The Welcome Party Crasher

Jesus doesn’t wait for invitations

World magazine editor Marvin Olasky began his editorial this way:

Party game: If you could have any dinner guest you wanted, who would you invite? George Washington? George W. Bush? Noah? Bob Marley?

Olasky suggested that Jesus would be the guest worth having, the only possible choice who could bring true life to the party-goers. He highlights his own journey from Marxism, atheism and Judaism into the heart of Christ. Really, the article was more about Christ Himself, who pursued Olasky with a tender tenacity. In his final paragraph, he returns to the party game scenario:

So, my initial questions about which party guest you’d want to invite is in one sense irrelevant. Jesus doesn’t wait for invitations. Whenever he chooses to come, He crashes the party.

The image of “Jesus as party crasher” makes me smile, because that’s exactly how Jesus entered my life nearly 30 years ago. My labels then were not Marxist or atheist; they were terms like party girl and radical feminist. My attitude was “do as you please, and don’t think about the rest.” My hard-as-nails philosophy hid a soft and sorrowing heart.

As I partied my life away, Jesus was working in the wings, hidden to my earthbound eyes. When I attended a weekend retreat with a boyfriend, Christ made His decisive move. He picked me up out of my pit and set me down on Solid Rock - facing a light I did not yet recognize, but could not pull my eyes away from.

I honestly didn’t know what had happened to me at first. I knew I couldn’t be with that boyfriend anymore, and that my conscience kept pricking me about things I’d done for years. I had a powerful sense of God’s presence, His voice in me, in a way that I did not yet have the words or knowledge to explain. I was driven to read – no devour – God’s Word, which had come intensely alive that weekend. I knew I was different: I wanted God more than I’d ever wanted anything or anyone. I was filled with unfamiliar hope and unexpected happiness.

I did not pray a sinner’s prayer that weekend. I did not recognize my sin for what it was. I did not ask Jesus into my heart. Instead, Jesus entered my heart of His own volition, and began to reveal Himself to me in such compelling ways that I fell head over heels for Him. As I pored over the Bible in the following weeks and months, just wanting to know more of Him, I discovered what God had done: He had saved me from my sin and welcomed me into His family. (See Ephesians 2:1-5, Romans 6:20-22.)

Never has a party crasher been more welcome!  All these years later, I still marvel that He came when I wasn’t looking, and that He gave me what I didn’t know I needed: Himself. 

(NOTE: I wrote this in 2002, but it is still true today! Unfortunately, Olasky’s article is no longer available on World magazine’s website.)

For a Sister, Sitting in Darkness

I don’t claim to know how you arrived in this dark and desolate place. But I do know where you began:

In the Light that shines so steadily, relentlessly, brilliantly, that it casts in charcoal shadow everything else. In the midst of an evergreen copse, Light glows: Source. Life. Purpose. Joy. Hope. It shines on you, around you, in you.

I don’t know what injury was so painful that it averted your gaze, shifted your footstep, onto another path. What could make you wince at the Light, at your Light? As you walked along that ever-dimming path, checking and re-checking your wound, rehearsing the pain, you began to declare the Light to be the Source of it - declaring Light to be Darkness - instead of knowing Him as the only Source of your healing.

Every twisted rabbit trail only brought denser fog, deeper confusion, as you spiraled, stumbling, your wound festering in damp darkness, your vision clouded. Finally, you just settled into the muck, and called my name.

This is where I find you: stuck in the greasy mire of unbelief, your wound more visible than the rest of you, your eyes transfixed by it. I stand next to you, squinting and searching to see Light’s rays through death-black, mud-caked leaves. The Light remains. Always. “Look!” I cry to you. “Get up and walk; He’s that way!” I grip your arm.

“But I don’t see,” you say, refusing to rise. “I’m done. The Light hurts too much. I’m not moving.” Hope, or even just curiosity, does not move you to seek the Light. All you see is bleakness and shadow. All you recognize is your pain.

  

I know better than to think that I can drag you, kicking and flailing, toward that Light. Some might say that I should at least try to do so. I know better. Until you are willing, I can’t make you see the Light right in front of you, the only source of healing for your splintered mind, crushed spirit, weakened body.

Some might say that I should stop gesturing toward the Light, plop down in the muck next to you, hold you close, just be with you. That that would be love. But settling into that grim place with you would mean moving my eyes away from the Light. I won’t do that.

This I will continue to do: I will point toward His Light, your Home. When you refuse to look up, and when you cling to my arm, pulling me toward the filth, wanting to share it with me, I will say no. Even if that feels like love’s opposite to you. I will call upon the Light to blaze through all the blight of your imagination and emotion. I will trust that He will move your gaze toward Him, like a compass moving toward true north; that He can do nothing less than pursue you, for He is your One True Love.

I will love you no matter how deep you sink or how loud you scream. No matter what you say, no matter what you do, I will pray that you will choose to lift your eyes toward the Light who is your Light. 

Where God Dwells

He is the One we celebrate this month: this Word-made-flesh, who arrived in our midst to shine light where before only darkness had been. But God’s desire to walk among us did not begin with the incarnation. In fact, God’s desire has always been: to dwell with mankind. 

"In the beginning," God created man in His image. Surely it was paradise to walk with God through His garden in the cool of the day (Genesis 3:8). But man’s choice to heed his own desires, instead of His creator’s, exiled humanity from God’s paradise (yet not from the hope of His presence). 

Even as man abandoned Him, God did not abandon His desire to dwell with man. He chose Israel, an insignificant nation by human standards, to be His own treasured possession. “I will be their God, and they will be my people” is the common refrain of the Old Testament prophets who spoke God's desire to His people, again and again. 

After rescuing Israel from slavery, the Lord provided a blueprint for His dwelling place, the tabernacle, among His people.

“Then have them make a sanctuary for me, and I will dwell among them,” the Lord instructs Moses atop Mount Sinai (Exodus 25:8). A holy God longing to live with His people, God made a way by which He could dwell with His sinful, but nonetheless chosen, family. 

Then Jesus Christ was born. Never was God’s heartfelt desire more clearly seen than in the face of Christ: the Word - God - in the flesh. And that divine flesh dwelt among us! The word translated “dwelt” in John 1:14 is the same word used for tabernacle in Exodus passages. Literally, Jesus “tabernacled” among us. One modern translation puts it this way: "The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood."

 But what about now that Christmas is over? What about now that Jesus no longer walks the earth? For those who belong to Christ, His physical absence actually means a more intimate dwelling with the Lord! Paul writes, “For you are the temple [tabernacle] of the living God. As God has said, ‘I will dwell in them and walk among them. I will be their God, and they shall be my people’ ” (2 Corinthians 6:16). Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

We are now God’s dwelling place. Those who accept Christ into their lives, and who are in Christ, having been united to His resurrected life, are told that “the Spirit of God dwells within you” (1 Corinthians 3:16).

He dwells in His children, in the heart, in the spirit, in the mind, in the very essence of our being. We are transformed by our union with Him and share in His life (Colossians 3:4). We are tabernacles of the Lord; our bodies are His temple; His dwelling place is in and among His people.

In this post-Christmas season, my prayer for you is:

Sharing and Savoring the Story

When [the shepherds] had seen [Jesus], they spread word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them.
But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. 
The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told. ~ Luke 2:17-20

Can you imagine the joyful ruckus those shepherds made, as they shared with others what the angels had told them, what they had seen with their own eyes in the stable? A Savior had been born, Christ the Lord! Those who heard their report marveled, and surely many believed Jesus to be the Son of God. 




“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” 

Most every mother can recall the precious events surrounding the birth of her child — perhaps, the moment she discovered she was pregnant, what time she had her first contraction. Then baby’s first steps, first bottle, first word become memories to treasure.

How much moreso would Mary, the mother of Jesus, who knew from even before his conception that He was the Son of God! He was to fulfill every Old Testament prophecy that pointed to the Messiah. Surely, she savored the special moments that Luke records: his unusual birthplace, the shepherds and their stories of countless angels filling the skies, the wise men who traveled and brought regal gifts in humility, Anna and Simeon’s prophecies and declarations in the temple.

But Jesus’ mother did not announce His birth from the rooftops. Instead, she silently savored what God had proclaimed and performed, cherishing each memory in her heart.

“The truths of Christ are worth keeping; and the way to keep them safe is to ponder them. Meditation is the best help to memory,”  writes Matthew Henry.

For us, too, there are those sacred moments with God, where He speaks in His “still, small voice” through His word, and we hold onto and meditate upon that precious gift. Then, also, there are those moments to share with a shout what the Lord has done, through the marvelous miracle of His love and grace to us.

This season, may you savor (as Mary did) the special times you spend with Jesus. This Christmas, may you share (as the shepherds did) the joyful story of His birth and life with all who will hear! 
(2004)

Peace.

Glory to God in the highest! And on earth, peace to those upon whom His favor rests. (Luke 2:14)

“Peace on earth.” We sing it so often this time of year that we may not stop to ponder it. So I’m inviting you to stop and ponder:

What does this pronouncement of peace really mean? Do you see peace on earth?

It only takes a day’s worth of newspaper headlines to remind us that the planet has not called a ceasefire. Far from it: War, domestic violence, hate crimes, divorce, strained relationships reach all corners of the globe. As Christians, we trust the Lord, who has said that at the end of all things, He will wipe away every tear from our eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away (Rev. 21:4). Oh, the marvelous hope that we have for a future overflowing with peace!

But what about for now, for today, for this very moment? After all, the angelic army declared peace on EARTH, specifically. Did they have their heads in the clouds?  Worse yet, were they just plain wrong?

To start, let’s confess that our common concept of peace may differ from God’s. It takes only a few Scriptures to see that clearly:

Jesus has reconciled everything to Himself, having already made peace through the blood of His cross. (Col 1:20)

Having already been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. (Romans 5:1)

Jesus has already given His peace to His people. (John 14:27)

For Jesus Himself is our Peace. (Eph 2:14)

In summary:

Peace is found in Christ. Peace IS Christ!

I am in Christ.

I have peace with God by faith.

Or an even shorter summary might go like this:

Peace is JESUS.  And peace is NOW.

So the angelic peace proclamations weren’t primarily about eliminating global conflict or relational disharmony or even our own unsettled emotions. The gift of peace was Jesus Christ Himself: presented in the humble, mind-boggling wrappings of an infant. God with us, Emmanuel, is our peace. Jesus’ life in us (Romans 8:9-11, 1 Corinthians 1:30, Colossians 1:27) and our life in Him (Colossians 3:4) is peace.

Peace is not beyond our grasp any more than Jesus is; peace is a gift – a package deal - that accompanies our salvation. The more we fully live in and look to Jesus in every circumstance and for every relationship, the more fully we live in and experience the peace that the multitude of angels proclaimed to those awestruck shepherds, all those years ago.

(Incidentally, if you’re wondering about the “favor” part of Luke 2:14, be assured: God’s favor and pleasure and delight rest upon you, because they rest upon Jesus. Read Ephesians1:5-6 and Matthew 3:17.)

In Which God Gives Me a Song

He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. ~ Psalm 40:3

Nobody told me this would feel like grief. That sending off my firstborn son - whom I know is in God’s good hands - to his school of choice, into a future that I happily anticipate– would leave me with this sloshing, splashing bucket of sorrow in my gut. 

They say when you have a child, it’s like a piece of your heart is walking around outside of your body. Well, I’m still adjusting to my six-foot-tall chunk-of-heart living 300 miles away. I miss him with a visceral missing: his chatty dinner conversation, his young-man swagger, his broad shoulders and even broader grin, his penchant for knowing when I need a helping hand or a bear hug.

Don’t misunderstand: I’m also full to overflowing with Jesus’ peace and joy; I see God’s fingerprints all over these sorrows – and even when I don’t, I know He’s there. I know one day my “inner bucket” won’t feel so heavy. It’s just wondering how to deal with it in the now.

I mean, I have a life to live, a husband and son to love and enjoy, responsibilities calling my name, bathrooms crying out for Clorox. But grief still sucker-punches me in the most mundane moments: as I chop vegetables for dinner, in the middle of Zumba class, while driving to pick up Ben from co-op. I have to pause to catch my breath and blink back my tears.

And so I listen, once again, to Tim Keller’s “Praying Your Tears.” I retreat into a book or Words with Friends, drink coffee and stare at the mountains, waiting for this feeling to go away. It doesn’t.

So I budget a few hours with God on a Saturday afternoon, thinking that maybe I need to talk this through with Him; maybe He’s got a quick-fix Scripture for me, something to turn off this spigot (okay, firehose).“God, I know you’re there. Can you just point me to a passage, a promise, to be a strong wall against these pounding, tidal wave emotions? That’s all I need. I’ll be fine. Really.”

But God doesn’t give me a verse or a promise that afternoon. Instead, He makes this crystal clear: These emotions aren’t sinful, and they will take time to subside. Gulp.

It wasn’t until the next day, in worship, that God truly answered my plea - but not with a Bible-verse-band-aid to stop (or at least hide)my bleeding; no. He gave me a song. A song that I sang loudly, as what felt like half a bucket’s worth of tears streamed down my cheeks. Relieved to find tissues in my purse (for once), I didn’t leave the service to collect myself or check my face for mascara tiger-stripes. Those tears were worship and lament and praise and prayer, and I didn’t want to miss a moment of Him.

  

It was like God said: “I have given you Myself. You need Me every hour, every moment. You have no idea when your flash flood emotions are going to break loose, or when they are going to stay calm for the day. But no matter what, I am here. My BIG buckets of joy and peace and life in you remain constant, long after this sorrowful one is emptied. No matter what peaks and valleys your emotions travel today, I am fulfilling every promise I’ve made to you, in you. Even in this hour.”

I think about Jesus’ very human emotions. He was no stranger to grief and sorrow. A friend who mourned with his friends at their brother’s graveside. A Saviour who wept over people who would not receive His salvation. An intercessor who cried ashe prayed. I remember that the tender human heart of Jesus is to be my heart also.  

So maybe the goal in this season is different than what I have been thinking this past month. Maybe the goal isn’t:

…To cry less. (Or, at least, less visibly.)

…To “get myself together.”

Maybe, instead, the goal is:

…To cry every tear in God’s presence.

…To more fully receive whatever He’s offering when those sucker-punches come.

…To open up my heart to receive other hurting hearts whom God sends my way.

…To let the tender compassion of Jesus be expressed through my life.

By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me— a prayer to the God of my life. ~ Psalm 42:8

Listen to the song that God gave me here.

God's Self-Portrait (In Seven Words)

Imagine: You are called upon to introduce God. You are limited to seven adjectives, seven descriptive phrases, that capture His essence. Not words that describe his roles (Creator, King, Judge) or the things He loves (His people, Justice, Holiness). But describe Him, Who He is.

So, what would your seven words be? (Go ahead; write them down. I’ll wait.)  

God had previously revealed Himself to Moses via a burning bush, and through the Law He gave Israel through Moses hand. But a shrub on fire and those lists of rules were just not enough for Moses to really know who this God was. So Moses asked God to reveal His glory (which means, literally, His “weight,” His very essence), and God agreed.  

And he said, “Please, show me Your glory.” Then [God] said, “I will make all My goodness pass before you, and I will proclaim the name of the Lord before you.” (Exodus 33:18-19)

God’s unveiled His glory, His goodness, to Moses by speaking seven words and phrases.

And he passed in front of Moses, proclaiming, “The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining mercy for thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin . . .” (Exodus 34:6-7a*)  

Did you catch all seven?

1. compassionate

2. gracious

3. slow to anger (longsuffering)

4. abounding in love (covenantal love or hesed)

5. abounding in faithfulness

6. maintaining mercy (again, hesed)

7. forgiving

So, how does this compare to your list?  

Perhaps you wrote words like: Holy. All-Knowing. Powerful. Creative. Ever-Present. Just. Pure. Surely, we see God described with those words (and many more) throughout Scripture. Yet, when He chose to reveal His glory at Moses’ request, He didn’t choose phrases that highlight His awe-inspiring, flawless ‘other-ness.’ He chose words that communicate His inviting accessibility, His relentless love for His people, His dogged faithfulness. As Sally Lloyd-Jones (author of the “TheJesus Storybook Bible”) puts it, God’s hesed is His “never-stopping, never giving up, unbreaking, always and forever love.”  

This is God’s self-revelation. This is how He defines His goodness, His glory.

God’s winsome self-portrait reappears throughout the Old Testament, like a chorus that never grows old. Whether in corporate prayer, individual worship, or penitent prayer, these phrases have been employed by God’s people ever since God first spoke them to Moses on a desert mountain. (See Numbers 14:18, Nehemiah 9:17, Psalm 86:15, Psalm 103:8, Psalm 145:8, Joel 2:13, and Jonah 4:2. And that’s just for starters.)

In the New Testament, this familiar refrain seems to fade. Oh, there are whispers of it in 2 Corinthians 3 and 4, which we’ll explore in my next post. But it resonates fully and clearly in just one passage: John 1:14, 17-18.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth . . . For the law was given through Moses, but grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has seen God at any time. But the only begotten Son, who is at the Father’s side, has declared Him.  

  

Why are God’s seven words all but absent from the New Testament? Because they are embodied – literally – in the body and life of His Son. Jesus shows up: God’s spoken self-portrait wearing human skin. Grace and truth – used together, as they are here (twice!) – are resounding echoes of the word used in our Exodus passage (twice!): hesed, the persistent covenant love and faithfulness of God. Jesus’ life, from manger to cross and beyond, sings that same precious lyric of God’s glory.

Jesus Christ is God’s goodness, His glory, personified. He is compassion, grace, longsuffering, covenant love and faithfulness, mercy, forgiveness. That awesome revelation made on Mount Sinai to Moses more than 3,000 years ago is now a Person, who calls us to trust Him, follow Him, and live out His life in us, as we behold God’s glory in His face (2 Corinthians 4:6).

So, what does this mean for your life and mine? Stay tuned: That’s the topic of my next post.

(*NOTE – For the purposes of this meditation, I’ve omitted Exodus 34:7b, which continues God’s self-description: “by no means clearing the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children and the children’s children to the third and fourth generation.” This phrase is repeated in Exodus 20:5-6 with the qualifying phrase, “of those who hate (or reject) me.” God is the Judge of those individuals who are not part of His covenant family. Because I’m discussing God’s character as it pertains to believers, I have purposely left out this portion of the passage.)

If you’re hungry for more: read this.