with long absent tread from nights spent running with the Devil. Wingtips scarred and scuffed on the remnants of ruined relationships in an attempt to climb the staircase of success. Stilettos more closely acquainted with a stage and pole than any board room or business suit. For the wearers of these shoes, the unwitting lost, the question belies the heart of the questioner, and, in a broader fashion, their perception of all who would call themselves followers of Christ. It is the inquiry of the self-righteous, of the perfect and pious. The message, not-so-subtly communicated, is one of immediacy, “your physical person will benefit from contact with holy rollers, but not rock-n-rollers.” What goes unsaid – but shouted in the swift undercurrents of the question – is that the answerer’s eternal soul is not the issue.

But, shouldn’t it be? Should not the issue be reframed so as to pinpoint the interminable rather than the terminable, only without the sprinkled accusation of impiety?

If immediate physical well being is the central concern, midnight Bible thumpers always prevail. However, if flesh and blood are ignored, and the focus shifted to soul and spirit, the inquiry becomes far more difficult to answer – at least for those outside our stained glass curtains come Sunday morning. If we are painfully honest, we would have to admit that, for those not in our “Jesus-club,” Christians are a scary bunch. Maybe we are not outwardly hypocritical or overtly judgmental, maybe we attempt understanding and reach for accepting, but, from the perspective of those in need of new shoes and new souls our compassion is often fleeting but more often absent. To them, our demeanor oozes it. Our attitude exudes it. Our actions exalt it. We are sanctimonious, we are first-class, we are Grade-A.

This is the World’s view of the Christian. While we may rightly protest the perception as based on generalities, until we embrace the truth that, either because our Enemy has planted his poisoned seed or because some among us act out these stereotypes daily, Christians appear far too self-assured. And that self-assuredness is the heart of the problem. We ought not be self-assured, but Christ-assured. We are to derive our deliverance from depravity in light of the death of the Divine. We are to be humble enough to present, not our rules of religiosity, but Jesus.

Only Jesus.

Just Jesus.

Don’t agree? Check out the Savior as he walks from Jerusalem to Galilee. It’s what Jesus did when he found one whose soul was in need of healing but had been scorned so often that she avoided both hellions and healers. She stalked to Jacob’s Well alone in the oppressive mid-day sun. Was it possible that she had heard a similar inquiry those thousands of years ago, only, instead of barroom brawlers and Sunday school teachers, the central characters were Levites and Samaritans? And the probing pained her even that much more because she, well, she was Samaritan. Maybe that’s why, when Jesus set out to ask a for a sip from this woman who had so often missed the mark that she had, long ago, stopped aiming, he, and he alone, came to her. No disciples. No crowd to overhear the conversation. No one.

Only Jesus.

Just Jesus.

See the scene, drink it in (John 4:1-38 NIV). The sun is high in the sky. It is hot. It is not a time for outdoor activities – work or play – if they can be avoided. Jesus, perched atop the precipice of this ancient well, is resting his feet. He is alone, his companions have gone into the city to gather provisions. A lonely, lowly, Samaritan woman heads up the sandy street to Jacob’s Well. All she wants is to draw her water and return home – remain invisible. Unseen. Unnoticed. Under the radar. In her path she sees this man and, as she draws closer, her heart drops, but not because this is a dark and secluded street. Rather, because he is a traveler, and obviously a Hebrew. Despite the fact that, in this culture it is unlikely he will even utter a word to her, she can only wonder what his expressions will have to say, what judgment lies in his glance. Or worse, will he simply pretend not to notice her, giving her a position on the social ladder just below a gnat? Her sprit sinks, it drops to depths low enough to give the well a run for its money, because she contemplates a critic. In this era of segregation, she sees a Jewish judge. Little does she know she has just caught a glimpse of her heavenly Healer.

What she doesn’t realize, is that the designer of the universe, crafted this moment. He designated this one-on-one. She needed a face-to-face encounter with Christ; he knew it. And so, he made it happen. At the moment her Maker made her, he penned this meeting on his calendar. He who had imagined her into existence before human existence existed had heard her heart cry out in the pain of loneliness.

Yet, he appreciated her apprehension. So, he set up this meeting in a manner that would allow her to muster the requisite courage to confront him. Jesus knew that she would be able approach Him because He was alone.

And she did.

And He asked her for Jacob’s water.

And she drank Jesus’ living water.

But, note what Jesus omitted from his invitation. He told her of her sins. He noted her failings. He told her all that she had ever done. (John 4:29 NIV). But, the Creator of water offered her his wellspring before he required repentance. Jesus did not call out to her as she crept slowly up the path, “woman, come no further until you repent and agree never to sin again.” Make no mistake, to truly follow him, we must throw down our pride, admit our failings, make a one-hundred-eighty degree turnabout and sprint away from our sin. To follow Jesus, we “must deny [ourselves] and take up [our] cross daily.” (Luke 9:23 NIV). Nevertheless, Jesus’ routine was to offer acceptance and forgiveness before he required change. (John 8: 1-11 NIV).

He, as the author of salvation, as the one who bought our ransom understood what we don’t. Jesus knew and knows that the only escape from our corruption is a deep and abiding relationship with him. (John 14:6 NIV). Salvation is immediate but redemption is ongoing; but both are active and passive. We are told to “continue to work out [our] salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in [us] to will and act according to his good purpose.” (Philippians 2:12-13 NIV). And for us to require the wayward to completely change their lifestyle before offering living water is, at best, hypocritical and, at worst, counter to our Savior’s model and purpose. It positions stumbling blocks where none need lie.

Instead of piously bludgeoning with Bibles and slinging scripture, railing for righteousness, we ought to be removing religious requirements and offering up a pure Savior. We must lead the thirsty to quench their thirst from the water flowing from the fountain of Living Water; the cool cascade that imbues those who drink with the Holy Spirit of God. Then, the Spirit can and will “work in [all who would accept him] to will and act according to his good purpose.”

We need not present anything more than Jesus and need not require less than complete surrender to His lordship – in that order. And that is where the metamorphosis occurs, in the acceptance of Savior Jesus the Sacrifice and relinquishment to King Jesus the Redeemer. We must be willing to trust that if we present the unadulterated Christ, all who come to him will be changed in the process of his everlasting grace. We are obligated to present the wanderers with a perfecter who is in the business of perfecting the imperfect, not a critic who condemns the cracked and broken. Then, and only then, we encourage, we teach, and we guide - but all with the aim of glorifying God. We do this while allowing him to do the work for which he came – to heal. (Mathew 9:12 NIV). We must present Jesus.

Only Jesus.

Just Jesus.

A Connected Heart

As I was driving with my three year-old daughter a few days ago we were listening to Chris Tomlin’s song “Let Your Mercy Rain.” If you are unfamiliar with the lyric, the first verse is:

God, You have done great things
God, You give grace to the weak
And bless the brokenhearted
With a song of praise to sing
You reached down and lifted us up
You came running, looking for us
And now there's nothing
And no one beyond Your love

Being the inquisitive toddler she is, she asked, “Daddy, what is brokenhearted”? And, like the dutiful Father that I am, I gave her the answer I thought her young mind could understand. “Brokenhearted means sad. The song is saying that God will help brokenhearted people become happy again. He fills them with joy.” That was the end of it, and as we drove along both belting out the newly understood song in a harmony of tone deafness only pleasing to God and ourselves, she didn’t ask anymore questions about it. Good job dad. Another question in life laid to rest and a lesson about the sovereignty of God to boot. You rock!

Wait a second. Not so fast, Mr. Answerman. She was about to – in the way only a child can – teach me a lesson about God that was both sublime and simple.

About thirty minutes had passed since the initial query, we were back in the car on the return trip home from finishing our errand. I had not thought about her earlier question, which was probably good as I might have bruised myself if I had patted my own back any more. Then it happened. In the most matter-of-fact manner and tone I heard from the backseat, “Daddy, a connected heart is when it’s not broken.” Bam! There it was. In less than ten words, she had summed up all sixty-six books of the Bible; thousands of years of theology in a thousandth of a second. It was Bible for Dummies authored by a pint-sized apologist.

A connected heart is when it’s not broken.

Now, with that sort of insight, I don’t know whether she'll be an evangelist or an English teacher, but she knew what I hadn’t thought to tell her. The uncomplicated fact that a heart connected to its Creator, to the Almighty God, is a heart filled with joy - joy unspeakable as we sing in Sunday school. But, lest we forget in our trite (and often tired) repetition of certain age old truths, Jesus, himself, said the same thing when He said, "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:5 NIV). And we later learn that the fruit of the spirit, among other things is joy. (Galatians 5:22 NIV). So, put the two together and you have "a connected heart is when it’s not broken."

I am not sure if the 2 ½ foot tall herald of Heaven in my Honda Accord was trying to tell me this, but the Savior of all mankind said as clearly as he could, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33 NIV). There it is, the plain truth that if we are humble enough to place our trust in the One who was able to walk, of His own volition, from a tomb. Despite our daily difficulties, in the face of our fearsome foes, we who hold court with the King, by the grace of His Son, can rest assured that “our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” (2 Corinthians 4:17 NIV ). And, lest we fail to understand the weight of this statement, we would be wise to remember that the apostle who penned these words had been imprisoned, run out of town, rejected by his fellow believers, shipwrecked, snake bitten, and beaten and left for dead - these were his "light and momentary troubles." Ah, but he was connected to the Lord of Everlasting Life and in his connectedness, he was able to understand the truth that this sort of supernatural connectedness does not merely repair our brokenness it erases it. This connectedness to the giver of life is regeneration; it is being made new. Not fixed, but fresh.

Whether your bills are piled high or your doctor has delivered the grimmest of prognoses, for you who are connected to the giver of life everlasting, there need not be a spirit of fear. Rather than wring your hands in worry or mourn the loss of a temporary treasure, by connecting your broken heart to the Spirit of the Joy you are free to rejoice. No matter what the burden, you may rejoice. No matter how absurd it may seem, rejoice. Be connected to the vine, bear the fruit and rejoice!

Love is....

Anyone who has been to a wedding purporting to be even remotely christian (little "c" intentional) has probably heard a reading from I Corinthians chapter 13. It's been so often repeated that the passage has stepped out side of the bounds of Christendom and into the realm of American pop culture to the extent that it has been quoted on television sitcoms in a not altogether positive light. And, while some could or would argue that "any publicity is good publicity," the fact remains that one of the Enemy's favorite traps is not to turn good into evil or even evil into good. Rather the Deceiver, in his cleverness, is far more eager to turn holy into commonplace. And so it has become with this scripture:

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." (1 Corinthians 13:4-7 NIV)

If we step outside of presupposed - and somewhat unfairly deemed - commonality of the passage and really digest the words in the way one might examine the Mona Lisa upon visiting it in the Louvre, we would discover the true beauty of the passage. The very construction – inspired by the ultimate imagination of the Lover of your soul - breathes life into the word by infusing personality and inculcating action. The word, as your high school English teacher would tell you is a noun – a thing, an emotion – it can not act. It can not do. But to the believer, to the heart weary and wounded it is as an embrace by his heavenly Father like a child with a scraped knee is brought into the bosom of a doting father after a spill from her bicycle.

The world often gets it wrong, assuming that Love can me "made" or that Love can be "done." On other occasions some may even graze the true meaning of the word by showing hints of love through actions or deeds. Those who don't know the Savior may show Love by being patient. Or by an act of kindness. But for the true believer, Love is these things. One who follows Jesus becomes these things through the spirit that dwells within him. The Spirit of God does not do patience; He is patience.

The result is that the believer - living a life empowered by the Spirit of the Holy One - does not merely show Love for others by a casual act of celebration in the face of a genuinely righteous act, rejoicing in the truth. The Believer is the celebration. She is the outcast who must shout to he neighbors the joyous news that the Lover of the world has just told her everything that she has ever done. (John 4:39 NIV) He is the tax collector that can do nothing other that throw down with a ho-down when gripped by the spirit of Love. For the person in the clutches of the sort of Love that this passage describes, there is no choice to act there is only action.

But, make no mistake that these are not the mere responses of mindless automatons. Yes, the believer is the servant of the Most High God, but, unlike one who has been drafted into servitude, the Christian is a free-willed follower of his Master. An apprentice to the artisan craftsman. A student of only one holding His Ph.D. in Creation. The voluntary follower of Christ is an eager participant in the work of his Savior. That work requires more than mere action it will require the very life of the servant. Love is the core of the Christian. With the Spirit of God as the fuel that powers it, Love is the engine that drives the Believer to have a heart resembling the God who sought reconciliation rather that revenge.

Love is Patient. Love is kind. Love is the evidence of a life infused with the essence of the Author of Salvation. Love is the believer.