The joy of the Lord is your strength. Nehemiah 8:10
A familiar verse. We study it. We quote it. In recent years, we sing it.
But to me, it has always sounded glib. Very slick. A pat answer. I've always thought that the deep meaning of the statement eluded me.
Sitting in my pew during worship, I tried to disect it to improve my understanding, to get inside the meaning of those simple words.
The joy . . . the deep-down delight?
the quiet contentment?
the welling-up-gladness ?
the can't-be-contained ear-to-ear grin?
The joy of the Lord . . . the delight the Lord Himself feels?
the delight He provides for me to feel?
the delight He has in me as His child?
the delight/goodness that is the essence of God?
is my strength . . . gets me through the tough spots?
empowers me to a life of service and dedication?
sustains my daily life?
protects me from the evil around me?
The joy of the Lord is my strength.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Humans like us
A longtime friend -- veteran teacher of many Bible classes for small children -- told me once that we make a mistake when we call the people described in scripture "Bible characters." Her complaint was about creating a larger-than-life aura around the men and women of the Bible stories we teach kids.
After all, it's only reasonable that if they are superheroes, then their lives are super lives and their interaction with God is super too -- not like mine. That reasoning separates me from the promises of the Bible and from God himself in a fundamental way.
I think James is addressing this (5:17) when he says Elijah was a man just like us. Elijah had his ups and downs. Elijah was exemplary one day and down in the pits the next. Just like us.
In his book Hearing God, Dallas Willard writes, "The humanity of Moses, David and Elijah, of Paul, Peter and Jesus Christ himself -- of all that wonderful company of riotously human women and men whose experience is recorded in the bible and in the history of the church -- teaches us a vital lesson: Our humanity will not by itself prevent us from knowing and interacting with God just as they did.
Don't you love that? Not only can their story of faith be our story of faith, their God our God, but their interaction with God can be repeated in our lives.
That's why God told us about them.
After all, it's only reasonable that if they are superheroes, then their lives are super lives and their interaction with God is super too -- not like mine. That reasoning separates me from the promises of the Bible and from God himself in a fundamental way.
I think James is addressing this (5:17) when he says Elijah was a man just like us. Elijah had his ups and downs. Elijah was exemplary one day and down in the pits the next. Just like us.
In his book Hearing God, Dallas Willard writes, "The humanity of Moses, David and Elijah, of Paul, Peter and Jesus Christ himself -- of all that wonderful company of riotously human women and men whose experience is recorded in the bible and in the history of the church -- teaches us a vital lesson: Our humanity will not by itself prevent us from knowing and interacting with God just as they did.
Don't you love that? Not only can their story of faith be our story of faith, their God our God, but their interaction with God can be repeated in our lives.
That's why God told us about them.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Be still
A few years ago I taught a lesson on Psalm 46:10 -- "Be still and know that I am God."
The lesson explored the fact that our society values action. 'Busy hands are happy hands.' 'The idle mind is the devil's playground.' 'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.' Being still runs counter to our 'can do' spirit, our American self-sufficiency.
The lesson then explored how exactly we can be still, how we can wait on the Lord, how we can learn not to default to random activity as a replacement for recognizing God's sovereignty.
As a conclusion for the lesson, I wrote a prayer.
Over the years (the lesson was presented in July of 2003) I have received numerous requests for copies of the prayer. So I am posting it here for any who want it.
Gracious Lord,
I am intentionally stilling my physical and mental activity in order to place myself in your hands.
I am consciously making my body rest in your presence. I am halting all the busyness of my hands and feet. I am waiting in your presence for your decisions, actions, steps.
I am forcing my mind to focus on you and your awesome power and love. I am putting all my worries, all my fears, all my self-justification aside. All the self-talk, all the mental chatter is stopped for me to meditate on your love for me and the safety of your wisdom.
I am being still because I know that my frantic actions and thoughts serve only to distance me from you and your peace.
I am waiting like a child in full confidence that you, Father, know what is best for me. I rest in the security that you always work things together for good for those who love you.
I breathe in your peace, knowing that you can do immeasurably more than I ask or imagine. I rest in you, and in my weakness, your strength is made perfect. I wait for your solutions that come in your time.
I pray all these things through the name of your Son, who showed us your wisdom and love and power.
Amen
ks 7/8/03
The lesson explored the fact that our society values action. 'Busy hands are happy hands.' 'The idle mind is the devil's playground.' 'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.' Being still runs counter to our 'can do' spirit, our American self-sufficiency.
The lesson then explored how exactly we can be still, how we can wait on the Lord, how we can learn not to default to random activity as a replacement for recognizing God's sovereignty.
As a conclusion for the lesson, I wrote a prayer.
Over the years (the lesson was presented in July of 2003) I have received numerous requests for copies of the prayer. So I am posting it here for any who want it.
Gracious Lord,
I am intentionally stilling my physical and mental activity in order to place myself in your hands.
I am consciously making my body rest in your presence. I am halting all the busyness of my hands and feet. I am waiting in your presence for your decisions, actions, steps.
I am forcing my mind to focus on you and your awesome power and love. I am putting all my worries, all my fears, all my self-justification aside. All the self-talk, all the mental chatter is stopped for me to meditate on your love for me and the safety of your wisdom.
I am being still because I know that my frantic actions and thoughts serve only to distance me from you and your peace.
I am waiting like a child in full confidence that you, Father, know what is best for me. I rest in the security that you always work things together for good for those who love you.
I breathe in your peace, knowing that you can do immeasurably more than I ask or imagine. I rest in you, and in my weakness, your strength is made perfect. I wait for your solutions that come in your time.
I pray all these things through the name of your Son, who showed us your wisdom and love and power.
Amen
ks 7/8/03
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
The value of shared experience
Last February I attended a national Christian women's conference in San Antonio. A couple dozen of us went together. We shared rides from Austin to SA; we shared hotel rooms; we had meals together; we sat together at the conference and heard the same speakers. When we returned to our home church, we enjoyed telling others about the conference.
Interestingly, when we returned I noticed that when I saw anyone who had been on the trip, I felt a special kinship to them. I felt noticeably closer to those with whom I'd attended the conference. As I reflected on the psychological results of shared experience, I remembered the same result when I participated in Trek a few summers ago.
Sharing time, events, and/or work creates a bond. Hearing a presentation of ideas together creates a shared reference point for future conversations.
In the same way, shared worship experiences create community. Hearing a sermon together shapes our minds. Congregational prayer -- when done right -- binds us together in our approach to God. To an even greater extent, congregational singing builds connections among us as we lift up a shared offering to God. (I think congregational singing has a greater result than congregational prayer because it's easier for every individual to participate actively.)
God of course knows us better than we know ourselves. Long before we realized the value of shared experience, He gave us the Lord's table. In the opportunity to share the bread and wine, He was addressing the phenomenon of building community through shared experience.
When believers work together to feed the hungry (for example), we not only benefit the recipients, we are built up/strengthened as a body. As living stones built into a spiritual house (I Peter 2:5), we are cemented by shared experience.
Interestingly, when we returned I noticed that when I saw anyone who had been on the trip, I felt a special kinship to them. I felt noticeably closer to those with whom I'd attended the conference. As I reflected on the psychological results of shared experience, I remembered the same result when I participated in Trek a few summers ago.
Sharing time, events, and/or work creates a bond. Hearing a presentation of ideas together creates a shared reference point for future conversations.
In the same way, shared worship experiences create community. Hearing a sermon together shapes our minds. Congregational prayer -- when done right -- binds us together in our approach to God. To an even greater extent, congregational singing builds connections among us as we lift up a shared offering to God. (I think congregational singing has a greater result than congregational prayer because it's easier for every individual to participate actively.)
God of course knows us better than we know ourselves. Long before we realized the value of shared experience, He gave us the Lord's table. In the opportunity to share the bread and wine, He was addressing the phenomenon of building community through shared experience.
When believers work together to feed the hungry (for example), we not only benefit the recipients, we are built up/strengthened as a body. As living stones built into a spiritual house (I Peter 2:5), we are cemented by shared experience.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Emptying
Recently I was reading the crucifixion story and was struck by the fact that even his clothes were taken from him. The soldiers gambled for them, winner take all.
Phil 2 came to mind. I wondered if there is a meaningful parallel.
When Christ left heaven to become a man, he emptied himself of all the trappings of heaven. As he left his human life, he was emptied of all earthly belongings.
Phil 2 came to mind. I wondered if there is a meaningful parallel.
When Christ left heaven to become a man, he emptied himself of all the trappings of heaven. As he left his human life, he was emptied of all earthly belongings.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Metaphors
On Father's Day I was thinking about God. I was thinking that by looking at fathers we understand certain aspects of God's nature.
I learn a lot from the metaphors in the Bible. God is like a shepherd in his caring for us. God is like a king in his sovereignty. Jesus is the Way.
But it occurs to me that we have it backwards: we look at fathers and think about how God is like them. In fact, however, it is fathers who have been fashioned in a way to be reflective of God.
It is understandable that we think of the metaphors backwards because of the chronological order of our learning. We experience fathers in our daily walk -- up close and personal -- before we mature in our relationship with God. Fathers have skin on them while God is invisible. Only later in life do we realize the real order of things.
God was first -- and He created fathers and shepherds and kings in his image. The metaphors in the Bible spring from God's stamp on his creation. He isn't like us; our world is like Him. He created the world with glimpses of himself throughout.
His essence is seen in the patterns of life... in shepherd's concern, in king's sovereignty, etc. Much like a writer cannot avoid self-disclosing in his prose and a painter tells something about himself in every piece of art. Our Creator's nature is woven throughout creation.
God isn't like a Father; He is the origin of fatherhood.
I learn a lot from the metaphors in the Bible. God is like a shepherd in his caring for us. God is like a king in his sovereignty. Jesus is the Way.
But it occurs to me that we have it backwards: we look at fathers and think about how God is like them. In fact, however, it is fathers who have been fashioned in a way to be reflective of God.
It is understandable that we think of the metaphors backwards because of the chronological order of our learning. We experience fathers in our daily walk -- up close and personal -- before we mature in our relationship with God. Fathers have skin on them while God is invisible. Only later in life do we realize the real order of things.
God was first -- and He created fathers and shepherds and kings in his image. The metaphors in the Bible spring from God's stamp on his creation. He isn't like us; our world is like Him. He created the world with glimpses of himself throughout.
His essence is seen in the patterns of life... in shepherd's concern, in king's sovereignty, etc. Much like a writer cannot avoid self-disclosing in his prose and a painter tells something about himself in every piece of art. Our Creator's nature is woven throughout creation.
God isn't like a Father; He is the origin of fatherhood.
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