God’s Laundry

Doing laundry is therapeutic. I know, some of you might think I’m crazy. But for me, there’s just something about the ritual of taking a dirty, messy pile and transforming it into a clean, neat stack. There’s something deeply satisfying about bringing order to chaos.

While I was folding laundry the other day and contemplating the satisfaction that it brings, I started thinking about spiritual laundry. No, I’m not talking about literal clothes; our spirits don’t need clothed in the way that our bodies do. But like He so often does, God uses clothing and even laundry as an analogy in Scripture to help us understand a profound truth about salvation. So let’s step into God’s laundry room and see what we can learn.

When the Lord met with the Israelites at Mount Sinai prior to Moses’ trip up the mountain, He instructed them to prepare themselves for the meeting. Because God was so holy and the people weren’t, they needed to take precautions lest they be killed. One of God’s gracious instructions was for the people to wash their clothes (Exodus 19:10). Like so many things in the Old Testament, we see here a physical picture of a spiritual reality—we as humans who have been born affected by the Fall are unclean, but in order to survive in God’s presence, we need to be clean. Therein lies our problem.

The Israelites could obey God’s command to physically clean themselves before approaching His presence at the mountain, but what they couldn’t do on their own was clean their spiritual garments so that their souls could abide in His presence for eternity. And just in case we weren’t clear that our spiritual selves are dirty, God uses Isaiah to explicitly state our predicament:

We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment. (Isaiah 64:6, ESV)

In other words, the best we have to offer God is still just a dirty, soiled pile of bloody clothes (the Hebrew word literally means menstrual rags—a disgusting description, I know, but effective). He’s that holy.  So what are we to do?

There’s nothing we can do. That’s the point. Our best, most perfect efforts will still be stained by our sinful nature and are unworthy to be presented to God. But the good news—the BEST news really—is that despite the fact that we can’t do anything about our problem, God has already done something about it! God is the One (the only One) with a 100% effective, eternally-long-lasting stain remover. And that stain remover is the perfect, flawless, completely holy and righteous life that Jesus earned and lived and the sacrificial, undeserved death that He died, whereby He took our filthy clothes on Himself and can give us His sparkling white robes instead.

One of my favorite passages in the Bible paints a picture of this reality. Written while the Israelites were in captivity for their rebellion against God, God’s words through the prophet Zechariah illustrate the transaction that takes place at salvation:

Now Joshua [the high priest] was standing before the angel, clothed with filthy garments. And the angel said to those who were standing before him, “Remove the filthy garments from him.” And to him he said, “Behold, I have taken your iniquity away from you, and I will clothe you with pure vestments.” And I said, “Let them put a clean turban on his head.” So they put a clean turban on his head and clothed him with garments. And the angel of the LORD was standing by. (Zechariah 3:3-5, ESV)

Technically speaking, I suppose it would be more accurate to say that instead of cleaning our clothes, God gives us brand new ones—clothes that were earned by Jesus Himself. And all we have to do is agree to accept them, leaving our filthy laundry behind and stepping into the pure, clean garments Jesus offers us. Even still, God’s transformative cleaning power is unmatched, and for this He is worthy of praise, as Isaiah acknowledged when he declared:

I will greatly rejoice in the LORD; my soul shall exult in my God, for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation; he has covered me with the robe of righteousness as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress, and as a bride adorns herself with jewels. (Isaiah 61:10, ESV)

So the next time you’re doing laundry, take a moment to remember your helpless dirtiness apart from Jesus. If you haven’t acknowledged your filth before God yet, I pray you turn to Him and let Him clean you and clothe you in the righteous deeds of Christ. If you’ve already put on those sparkling new clothes, don’t let a day go by that you don’t rejoice in His goodness and grace and praise Him for His supernatural cleaning power that makes it possible for you to live today and always in the company of His matchless beauty.  

PC: Pam Galagan. Used with permission.

Contentment in Abundance

After a long, unplanned hiatus from writing, I’m finally back at it, excited to share something that the Lord has been teaching me recently in His Word. So without further ado, let’s dive right in.

Aside from John 3:16, I would guess one of the most oft-quoted verses from the New Testament is Philippians 4:13—“I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” This is probably also the most misapplied verse, as it is slapped on circumstances that have absolutely nothing to do with the context in which these words were written. So what is their context? Let’s back out a bit and look at the verses preceding this one. Paul, writing to the church at Philippi, says:

I rejoiced in the Lord greatly that now at length you have revived your concern for me. You were indeed concerned for me, but you had no opportunity. Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me. (Philip. 4:10-13, ESV)

Reading this passage in full, it becomes clear that in verse 13 Paul is referring to the ability to be content in any and every circumstance. In other words, whatever he faces, he can meet it through dependence on the strength of Jesus. I don’t know about you, but whenever I have read these verses, my mind has emphasized the negative circumstances mentioned and the ability we have in Christ to be content “even” in the hard times. Paul says, “I know how to be brought low”; “I have learned the secret of facing […] hunger […] and need.” But that’s not all he says. He also writes, “I know how to abound”; “I have learned the secret of facing plenty [...], abundance.” When I recently read this passage for the umpteenth time, these positive phrases jumped out at me like a jack-in-the-box.

Circumstances in my life had brought unexpected happiness, and I realized that I needed to relearn how to rejoice in abundance. The previous seven or so years of my life had been spent in the classroom of God’s sufficiency where He taught me how to be content in circumstances that were anything but what I had expected my life to be. Through that lengthy season, I learned to be unswervingly convinced of His goodness, fully assured of His faithfulness, trustingly content in His sovereignty in all things. I learned how to believe and to proclaim that God is good, no matter what. I learned to have joy even when I wasn’t happy. Grief, pain, longing, dissatisfaction, confusion, and questioning were some of the tools that God used to drive me to His Word and demonstrate His heart. And now, I can say with Paul, “I know how to be brought low.”

But then, as if leaving one room and entering another, I was ushered into a new season that came with a new classroom. It was as if God was whispering to my heart, “I have taught you how to be sure of my goodness in pain, now can you be sure of my goodness in pleasure? Can you receive gifts that are easy and not just those that are hard? Can you delight in my kindness as it is expressed in abundance just as you can when it is evidenced in drought?” Instead of pessimistically expecting that these new “good things” were bound not to last, I needed to remember that sometimes God delights in blessing His children with happy circumstances and that there is just as much to learn about Him in happy times as in sad.

Now, to be clear, it’s not as if the seven-year season was completely devoid of happiness; to the contrary, many happy times were had. Nor is it true that my current season is completely smooth-sailing either. Life is always a mixed bag. But I can tell even now that in the future I will look back on 2019 as the year when my spiritual journey began a new chapter, when a chapter whose theme was learning to trust in the unknowns of the desert gave way to a chapter whose theme is learning to trust by the unknowns of the quiet waters. And suddenly it makes sense why Paul needed to learn to be content in abundance and why we need the strength of the Lord in every circumstance—even the happy ones.

I’m a new student in this classroom, and I’m looking forward to what the Teacher has in store. I know that He is the same God that was with me in the last chapter and that He never changes. I know that His timing is perfect (Ecclesiastes 3:11), His ways and thoughts are higher than mine (Isaiah 55:9), and His purposes will prevail (Psalm 138:8). I know that His love is steadfast (Psalm 33:5), His grace is relentless (John 1:16), and His mercy is sure (Luke 1:50). And I look forward to the day when I can look back on this present chapter and say with Paul, “I have learned the secret of facing plenty,” and “I know how to abound.”

Whatever lesson is yours to learn in your current season, I pray that you will fall on the firm foundation of God’s kind sovereignty. Whether you need to learn how to be brought low or how to abound, I pray that you will be a willing student and that you will rest in God’s grace as you struggle to die to your flesh and live for Jesus every day. As you learn, you can be assured that your Teacher is a patient and gentle one who desires the best for you, which is to become more like Christ. In happiness and sadness, there is always much to learn, but whatever you face, He will see you through. 

PC: Pamela Hollis. Used with permission.

God of Peace and God of Power

Benedictions and doxologies are some of my favorite portions of Scripture. Often coming at turning points in epistles or at the end of them, these passages are usually transcendent in tone, leading us to lift our eyes to gaze upon the greatness of our God. Lately, I’ve been meditating on the benediction in Hebrews, found in Hebrew 13:20-21. At first glance, it seems like merely a long, drawn-out sentence, but a closer look shows that each phrase is packed with powerful truth. Here’s the passage in full:

“Now may the God of peace who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the eternal covenant, equip you with everything good  that you may do his will, working in us that which is pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen” (ESV).

Sometimes in the New Testament, it’s easy to get lost in the lengthy sentences and lose track of the main point, i.e. the subject and verb, so finding those is always a good place to start. If we strip away all of the phrases and clauses in Hebrews 13:20-21, we’re left with “may God equip.” In other words, the first thing to notice about these verses is that the subject of the sentence is God. This is most fitting, because God is the subject of the whole Bible and of the whole of reality. As we’re reading Scripture, it’s always good to remind ourselves of that truth. It’s not about us; it’s about Him. That’s why when we read, we primarily should be looking for what the Bible tells us about God. So what do these two verses tell us about Him?

First of all, we see that God is “the God of peace.” Definitions of peace include concepts such as calm, security, tranquility, harmony, and freedom from war or disturbance.[1] As the God of peace, He is One who can provide all of those things, who can give us that settled-ness of soul even when the world around us is anything but peaceful. But He’s not just a God of peace; He’s also a God of power. He’s the God “who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus.” That’s about as powerful as it gets. And it’s this power that is being directed toward us in regenerating our souls and in equipping us to live the resulting transformed life.

Next, the spotlight shifts from the first person of the Trinity (God the Father) to the second (God the Son) as Jesus is described as “the great shepherd of the sheep.” The combination of the description of God as "the God of peace" and the reference to Jesus as the “great shepherd” should call our attention back to Psalm 23, where God is our Shepherd who leads us beside quiet waters and restores our souls. Also, it’s significant that Jesus is the one being called shepherd in this passage. In Psalm 23, God the Father is the shepherd, so here the writer of Hebrews is saying that Jesus is God, affirming what He said about Himself in John 10.

For the next phrase, it’s hard to know without digging into the original Greek whether it is referring to how Jesus is the great shepherd or to how God equips us, but either way, “by the blood of the eternal covenant,” reminds us that what took place at Calvary was a once-and-for-all sacrifice with eternal efficacy. The agreement between God and His children is not a contract; it’s a covenant that is secure and eternal, because it is initiated by the eternal God and is sealed by His own blood.  That’s why in the same conversation where Jesus says He is the good shepherd, he is also able to say that “no one is able to snatch [us] out of the Father’s hand” (John 10:29b). God is the one who has secured us, and He is “greater than all” (John 10:29a). So again we see a tie between God’s power and the peace and security that He gives.

After all of that, we finally reach the verb—equip. Take all that we just mentioned and bring it to bear on the idea that we are equipped by God. He doesn’t just save us and then leave us to figure things out on our own. He doesn’t call us to live holy lives and then hang us out to dry with no ability to do so. And it is precisely because of His power and His shepherd heart that He is both able and willing to give us what we need to live for Him.

But wait—there’s more! The sentence doesn’t stop with the verb. What exactly are we being equipped with?—“with everything good.” Not just with some things good, but with everything good. Again, we are called back to the Psalms—“The young lions suffer want and hunger; but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing” and “For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor. No good thing does he withhold from those who walk uprightly” (Ps. 34:10, 84:11, ESV, emphasis added). But we don’t just receive “everything good” from God for the purpose of having good things. No, if we keep reading, we see why we are being equipped with everything good—“that you may do his will.” Remember, it’s not about us; it’s about Him. The goodness we receive from God is intended to help us glorify Him by doing His will.

The writer of Hebrews still isn’t done, though. He continues with a phrase that ties us back to the subject and verb. God’s equipping us means He is “working in us that which is pleasing in His sight.” He sets the bar and then does the work to get us there. Of course, this does not mean that we have no responsibility or no volition in living lives that are pleasing to Him. Taking the entirety of Scripture into account, we see that we are agents in the process as well. But the power with which we operate ultimately doesn’t come from us. It comes from Him. Our salvation and our sanctification are made possible by God, and there is peace in knowing that the One who knows what is pleasing to Himself is the One who works in us to achieve that.

How does He do it? That’s where the next prepositional phrase comes in. He does it “through Jesus Christ.” Jesus, the Savior, the Messiah, the Anointed One, is the means by which God works in our lives, empowering us to live for Him after we are saved. This is grace upon grace upon grace, because it is when we live for Him, fulfilling the purpose for which we were created, that we are able to be most fulfilled, most content, most satisfied. As our Creator, God intimately knows our weaknesses, and He endured the world’s greatest pain so that we might have the power to be at peace.

That is why we cannot help but give praise to Jesus, “to whom be glory forever and ever,” and exclaim with the writer, “Amen.”

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[1] https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/peace

Dancing with Delight, Part 2: Ballroom as Classroom

In the last post, we explored what the Bible has to say about dancing and established that all dancing is not made alike. Now, we’re going to dive into two particular kinds of dancing and the ways in which they provide excellent opportunity for learning life lessons while on the dance floor.

The first kind, which I mentioned last time as the style that my friends and I gathered together for in middle and high school, is historical dancing, primarily from the nineteenth century. If you’re familiar with contra dancing/English country dancing or have seen Jane Austen movies or ball scenes from old westerns, then you’ve got the basic idea. This type of dancing primarily involves group dances in which partners interact not only with each other but also with the other couples in their set. Some early ballroom dances, such as the waltz and the polka, were thrown in as well. The second style is swing dancing, a high-energy, dizzying, exhilarating dance done by individual couples. So when the ballroom becomes classroom, what lessons can be learned or benefits gained?

Perhaps most obviously, these types of dancing are fantastic exercise. When I stopped swing dancing once a week, I could tell that I wasn’t in as good a shape as I was when I was dancing regularly. We were created with bodies that benefit from movement, and there is a distinct pleasure that comes from exerting ourselves physically in a purposeful way. I am reminded of Olympian Eric Liddell’s statement about feeling the pleasure of God when he ran; I feel a similar way when dancing. Movement and music are both gifts from God, and when the two are combined, we are able to delight in God’s good gifts in a particularly special way and in turn to praise our Creator. Music connects deeply with us, and when we move in time to the music, matching the expressiveness of its dynamics and the precision of its rhythm, we are physically experiencing a reflection of elements of God’s character, His expressiveness, His steadiness, His creativity, and His orderliness.

Another lesson that comes particularly from these two styles of dancing is the importance of the leading/following relationship. Part of the package of our historical dance events was abiding by (most of) the rules of etiquette from the time period, including the fact that the men do the asking before the dance and the leading during the dance. As such, our dancing was an excellent reflection of the pattern for marriage that God sets forth in Scripture, where the husband leads the wife as he follows Christ. In dancing, the man leads the woman as he follows the music and the prescribed steps or figures of the dance.

In ballroom and particularly in swing dancing, it can be disastrous when both partners try to lead or when the woman tries to do her own thing instead of following the leadership of her partner. When dancing the waltz or the polka, I often found myself partnered with guys who weren’t as experienced as I was or who weren’t totally in tune to the rhythm of the music. In these cases, it was often difficult to submit to my partner’s leading, but if I didn’t, even though I had the good intentions of trying to keep us in time to the music, we would be going nowhere all while tripping over each other in the process. Needless to say, this was not beneficial for either of us, and the enjoyment of the dance dropped significantly.

In a similar vein, dancing is a master class in trust. As someone who is so in tune to the beat of music and was used to dancing a style that involved moving strictly on the beat, I found swing dancing to be a whole new—challenging— ballgame. Remember what I just said about trying to keep in time with the music instead of following my partner? That was a surefire way to make learning swing incredibly difficult. The way you keep in time to swing music is completely different than in the nineteenth-century dances I had been used to, and I quickly had to learn to stop focusing on trying to be on the right beat and instead to feel where my partner was taking me. And this required an extreme amount of trust in my partners—especially when they were twirling and spinning me all over the place.

When I first started learning swing, I had a difficult time and didn’t think it was for me. What I didn’t realize until later is that I was partnered with someone whom I was having a difficult time trusting in general, i.e. off of the dance floor, and it wasn’t until I danced with other partners who were trusted friends that I was able to relax, let go, follow their lead, and in turn fall in love with swing. In other words, trust is important! Knowing who is trustworthy and who isn’t can make all the difference on the dance floor, and this lesson teaches us how vital it is to partner with those we can trust in life as well, whether in a romantic relationship, in friendship, or in business.

The next lesson is for the guys. Going back to the concept of following period rules of etiquette, gentlemen do the asking, and ladies always say yes (unless they are physically ill, already spoken for, or do not know the dance, the latter of which, as I always told people, didn’t fly in our group, because we taught the dances as we went). Now don’t worry, I’m not going to say that this mirrors how we should live our lives; women should not say yes to everything a man asks them to do. (And in case you were wondering, there was a way for a woman to legitimately avoid being asked if she didn’t want to be.)

But what following this rule did do, in our twenty-first century ballroom, was give our guys a safe practice ground for taking initiative. They could ask a girl to dance with full confidence that she would say yes. In a society that has increasingly stripped young men of their confidence when it comes to interacting with young women, our historical-etiquette-driven ballroom helped them cultivate a healthy self-esteem and gave them the opportunity to practice beginning what otherwise might be a very awkward conversation with a girl with style and grace.

Related to this, both girls and guys had the opportunity to learn how to interact with each other with mutual respect and all-around good manners. Beginning and ending each dance with a call to “honor your partner” (i.e. bow/curtsey) helped generate a mindfulness of demonstrating esteem for one another. The practice of gentlemen escorting their partners to and from the dance floor cultivated an attitude of care. The convention of the lady’s hand always being on top when hands are held communicated the importance of the man both supporting and honoring her.

Each of these lessons is one that the ballroom is perfectly suited to supply. Not only is the dance floor a place to delight in God’s good gifts, to get a glimpse into His nature, and to express the creativity He has given us, but also it is a training ground for healthy, mutually beneficial relationships between men and women. And I didn’t even go into the familial and communal benefits our historical ballroom provided by being a place where entire families and multiple generations could dance together and enjoy interacting with each other!

If you’ve never experienced a dance culture like this before, I hope you’ve gotten just a glimpse into what a thoroughly delightful and helpful thing dance can be. When used intentionally, there is no limit to the wholesome, positive effects it can have. So here’s to dancing with joy in the Lord and training ourselves to be as reflective of Him as we can be. 

Happy Dancing!

Dancing with Delight, Part 1: To Dance or Not to Dance

“Baptists don’t dance.” Ever heard that one? Growing up, it was a running joke among my friends in our Baptist congregation, thrown around more like an excuse when someone’s attempts to “dance” fell into the embarrassing category. I had heard of the days when that statement was true, when dancing was strictly prohibited for those in my particular denomination, but I didn’t think that strain of legalism still existed in the 21^st century, at least not in my church—that is until I heard an elderly church member make a comment that let me know it was still alive and well.

When some friends and I started our own dance group, I quickly learned that I had to be careful, given the fact that my dad was on the ministerial staff. People could get the wrong idea, and if Baptists don’t dance, Baptist pastors especially don’t. It didn’t matter that the type of dancing our group enjoyed was about the least scandalous type of dancing you could imagine—historical dances from the nineteenth century. For some reason I could sense that there were some who would raise a stink if they knew we got together to dance as our preferred pastime.

Even though we knew there was nothing wrong with what we were doing (and in fact there was a lot right), we still had to counter the negative perception, launching into a lengthy explanation whenever we talked about what we did once a month. And that frustrated me exceedingly. Why should I have to think twice about posting photos or videos of my family dancing together? Why couldn’t dancing be evaluated on its own merits, with the acknowledgement that not all dancing is made alike? Why was the wholesome and the unwholesome all lumped together into this single category that therefore became taboo? Why were outdated, now inaccurate mindsets so entrenched? Shouldn’t we see if the Bible has anything to say about dancing before we make it a shameful thing? I say we should. So let’s look.

There are 29 verses in the Bible that mention dance/dancing: 24 in the Old Testament and 5 in the New, in the books of Exodus, Judges, 1 and 2 Samuel, 1 Chronicles, Job, Psalms, Ecclesiastes, Song of Solomon, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Lamentations, Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Interestingly, only 2 of these verses are prescriptive, meaning they state what someone should or shouldn’t do. The rest are descriptive, meaning they simply describe something rather than instruct. Since the descriptive verses are the large majority, let’s look at those first.

Twelve of the verses contain a historical account of someone actually dancing. These include Miriam and the Israelite women when God brought them out of Egypt (Ex. 15:20), the Israelites at the Golden Calf incident (Ex. 32:19), Jephthah’s daughter upon his return from battle (Judg. 11:34), the women of Shiloh at an annual feast of the Lord (Judg. 21:21, 23), Israelite women celebrating David’s victory over Goliath (1 Sam. 18:6), Amalekites celebrating a military victory (1 Sam. 30:16), King David when he brought the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem (2 Sam. 6:14, 16; 1 Chron. 15:29), and Herod’s daughter at his birthday feast (Matt. 14:6, Mark 6:22). Only the Israelites at the Golden Calf and Herod’s daughter, who ended up using her body to gain favor and to manipulate, fall into the less-than-savory category of dance. The rest were dancing in pure celebration and joy, and some were even directly praising God with their dancing.

Three other verses allude to actual dancing: 1 Samuel 21:11 and 29:5 speak of dances that the Israelites used in celebrating David’s victories, and Psalm 87:7 refers to “singers and dancers” who praise the Lord. Three more are found in parables or teachings of Jesus: the characters in the prodigal son scene dance upon his return (Luke 15:25), and figurative people do not dance in the simile Jesus uses to describe what the people of his day were like (Matt. 11:17; Luke 7:32). In Job 41:22, dancing is used in an anthropomorphic way to describe how terror reacts to the Leviathan. And Jeremiah 31 contains two verses that tie dancing to a promise of future blessing where the people will “go forth in the dance of the merrymakers” (v.4) and young women will “rejoice in the dance” (v.13).

Finally, six verses reference dancing to paint a picture or make a point: Job argues that the wicked prosper in spite of their wickedness and points to their children dancing as evidence of their prosperity (Job 21:11); Solomon asks why others should look at his beloved as they would at “a dance before two armies” (Song of Sol. 6:13); and Isaiah prophesies that “wild goats will dance” in a ruined Babylon (Is. 13:21). Others contrast mourning and dancing, with Solomon stating there is a time for each of them (Ecc. 3:4), Jeremiah bemoaning that dancing has been turned into mourning (Lam. 5:15), and David rejoicing that mourning has been turned into dancing (Ps. 30:11).

Overall, most of the descriptions suggest that dancing is a positive, or at least neutral, thing. But there are still two verses remaining, and these are the ones which use “dance” as an imperative, i.e. a command. Psalm 149 begins, “Praise the LORD! Sing to the LORD a new song, his praise in the assembly of the godly!” (v. 1) It goes on, “Let them praise his name with dancing, making melody to him with tambourine and lyre!” (v. 3). Similarly and more blatantly imperative, Psalm 150:4a reads, “Praise him with tambourine and dance.” I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that if God commands something, we can be pretty certain that it’s not wrong.

Of course, these commands are directly tied to using dance as a means to praise God, so just as these verses do not condemn dancing neither do they say that all dancing is therefore good and right. Dancing is like money—it’s not inherently good or evil in and of itself; it all depends on how you use it. Certainly there are types of dancing that are engaged in out of a motive to stir up misdirected desires in someone else (or ourselves), to draw attention to oneself in pride or self-centeredness, or to manipulate others for our own gain, and followers of Christ are rightfully opposed to such uses of dancing. But there are other ways dancing can be used as well, ways which uplift, strengthen community, and bring a pure delight in the Lord and in His good gifts of music and movement.

When the Church blacklists all dancing, it does so without any Scriptural backing and falls into the trap of legalism. Instead, prudence can and should rule the day, whereby reason helps us see that it is abundantly possible to dance and not to sin. With this foundation laid, I’m excited to share some of the beauties I have found in dancing, how it brings delight to my life and to my relationship with the Lord.

But for that, you’ll have to stay tuned for Part 2!

Lessons from Literature: Relationships that Last (The Last Battle)

This past weekend, I had the joy of reuniting with a dear friend from childhood. We’ve known each other since we were about four years old and were pretty much inseparable until I moved away at age ten. Since then we’ve kept in contact off and on, though not as much as either of us would like, and when we see each other, we can step right back into our old familiarity. As someone who is given to fierce loyalty and hates to experience lost relationship, I treasure this friendship that has survived over two decades, multiple moves, and different stages of life. It may look different than it did when we were in elementary school, but it still exists and is a reminder of the strength of true friendship.

Someone once told me that we shouldn’t try to hold on to early relationships our entire lives. As we enter different stages of life, he said, we can’t expect friendships from one season to move into the next, and we shouldn’t be disappointed when they don’t. In some ways, I could see his point, and I have come to see the blessing of season-specific encounters. But in other ways, I find it difficult to acknowledge that friendships are not meant to last.

At the same event where I reunited with my first friend, I had a conversation with someone else about the loss of friends’ presence, whether through their moving to another state or passing away. “But we’ll all be together again in Heaven,” she said. What a beautiful thought that is. It got me thinking about Heaven and about a book I just recently finished reading, The Last Battle, by C. S. Lewis. Until the last few chapters, I had decided it wasn’t my favorite installment in the Chronicles of Narnia series, but I loved the last two chapters so much that they singlehandedly catapulted the book into my top three.  

**SPOILER ALERT**

In the last two chapters, Lewis paints a captivating picture of what he thinks Heaven and eternity will be like. When I finished the book, I didn’t spend much time analyzing why I felt so stirred by these chapters, but the experiences of this past weekend led me to identify one of the elements that connected so powerfully with me—the reunions. Peter, Edmund, and Lucy reunite with friends from every season of their Narnian adventures and with their family from Earth as well; other characters reunite with their own friends and family; and all meet those whom they had heard of but had never known. It’s beautiful.

For some reason, I often sense that we tend to minimize the relational aspect of Heaven. Of course, it’s all about being united with God and meeting Jesus face to face, but it seems that in the Church we often dismiss the human element that will be present in Heaven. It’s as if we think of Heaven solely in an individualistic way, as if it’s going to be just “me and God.” But it’s not. Everyone who is in Christ will be there. And what basis do we have for thinking that we will not know each other or that if we do we won’t be cognizant of any prior relationship with anyone?

The only thing I can think of that perhaps feeds this idea is the statement Jesus gave in response to a question from the Sadducees about whose wife a woman would be in the resurrection, since she had been married and widowed multiple times. He replied, “You are wrong, because you know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God. For in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven” (Matthew 22:29b-30, ESV). So we know that those who are married here on earth will not be married in the afterlife, but sometimes it seems as if we have expanded this idea to the point that we think people won’t even remember that they were married. I’m not so sure that’s going to be the case.

We know that God is a relational God. Relationship is woven into the very fabric of His nature as a triune Being. We also know that He created us to be in relationship with Him and with each other. He created Eve for Adam so that Adam would not be alone. He sacrificed His own Son so that we could be restored into relationship with Him. So why wouldn’t relationships still be important once we all reach Heaven? True, they will not look just like they did when we were on earth. For starters, we won’t have our fallen natures to deal with! But I tend to think that we will remember our earthly experiences and that our joy in reuniting with those we know will bring glory to God, the One who created us and gave us each of those relationships to begin with.

Ultimately, apart from what Scripture tells us, anything we imagine Heaven to be is purely speculation at this point. We have no way of knowing how close Lewis’s conception of the land to which we are called is to reality. But the lesson of Lewis’s description is still powerful because it is based in the very relational character of God: friendships are gifts, and they are worth cultivating and celebrating. Our sovereign God has brought people into our lives, and, whether He has them there for only a brief season or the remainder of our earthly existence, He has put them there for a reason, and it behooves us not to regard them flippantly, even if we cannot ascertain what the reason is. And who knows, maybe Lewis isn’t that far off base after all.

I’ll close with a few of my favorite passages from the final chapter of The Last Battle, because, as usual, Lewis says it best.

Then Tirian saw King Peter and King Edmund and Queen Lucy rush forward to kneel down and greet the Mouse and they all cried out “Reepicheep!” And Tirian breathed fast with the sheer wonder of it, for now he knew that he was looking at one of the great heroes of Narnia [...] (p. 203).

Everyone you had ever heard of (if you knew the history of those countries) seemed to be there. […] And there was greeting and kissing and hand-shaking and old jokes revived, (you’ve no idea how good an old joke sounds when you take it out again after a rest of five or six hundred years) and the whole company moved forward to the center of the orchard […] (p. 205-206).

About half an hour later—or it might have been half a hundred years later, for time there is not like time here—Lucy stood with her dear friend, her oldest Narnian friend, the Faun Tumnus, looking down over the wall of that garden, and seeing all Narnia spread out below (p. 206).    

And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before (p. 210-211).

Lewis, C. S. “Farewell to Shadowlands.” In The Last Battle. New York: Scholastic, 1995.

The Author’s Plan

Instead of the usual type of post this week, I’m going to step out of my comfort zone a bit and share something that I hope will be an encouragement to you.

Somewhere in the neighborhood of ten years ago, I wrote the song in the video below, little knowing how it would come to minister to my own spirit time and time again. Oddly enough, the circumstances I found myself in as I wrote the lyrics, while unexpected, were not painful or even particularly difficult. I was confused, yes, but not shaken to the core. I was perplexed, but rather happily so, when it got right down to it. But the song came, so I wrote it down, having no idea that I would need it so much more years down the road.

In the intervening decade, as time passed, the song would move to the very back of my mind as other things and other songs came to the forefront, but then another “something strange” would happen, and God would remind me of this song and of His constant goodness and His faithful plan. I didn’t know what the next ten years would hold when I wrote this song, but God knew. And as truly painful, mind-reeling, shake-me-to-the-core events became parts of my story over the years, I’ve been reminded of God’s gracious provision—even of little things like this song that He gave me years before I would really need it.

And now, I am mindful of the unexpected, confusing, even difficult things that many of my readers are facing, and I know there are so many more challenges that I know nothing of. So today, I share this song with you, feeble voice and all, praying that in the middle of whatever you are going through God will use it to remind to you of His omniscience, His perfect plan, and His strong arms that are there to hold you and give you rest.

The pages of my life had been written by the Author's pen,

but empty pages lay ahead that looked unwritten and unread.

My mind began to picture what those pages could contain.

Then something happened, something strange, that I could not explain.

I didn't know. It hurt to think. My mind was playing tricks on me.

The more I thought, the worse it got. Why couldn't I see logically?

My mind was spinning, and the unknown filled my heart with dread.

But as I asked the Author "Why?" He smiled at me and said,

"My arms are strong to hold you. Come run into my rest.

Just crawl up in my lap, child, for I'll give you the best.

I know you're tired and worried and you don't understand,

but come and rest and trust in this: My plan's the perfect plan for you.

“And even though you can't see the end, just know that I've written it, my friend.

Your story's unfolding now, just sit back and you'll see how...

"My arms are strong to hold you. Come run into my rest.

Just crawl up in my lap, child, for I'll give you the best.

I know you're tired and worried and you don't understand,

but come and rest and trust in this: My plan's the perfect plan for you.”

Music, lyrics, video recording, and photo © Olivia Eanes

Same God, New Thing

Isaiah is a wonderful book. Of course, all of God’s Word is wonderful, but Isaiah is one of my favorites. There are so many diamonds hidden among its pages just waiting to be mined. One of these gems is found in chapter 43. I vividly remember the first time Isaiah 43:18-19 lodged in my consciousness. Having read Isaiah multiple times, I had read these verses before, but it wasn’t until one day in high school, when someone shared them as ones that the Lord impressed upon her heart during a season of change, that they really stuck with me.

Ever since then, when I come across this passage reading through Isaiah, I think of that person and her testimony. But a couple of weeks ago, as I read the chapter again, the context of the verses jumped out at me, and I noticed elements of the passage I had never noticed before. Before we dig in, here’s Isaiah 43:16-21 (ESV) in full:

Thus says the LORD,
    who makes a way in the sea,
    a path in the mighty waters,
  who brings forth chariot and horse,
    army and warrior;
they lie down, they cannot rise,
    they are extinguished, quenched like a wick:
 “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.
The wild beasts will honor me,
    the jackals and the ostriches,
for I give water in the wilderness,
    rivers in the desert,
to give drink to my chosen people,
     the people whom I formed for myself
that they might declare my praise.”

One of the things that has stood out most to me about this passage is the admonition to “remember not.” So many times throughout the Old Testament, God tells His people to remember—remember how He brought them out of Egypt, remember the commands He gave them, remember how He led them through the wilderness and into the land He had promised them, remember how they put Him to the test. But here, He tells His people to forget. This imperative stands unique in Scripture, so it’s worth taking a closer look.

The command to remember not is not written in a vacuum. It is sandwiched between a description of what God has done and a promise of what He will do. Notice how God is described in verse 16. His covenantal name, Yahweh (LORD) is used, and this covenantal God is one “who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters” (v.16). The following verse makes it clear that the passage is alluding to the Israelites’ crossing the Red Sea on dry ground and watching as the Egyptian army was destroyed as the waters crashed down on them (v. 17). Typically, when we come across verses like this, we see God telling His people to remember this event that occurred, but instead He says, “Remember not the former things […] I am doing a new thing” (vv. 18-19). This begs the question, what new thing? So we keep reading.

On the other side of verses 18 and 19a, God promises that he “will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (v. 20). So this is the new thing, but do you see the parallelism between the new thing and the former thing? There is both comparison and contrast in God’s actions and in the way they are described. In verse 16, God “makes a way in the sea.” In verse 19, He “will make a way in the wilderness.” In verse 16, He creates dry ground in the midst of a massive body of water. In verse 19, He does the opposite, creating running water in the midst of a mass of parched land. Verse 16 is the “former things,” and verse 19 is the “new thing,” but both involve the same elements—water and dry ground—and both involve His making a way.

So why would God tell His people to forget the “former things” that displayed His power so mightily? Perhaps it is so that they—and we—can learn to recognize that, while God is always at work, He does not always work in the same way. Sometimes the water is the issue, and He keeps us from drowning; other times the dryness is the issue, and He keeps us from dying of thirst. Sometimes He gives us firm ground to walk on, and other times He gives us flowing rivers to be satisfied by.  Sometimes the way is to help us pass through our trial, and other times the way is to sustain us in the midst of it.

When we see God work in a given situation, we tend to hold onto that memory, cherishing the reminder of how we saw Him move. But sometimes we hold onto the memory so tightly that it clouds our vision for what else He can do, how else He can work. Then, when another trial comes, we expect Him to come through just like He did the last time. We think that because He is the same God, He will always provide in the same way, and we become disappointed at best or doubtful at worst when He doesn’t make a way in the same manner in which He did before.

But just because the way doesn’t look like it did in former situations, doesn’t mean that the way isn’t there. God is the same God, and He always makes a way; it’s just that sometimes the way comes in a form we didn’t expect. Sometimes we’re looking for a path through our circumstance and don’t even realize that what we really need is a river in the middle of it. Sometimes we are so focused on the former things that we miss seeing the new thing He is doing in our lives.

Whatever we face, God is the same today as He has always been, which means that He is working, because He is an active God. He, who knows our needs perfectly and completely, is making a way, and He is doing it all so that we, the “people whom [He] formed for [Himself], might declare [His] praise” (v. 21). He is the same God, doing a new thing. Oh that we may have the eyes to perceive it and live lives that declare His praise.

To read the Arabic translation of this post, click here.  

لقراءة الترجمة العربية لهذا المنشور إضغط هنا

Rethinking the Right to Life

Abortion has been in the national limelight more than usual lately with New York’s passage of the Reproductive Health Act, which legalized “abortions after 24 weeks in cases where there is an ‘absence of foetal [sic] viability, or the abortion is necessary to protect the patient’s life or health.’”[1] This legislative action came right on the heels of the annual March for Life and Sanctity of Human Life Day in January and in the midst of other abortion-related legislation being proposed or adjudicated in other states such as Vermont, Virginia, and Iowa.

Heightening the emotional impact of the New York law, is a particularly strong irony that came in the governor’s celebratory act of lighting One World Trade Center in pink. While the new World Trade Center was lit in celebration of the potential for ending unborn lives, the memorial at the old World Trade Center site lists the unborn among those killed in 2001. The contrast is beyond chilling. Also chilling is a recent video showing a Virginia state representative blank-facedly admitting that her proposed bill would allow abortions to take place even up to the moment of birth. Thankfully, that bill was defeated.

The issue of abortion raises incredibly strong feelings on all sides. However, my intent with this post is not to go into the medical arguments against the presuppositions in these laws; others have shared their expertise to show that while delivery might be necessary to save a mother’s life, abortion is not. Neither is my intent to answer the myriad of arguments that self-proclaimed “pro-choice” individuals offer up to rationalize abortion, nor to delve into the scientific and technological advancements that increasingly support the claim that life begins at conception. Instead, my purpose is to share how I have come to rethink what is referred to as the “right to life” and to call us all to expand our view of what we are truly dealing with when we make the argument for the protection of the unborn.

Oftentimes in the Right to Life movement, the persuasive arguments center around the unborn themselves: babies (fetuses) are alive, and they have the right to live; extinguishing their lives before they are born robs them of the opportunity to live, to love, and to experience love outside the womb; taking their lives removes their choice for what they want to do with their lives. All of these statements are true, but are they really the fundamental reason why abortion is wrong? In other words, is killing others wrong because they deserve the chance to live and thrive?

Our Declaration of Independence asserts that all of humanity has a right to life. But where does this right come from? Is it a right we give to ourselves? Is it something our Founding Fathers just came up with? As the Declaration acknowledges, the right to life comes from our Creator, i.e. God. There is nothing we bring to the table in and of ourselves that makes us deserving of life. What makes us deserving is not who we are but Who our Creator is. He has made us and, in doing so, has imparted His image to us. That’s what makes us valuable, i.e. worthy of living. So because He is the One who gives us life and who imputes value to us, He is the only One who has the right to take our lives away. Let that sink in for a moment. God is the only One who has the legitimate authority to end a human life.[2]

So when it comes to abortion, while it can be emotionally persuasive to talk about the unborn, to make us feel empathy for their utterly defenseless condition, to horrify us at the callousness it takes to cause a defenseless person pain and then to extinguish their life, I have come to see that these are not the most important reasons we should stand against it.

What is? Just this: to end the life of an unborn human is fundamentally about usurping the power and authority of the almighty God of the universe. And that is a profoundly dangerous thing to do. Look at the consequences of those who tried to become like God--Satan, who incurred eternal damnation, and Adam and Eve, who ensured that they and the entirety of their descendants would be unable to have a relationship with God were it not for God’s intervention through Jesus, are the ones that immediately come to mind. Bottom-line, trying to be like God is not something to mess around with. God is the only all-powerful being and the only all-wise being, so to attempt to assert our own “power” and “wisdom” over His is incredibly foolish. The point, when it comes to abortion, is not so much that the unborn have a right to live as it is that we do not have the right to kill them.

Of course, this is a less palatable point to raise, because it heightens the onus placed on those consenting to and performing the abortion. If we’re not careful, making such a point can be interpreted as heaping guilt on an already struggling individual. And in a pro-life culture that has admittedly done a less-than-acceptable job of showing compassionate care and real tangible and emotional support to mothers and families contemplating abortion, it can be scary to argue for life from this perspective.

That is why we must learn how to simultaneously hold onto the appropriately big view of God, including the thoroughly inherent rights He has by nature of Who He is, and to practically demonstrate His love for women who are carrying the lives He has created. We don’t have a right to take a human life, because that right only belongs to God, but we also don’t have a right to devalue those whom He has created in His image, which includes not only the unborn but also the teens and adults connected to them.

So as we think about the issue of abortion in the coming days and years, let us consider the greatness of God and our own smallness in comparison. Let us acknowledge that we cannot rightfully end another human’s life, because that right only belongs to Him. He is the one who numbers our days and who allots our time in His perfect design (see Psalm 139:16). Let us not presume to know better than He. And in contemplating His greatness, may we also be overcome by His goodness such that we are filled with compassion for those who are hurting, for those who are conflicted, and for those who are convinced. At the end of our earthly lives, when we stand before God to give an account, may we be able to say, “I stood for preserving your gift of life, and I showed your love to all.”     

Image source

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[1] Pierpont, George, BBC News, “New York abortion law: Why are so many people talking about it?” accessed 29 January 2019. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-46994583

[2]  In some cases, e.g. when humans kill other humans in cold blood, God has delegated this authority, but in the case of the unborn, He has not done so.