Discipleship Archives - Page 5 of 8

so run

Is anyone among you suffering?
Is anyone cheerful?
Is anyone among you sick?
James 4

Hey James, how about, Is anyone just plain sick and tired?

Have any of you felt like it doesn’t matter, you don’t matter, nobody cares, so what’s the point? Have you ever thought about walking away because your faith journey is just too hard? Running the race is just too…whatever?

I have a word for you. Literally, a word.

“ἀνάγκη”

Paul uses the word to describe how he could never walk away from the life he’d been called to. To quit was unthinkable. You’ll find this word in the following verse:

For necessity is laid upon me. Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel!
1 Corinthians 9:16

“Necessity.” Anágkē means a driving force, an inner compulsion. This word unburdens one of having a choice in the matter. It’s not a thing you volunteer for (“on my own initiative”, v17), but a calling (“sacred trust”, v17). You don’t ‘sign up’ for it.

One fine day, Saul/Paul was horsebacking with warrants in hand to arrest Jesus followers. Next thing he knows, he’s flat on his back, blinded by an explosion of light. Jesus showed up. “You’re not going that way anymore, Saul. I have something else in mind for you.”

You won’t find Jesus asking him if he wants to preach and suffer and die for the cause. It’s a foregone conclusion, “You’re going to do this.”

Paul’s necessity was to preach the good news. He wasn’t called to make tents or build synagogues. He was called to preach the gospel to the Gentiles. And “WOE TO ME if I don’t…”

Paul was so captured with his calling all of his life was measured in terms of the gospel. The good news of Jesus Christ defined his joy and shaped his thinking and liberated his soul. He was fueled by it. All his hopes were bound up with the prospect of living out and advancing the gospel.

His ‘necessity’ to carry the gospel forward was a vital organ inside the man; if it ceased, he’d be done for. Others might try to ignore theirs or “flee to Tarshish” but Paul’s compass pointed to Nineveh. To abandon his calling was a woe he didn’t want to imagine!

What’s your “necessity”? What compels you? What burden has Jesus placed on you?

I have a necessity to show people that God can use my disability to share the love and hope of Jesus to others. Yours might be to lead your family with integrity. Your calling might be to teach. I had lunch with a retired brother yesterday who told me he’s motivated to help people who are powerless to help themselves. You might be compelled to write. Or you ‘heart’ the homeless. Maybe you are an entrepreneur or a philanthropist.

You might know what it is but you find yourself in a dry season and are tempted to walk away. Face it, we all get discouraged. We all get weary in well-doing.

With all the compassion and understanding I can muster, please allow me to encourage you not to call it quits. Whatever *it* is in your life, it’s worth it. Trust me, I get it.

I’ve got recent entries in my prayer journal that would curl your toenails. In Job-like manner, I’ve railed at God about my struggles. I’ve pity-partied about how I seem to be the only one getting sanctified (not the good kind!). Why do others seem to thrive but I’m over here getting the thorn? Huh, God?

In spite of it all, God is faithful. If I didn’t have that, I’d just roll over and die. His loyal love (‘hesed’) to me is what gets me up in the morning. On those days I’d rather pull the covers over my head, I’m compelled by a calling I cannot deny. It’s my necessity. People fail me, I fail myself, but God never fails.

So then, where is my reward? It is found in continually depositing the good news into people’s hearts…
1 Corinthians 9:18, Passion Translation

My “reward“ for ministry used to be a regular platform, an enthusiastic congregation, name recognition, and a monthly paycheck. Nowadays, I watch birds. I have a fulfilling quiet time with Jesus. I study and read. Sometimes I write. Most everything I do is hidden.

So what is my reward? It’s not a recognition of my preaching gifts. It’s not people waiting in line to speak to me after a service. And I certainly don’t get paychecks for doing gospel ministry anymore.

Now I do all this because of the gospel, so I may become a partner in its benefits.
1 Corinthians 9:23, CEB

What is my reward, you ask?

Paul would say, your reward is to live and share the gospel and enjoy its blessings. It doesn’t matter to who or how many or whether it’s even seen.

Stay in the race, weary sibling in the faith. Keep running. Let’s finish well.

Don’t you know that all the runners in the stadium run, but only one gets the prize? So run to win.
1 Corinthians 9:24, CEB

I’ve heard this text preached with a variety of applications. Now I read “So run” in light of verses 18 and 23.

Run, beloved. Keep running. Run for the sake of the gospel. Not for pay, not for adulation, not for personal success, but for Jesus. Run so others might share in the blessings of following Jesus.

“So run.” It’s worth it. It’s worth all the bends, twists, detours, and it’s worth it even when everyone else is passing you by. God has made you to run, he’s given you a lane, so run for Jesus’s sake.

When we run with this as our motivation along with the fuel of “necessity,” we win. It doesn’t matter if you get your name put up in lights or your testimony included in the chapter of a book. Jesus sees it. He sees you. He sees you getting back in the race…and running.

So run.

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here i am, Lord, standing on the bottom step

I come to worship you, Lord. I desperately need it, but I’m having a hard time getting my head in a right place.

“Nothing in my hands I bring”?

Hardly. I come with wounds and weariness. There are stains on my soul. Battle stains. ‘I am for peace, but when I speak, they are for war’

…have mercy, O Christ…I am so, so tired…

Years ago I read a mostly forgettable book but for one sentence. That single line so resonated with me I can still quote it twenty years later. The author said, “Whatever the enemy wants to do to you he uses people to do it.”

Paul mentioned something to the Ephesians about the devil and his “fiery darts.” That’s real. If you’ve ever been in any kind of spiritual warfare you know it’s real.

Sometimes it’s an unkind text. Perhaps you caught an eye roll from your husband or a hurtful facial expression from your fellow staff member. Maybe you walked into a café and spotted your friend at a table with your least favorite person.

There was a time I had to take a strong stand as a pastor, and some of my dearest friends questioned my position. I had made enemies in the church and now even my friends were turning against me. Sandy and I were utterly bereft. I called my spiritual mentor and cried through the entire conversation. It was easily one of the lowest points of my life.

This was during a time our son was not doing well at all, constantly rebelling and deepening our sorrow. It was all too much. The devil was setting up bulwarks and laying siege to our home and Sandy and I felt completely cut off and alone.

Fiery darts, man. One day you’re going along happy as you please when a stranger cusses you out for trying to change lanes. Sometimes those fiery darts come in the form of words flung from people you are supposed to trust. Those are the hardest.

Sandy and I can easily put ourselves in the sandals of this pilgrim who has just come through a war zone. He stands on the bottom step of the temple, knees feeble, arms hanging. The man is spent. And he desperately needs a kind word from God.

In those seasons, of which we are in one now, the only comfort we have is the word of God.

Here we are, Lord, standing on the bottom step.

too stressed to bless

Psalm 120 is the first of fifteen worship songs created for pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem to celebrate a national feast day. The subscript in your Bible might read “ascent” since Jerusalem was “up” to the travelers; others call them “step” psalms to indicate the fifteen steps taking the pilgrims up into the Temple.

So this psalm is the very first step. Problem is, our soloist is already tired before he even begins. The journey starts out rough. This worshiper is struggling to get to church and now he’s wondering if he should even go. Maybe just turn this caravan around. Check out.

In my distress I called to the LORD…
Psalm 120:1

“Distress.” The word he uses in the opening verse means ‘rival wife.’ It’s possible he wants us to think about Hannah in 1 Samuel 1:6-7 where we find the same word. Read the highlighted text if you aren’t familiar with her story. The insults she got from her rival wife Peninnah were taunting her all the way to the tabernacle.

By the time she arrived, she was too stressed to bless the Lord. She went anyway. Hannah yearned for a kind word from God.

In some forms the word means ‘pebble’ and you can see how well that ties in. Ever tried to walk anywhere with a stone in your shoe?

What was so distressing? Why the furrowed brow, mate?

The very next verse tells us:

Deliver me, O LORD,
from lying lips,
from a deceitful tongue.
Psalm 120:2

Like Hannah, this weary worshipper was harassed by people who did not share his heart. They were unsafe. The taunts he received were an amalgam of bald-faced lies and honeyed words that hid a sharpened knife.

Our pilgrim in this story pulled into the church parking lot feeling like he’d been through a war zone. I’m pretty sure he wanted to put his feet in reverse and go home. Or maybe he realized he was home, the safest spot on earth.

“Woe is me!” he cries from the first step.

meshechites among us

Woe to me, that I sojourn in Meshech,
that I dwell among the tents of Kedar!
Psalm 120:5

Eugene Peterson sets the stage:

Meshech and Kedar were barbarian tribes with a reputation for wildness. They were neighbors to the biblical Hebrews. The person who prayed Psalm 120 was praying in the company of people who were on their way to worship God in Jerusalem but feeling immersed in enmity, lying lips, and a deceitful tongue. He is committed to a way of peace, God‘s peace, but he feels hostility all around him. ‘I am for peace,’ he says, ‘but when I speak, they are for war.’
—Eugene Peterson, Practice Resurrection, 135

Some people are always spoiling for a fight. They quite enjoy starting fires. Their demeanor is mostly antagonistic, but if you happen to catch them on a good day, count your blessings.

Our pilgrim worshipper had come through a string of bad days. Like a certain apostle, he was “troubled on every side…distressed…persecuted…knocked down.” There seemed to be no end to the assaults. Enmity was everywhere.

a closing word

Sometimes the enmity never lets up. You pray, plead, beg, cry, and practically crawl for resolution, but no help comes. Unfortunately, this psalm doesn’t end on a high note. However, we mustn’t forget a very important truth: the very next step offers a better view of things.

I hear you: Lord, hurry up and get me on the next step!

Sandy and I are right there with you.

If perchance you read on you’ll find the worshipper ascending to a new step. In fact, go ahead and read the next psalm now; we could all use some of its encouragement.

I’ll give you the highlights, the better vantage points from the next step:

My Source is true, theirs is a lie
My strength and hope comes from God
He’s wide awake; he sees what’s happening
He’s right beside me, protecting me

The last thing I’ll say is this. Our weary traveler is not alone. Yes, of course God is with him. But he’s also in a company of fellow travelers.

They’ve heard the taunts too. They’ve also been blindsided. They are people of faith of whom can be said, ”They understand. They’ve been there also. They have scars too.” Know they are standing with you on the first step, linking arms, holding you up.

No matter how bad I am feeling, how lost or lonely or frightened, when I see the faces of the people at my church, and hear their tawny voices, I can always find my way home.
—Ann Lamott

Selah, beloved.

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the noonday devil

I am struck by this sledgehammer of words that careened off the page in the direction of my heart:

“The noonday devil of the Christian life is the temptation to lose the inner self while preserving the shell of edifying behavior.”
—Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel, 135

Thank you, Father; I rather needed that.

So much so I find myself praying Manning’s closing chapter prayer aloud (and might again a time or two before it’s over):

Lord Jesus, we are silly sheep who have dared to stand before You and try to bribe You with our preposterous portfolios. Suddenly we have come to our senses. We are sorry and ask You to forgive us. Give us the grace to admit we are ragamuffins, to embrace our brokenness, to celebrate Your mercy when we are at our weakest, to rely on Your mercy no matter what we may do. Dear Jesus, gift us to stop grandstanding and trying to get attention, to do the truth quietly without display, to let the dishonesties in our lives fade away, to accept our limitations, to cling to the gospel of grace, and to delight in Your love. Amen.
—Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel, p144

Amen, indeed.

It’s easy to point fingers at the collective church and say, “The problem with the American Church today is…” and leave ourselves entirely non-mea-culpa. We would do well to remember a Chesterton take on the subject:

When the The Times of London posed this question to several prominent authors: “What’s wrong with the world today?” well-known author and philosopher G.K. Chesterton is said to have responded with a one-sentence essay:

_Dear Sir,
__I am.
_Yours sincerely, G.K. Chesterton

The noonday devil tempts us to pretend we are an Instagram version of ourselves. And be okay with it.

I’ve learned much at the feet of David Pawson, now with the Lord. At one point in his ministry, rumors had been spread about the Bible teacher and speaking engagements were summarily cancelled.

Pawson was up in arms over the whole ordeal and complained vigorously to his wife. She told him to go the the Lord. He did. The Holy Spirit’s say in the matter was: “David, the worst they can say about you is not as bad as the truth.” He laughed. But the point was taken, with God adding, “I know the worst, but I still love you and will use you.”

That truth stuck with Pawson the remainder of his years. He even titled his autobiography, “Not As Bad As The Truth.”

As I once heard said, if our bosom sins were written on our forehead for all to see, most of us would be inclined to wear broad-brimmed hats everywhere we go.

Mr. Moody of Chicago once heralded,

“What we want is to be real. Let us not appear to be more than we are. Don’t let us put on any cant, any assumed humility, but let us be real; that is the delight of God. God wants us to be real men and women, and if we profess to be what we are not, God knows all about us. God hates sham.”
—Dwight Lyman Moody

Did you catch that? “…but let us be real; that is the delight of God.” It would seem the Father is waiting for us to shed the act and embrace the truth. For our own good.

In this selfie culture fascinated with filters, it might just be a sign of maturity to put ourselves out there completely unadorned by the deceptive magic of sham and confess to our ‘followers,’ “This is me. I am dark but lovely. I’m out here tending to vineyards but I’ve been neglecting my own.”

Why must we either surreptitiously rumor ourselves as the hero of our stories or manipulate public acclaim by using the tool of fake humility? Neither is the truth. Somewhere in the middle is true and honest. “Jesus is the hero of my story and I am his humble servant.” And mean it.

Back to Manning. One of the things I love about him is how he completely got over trying to impress (or as close to it as anyone I know). There is such a down-to-earth honesty in his oeuvre, as if he had been there, done that, and was so sick and tired of the whole nasty business of mask-wearing.

Are we prepared to live in community (and before the world) with this premium grade honesty?

Rich Villodas rightly observed, “Evangelical Christianity is often characterized by a deep desire to have ‘Christianity’ pervade our culture but not have Christ permeate our being.”

It may seem an odd thing, but I believe the world would sit up and take notice of this brand of being the church when we the saved are more known as image-bearers of Christ and to an infinitely less degree, image-protectors of self.

It’s high time we exorcised some demons. You know the kind: those “all-dressed-up-in-church-clothes“ demons who offer us phony piety at a discount price. I’m beginning to think they’re among the ones who come out only by prayer and fasting.

Just so you know, whatever you think of me, I can assure you it’s not as bad (or nearly as good?) as the truth. But this I know: God loves me in spite of it and it does me no good to pretend. How many would be spared a devastating fall from grace if they had preemptively confessed their sin to another?

Anyway, that’s what’s on my mind today.

Selah, beloved. (And you are.)

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