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A War in My Members

April 8, 2013 in faith, family, forgiveness, grace, Jesus, lessons with 0 Comments

In Romans seven, the Apostle Paul writes much of the opposing laws which are at work in his members (his body and spirit). That in his mind he wishes to obey the law of God, but finds a different law at work in his body: that of sin and death. What he would, he does not; what he would not, that he does.

He ends the chapter with a lament:

“Who shall deliver me from this body of death?”

From history, we’re told that this metaphor had its basis in fact: one of the crueller forms of execution was to lash a corpse to the condemned, exile them, and allow them to be slowly killed by the putrefaction of the corpse.

Give me a quick, clean death, folks.

Yet for most of us, it doesn’t happen this way: we are born dead, and continue to slowly die by degrees. Until our flesh dies indeed. Thence to stand before God, making an account of our deeds.

Those of us who, like Paul before us, are believers, are in a sense bipolar: we are alive in spirit, but still carrying around our dead flesh. We are a people of dualing natures. Like Paul, we want to obey God; like him, we do the things we would not. Having walked with God for twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years, or more, our flesh is no more sanctified than a mere babe in Christ’s.

But really the battle is not in the flesh, rather in the mind. The mind is the battleground, where the unholy three wage tireless war against us:

The world, the flesh, and the devil.

Assaults on our bodies drag our minds down, making us more likely to succumb to temptation. Likewise, pleasure sings its siren song–promising succor, rest, but delivering instead death. And old slewfoot (the devil) whispers in ways th only he can, telling us we deserve, or need, want, or are owed…

But it’s a lie.

What we deserve is death. Christ for our sins was crucified, the righteous for the unrighteous, paying a debt he did not owe. One which we could not pay. In his mercy, God provided the way of atonement.

It is a narrow path, fraught with both victories, and setbacks. Still his love covers a multitude of sins, and his grace is sufficient. When we are weak, we are strong: for his strength is made perfect in our weakness.

For myself, if I’ve learned anything from my wife’s illness it’s how very weak, and frail, I am. How in my impotency and powerlessness I’m so quick to seek succor in escape (reading, television, liquor) rather than at the feet of my Lord.

“Who shall deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God! Through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

Dear _________ (A Post About Forgiveness)

March 4, 2013 in faith, forgiveness, grace, Life with 2 Comments

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Dear _________,

I know it’s a long time since we’ve spoken. Too long. Words have been said, but silence now reigns instead.

How did we get to this place?

How many misunderstandings have there been down the road of years to leave us feeling this way? Instead of a bridge, we build walls…

Dear ________, you need to know that I’ve been angry, and have harbored unforgiveness in my heart towards you. And it’s ugly. Like sunglasses, it colors all I view.

Will you forgive me?

Is there someone whose forgiveness you need to seek today? Dad, mom, brother, sister, friend… In your heart, you know. If you’re not sure, ask God–He’ll show you.

Freedom Is A Daily Choice

January 30, 2013 in confession, faith, forgiveness, grace, Jesus, lessons, Life with 4 Comments

The New Testament declares that “it was for freedom that Christ set us free, therefore do not be entangled again in a yoke of slavery.” The insanely high cost of this freedom is the death of Jesus on the cross. And yet in my own life (I don’t presume to speak for you) I’ve again and again how I’ve chosen bondage over freedom.

How?

By turning to familiar comforts, by harboring unforgiveness, by trying to find life apart from God. And isn’t true that we will worship that from which we hope to derive life?

I’ve seen it time and time again in my own life. It’s crazy! It’s the kind of dissonance of which Paul wrote in Romans seven: “it is not I, but the sin within me.” The sin is within me because I am a spirit, possess a soul, and walk around in an unredeemed body.

We all do. Yet the beauty of the freedom for which Christ died is that we no longer have to heed the voice of the flesh (or of the evil one): we are free!

Yet that freedom comes with a sobering responsibility: we have to choose everyday–moment by moment, hour by hour–to walk in it. And believe you me: the world, the flesh, and the devil will do their utmost to keep us in a place of bondage.

Is the desire for revenge entirely natural? Yes–yes it is. But God says that vengeance is His.

Is it natural to withhold forgiveness when we’re hurt, or slighted? Again, yes. But God commands us to forgive.

Is it natural to lash out, use our words as weapons? Assuredly. But God says that the tongue of the wise brings healing.

Make no mistake: these are hard things. But we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us. We must choose, despite what our senses tell us, to align ourselves with the values of an invisible kingdom.

And it begins by dying, by crucifying our pride at the foot of the cross everyday. By taking up that cross, and following Jesus, who thought equality with God was not something to be grasped. Instead, he humbled himself, and came as a servant.

And that is what we are: servants.

Bondslaves of grace.

Let grace compel you today to dig deeper, reach higher, and bow before the One Who sees and knows all. For there is nothing hidden from Him with Whom we have to do.

He knows the bitterness we hold inside, knows about the unforgiveness, knows in fact every prideful, lustful, vile thought. So instead of hiding in shame: tell Him.

He already knows anyway.

We have nothing to lose (except our pride), and absolutely everything to gain.

“Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.”

Speak on it: What are you laying down today?

Prodigal Poem

September 14, 2012 in faith, forgiveness, grace, Jesus, Life, Uncategorized with 4 Comments

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You can run away, thinking you know what’s best, turn to this, that, and the other to quench the burning in your breast.

But as Thompson said: none there are who would shelter thee who would not shelter Me.

So run away if you must–fast and far on the wings of the morn–but this of a surety you can trust:

Watching and waiting I will be…
Turn but towards home, and you will see:

Me

Flying over fields to you, my son, daughter, friend

Because in the end, I’m the God Who ran

When I Was 11, I Read The Shining

September 12, 2012 in family, forgiveness, lessons, Life, sharing, Uncategorized, wound with 2 Comments

When I was eleven, I read Stephen King’s novel, The Shining. It is a harrowing tale of haunted hotel, and a father’s descent into madness. Though it’s been over thirty years since I read it, I remember look of the book–a silver and grey New American Library paperback. And I remember the opening chapter with Jack Torrance being interviewed, calling his interviewer an “officious little prick” in his internal monologue.

Jack Torrance was a man setup by the demons of his childhood to fall prey to possession by the haunted hotel. In the fight for his soul, the cards were stacked against him (as they are all of us, really). He was a man who wanted to be free, but couldn’t get there. In that sense, though he became the victimizer, he is a man we can pity.

Even more than Jack’s story, I remember his son, Danny, who fell prey to his wrath (Jack at one time dislocated his young son’s arm). Danny had a special ability–the shine–he could see things. The hotel’s chef, Dick Halloran, mentored him in his gift (Dick had it, too–just not as strong as Danny).

I read that book, devoured it really, and despite the abject terror of it, the monstrous heart of evil bound within the Overlook Hotel, I wanted to be Danny. I wanted to have abilities–to see, and to know, things. It’s explained in the book that Danny was born with a caul. And that this covering, this caul, was the fount of his gift.

I asked my mom if I, too, had been born with a caul. Although she couldn’t have known it, in my heart I was asking “Am I special?” She answered “No.” (Unfortunately, my dad wasn’t available to take my question to. Would he have answered any differently? There’s no way to know with any degree of certainty, but his unavailability spoke volumes. Like the Overlook of the novel, it haunts me still).

The thing is, I would have endured everything Danny went through in King’s story to know that very thing:

That I was–am–special.

It wasn’t until many years later that Jesus whispered it into my soul. He told me that God is my Father–the father I’d always longed for–and that he, Jesus, was my friend. A friend that sticks closer than a brother. Like Robert Frost’s divergent path, “that has made all the difference.”

Do you know that you’re special, too, and loved more than you can fathom? That God is your Father, and Jesus is your brother?

You can.

Look up from wherever you are–Jesus is coming for you.

Where do you see Jesus moving in your life?

Did you ever want to be a character in a beloved book?

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