the rock that is higher than i

The Dolomites, Photography by Sergio Anotoni

From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed:
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

Psalm 61:2, KJV

[5 minutes]

This time 43 years ago I was meditating on these very words. For days on end I agonized over how they’d become my lived experience.

My “end of the earth” was a college campus in Chattanooga, Tennessee and I was an “overwhelmed” college kid. My desperation owed to the fact I couldn’t find any reason to go on if something didn’t change. My miserable world ran late for an appointment with a giant fork in the road. Meanwhile, there I was, stuck in a mud hole on the side of the road.

Quite suddenly, from nowhere, this verse hit my ear drums like a percussive bomb. Everything shook and shifted. I memorized it. I quoted it. I gnawed on it. I wept over it. I fell asleep with it muttering on my lips. I visited it in my dreams.

It now strikes me as odd that in all of the decades of preaching, I’ve used that scripture as the main text of a sermon perhaps once or twice. And yet, it remains the sun in my existential solar system.

The climb

If you pray that God will move your mountain and he doesn’t, assume Christ wants you to climb it instead and see him transfigured.

— Beth Moore

Sometimes we see a mountain and pray that it gets moved. Other times we see one and say — in the spirit of 85-year old Caleb — “Take me there, Lord.” My weary heart was done with ‘making mud-pies in a slum.’* I was now after the Rock that was higher than i.

Since then, I’ve been tempted by lesser things, settled for them, repented of them, and raised my eyes again and again to that blessed Mount. I’m still climbing, thanks be to God.

Almost twenty years ago (I remember it well because it was my last hospitalization for pressure sores), a family friend told me she couldn’t shake an image of me from her mind. In that hard season I was as depressed in spirit as a body could be, fighting yet another pressure wound and facing more weeks and months of hospitalization. When the woman asked if she might share an encouraging word, I was only too happy to listen.

I see you as a mountain goat winding around a tall mountain on steady feet. I’m struck by how the feet stay planted even though the path is treacherous. And every time you go around the mountain, you go higher. The way is never easy, but as you keep moving, you keep climbing, climbing, ever higher.

Think what you will about visions and mental pictures, but I must say I found it gripping. She hadn’t known about Psalm 61 and its impact on my life, so the image had me transfixed, even more so because of its peculiar timing. My situation was redolent of a frightened Gideon hiding out in the wine-press, told by the Angel he was a mighty man of valor. A sure-footed mountain goat conquering the craggy cliffs? Me? Hospital-bed me?

Moving stones

The timing of God, beloved, is impeccable. Of course it seemed a bit too “peccable” for Mary and Martha when Jesus finally showed up for their departed brother’s funeral. Our Lord was only fashionably late, turns out. It seems the will of the Almighty was to let things play out. By doing so, our Lord showed them his heart (“Jesus wept”) and his awesome power.

Lazarus’s resurrection suddenly planted the idea in their heads that there was no obstacle greater than God’s power! Sickness? Come on, small potatoes. Quieting a storm? Childs play. Walking on water? He could do that in his sleep! But death? Even worse, a fourth-day-body-is-ripe-by-now death? Now we’re talking.

Let the reader understand: there’s nothing quite like a good old-fashioned resurrection to keep you climbing just to see what else God has in store. I needed a resurrection while I languished — overwhelmed — on that bed of misery…and God gave me one. He set my feet on a Rock, praise his Name. I’ve been the beneficiary of a thousand and one mercies and so have you. You’ve seen God do things that took your breath away, things that put you flat on your face in worship. So have I.

My sister told me once upon a time she wanted to see me reach heights that few have ever reached. There are countless others who have gone a fair sight higher than I can imagine for myself. By the grace of God, and with his help to give me sure feet, I’m going to keep climbing. I’m tired of pebbles and stones. I want the Rock that is higher than i.

Selah, beloved. Onward and upward!

_________________________________________

*Full quote by C. S. Lewis, “We do not want too much, but too little. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” (The Weight of Glory)

the life of the party

[4 minute read]


I enjoy laughing. I’m told I have a pretty good laugh and I’ll take it. My male and female friends are some of the funniest people I’ve ever met and they also happen to love Jesus more than anybody I know. Sandy, the life of my party every day, is a hoot to live with; she has lightened my mood so many times I’ve lost count. I love laughing with her.

A couple I pastored years ago enjoyed the way I presented Jesus as being as real – with real emotions – as you and I. They gifted me with a print of the “Laughing Jesus” and it’s still one of my favorite depictions of the Savior rendered by any artist.

Jesus, Man of Joy

Jesus would be the life of any party. Based on the scripture above, he has more joy than the happiest person in the room. He is delighted (“stringed instruments make you glad” v8) when he hears good music. I think he’d sidle up to the house deejay and suggest a tune and everybody at the party would enthusiastically approve.

There have been many gloomy kings, sad kings, bad kings, and even some mad kings, but few glad kings. David came as close as any with his hymnbook and his harps, but many of David’s great songs are drenched with tears. Jesus will be a happy King—anointed with the oil of gladness above His fellows! His reign will fill the world with sunshine and song.

– John Phillips

Just today I was reading someone encouraging us that reading the psalms wasn’t just reading the words of David or some other Hebrew worshipper. We’re actually given the pleasure of singing along with Jesus much as he sang them with his followers. That hit me in a sweet spot. Singing alongside the Savior!

Sure, there are dirges and choruses in the minor key, but think of the volume of joyous anthems and Hebrew ditties. Picture Jesus, Man of Joy, with head thrown back, belting out hosannas and riffing on bouncy melodies and beaming as he scans the happy faces around the fire, urging them to join in with gusto.

Friends of the Bridegroom

The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look at him! A glutton and a drunkard…’ (Matt 11:19)

Far be it from me to miss any party Jesus is attending. My name’s on the list for the Party of parties – the Mother of all parties – that’s coming. You know, the one Psalm 45 alludes to.

There’s always party-poopers, of course. One day the Cold Water Committee™️ showed up to crash a dinner party one of the newly-minted disciples threw for Jesus. Levi invited all his buddies from his former life, raising the ire of the party police. “Why do you eat and drink with such scum?” they demanded to know.

Jesus turned on them:

“The friends of the bridegroom do not fast when He is with them, they celebrate! They don’t fast; they feast!” (Luke 5:34)

Who the prickly pontificates called “scum” Jesus called his “friends.”

It’s gonna be a “Friends-only” Party (FOP) in the New Creation. Jesus will, no doubt, be laughing and singing as he serves us (!!!) and we will marvel at how beautiful and full of joy he is. We are going to feast and dance and laugh until the cows come home. And those kind of cows, my brothers and sisters, they never come home.

See you there if not before, beloved.

‘Til next time,

Selah

sing with me

Come, let us sing for joy to the LORD.

Psalm 95:1


Back in the day I was “a singer who happened to preach.” It all started with “The Fire” followed by “Whatever It Takes.” Those were the most requested. Over 10-15 years there were so many others, plus three self-produced albums with several songs I wrote. Songs for Sandy, songs for Graham, songs about my story, but all for Jesus.

One of my favorite audiences were the disabled. They wanted to hear “Home Free.” Tears everywhere. I even got to sing it onstage with Joni a couple times.

Because of my brokenness and disability I gravitated to songs geared for the suffering. Christine Wyrtzen’s album, For Those Who Hurt, struck a chord that has stayed with me to this day.

Does Jesus Care, Tears Are A Language God Understands, Peace In The Midst Of The Storm, just so many. My college friend Kim wrote a song around the time of my accident, God Makes No Mistakes, which I’ve sung a ton of times with Sandy at the keyboard. Pow.er.ful.

Jesus Led Me All The Way. Goodness, I’m waxing nostalgic today. I’ve Never Been Out Of His Care. Oh yeah, that one too.

It wasn’t really a dream of mine to be a “singer who happened to preach” but the other way around. I love to sing but preaching is my calling. Still, I jibe with the occasional tickle to sing to the church again, especially for the wounded ones who weekly (weakly?) sit in our pews. Maybe one more shot at Home Free for my friends at Handi*Camp or Christian Overcomers. Perhaps a reunion with Joni. Or a duet of My Savior First Of All with Sandy.


I suppose what has me musing and all misty about the ministry of song today was a rabbit trail I took in Psalm 95. “Come, let us sing…” The middle verses got me humming a certain Maranatha chorus I heard long ago. You’ll know it too. The first part of the psalm is nostalgic and celebratory. The last refrain reminds us the Church gathered isn’t always a pretty sight.

The truth is we are a wilderness people and when we gather together to worship our Lord, we are worshiping him out of our desert places. Look around next Sunday. Watch the people. No one has it all together. Nobody has arrived.

Many of the people who assemble on Sundays have come through a week out in the wilderness and haven’t fared so well. Some have had seven days of Meribah. Others may have gotten testy with God or they’ve failed in the way and fallen flat on their face. Here and there are those who are losing faith in the whole process. A joyful number have manna on their breath and are just riding that high.

It’s a safe bet no one’s face will shine so brightly they’ll have to cover it. Probably not even your pastor.

Somebody will be there who feels out of place because they come from a lesser tribe, a labeled past. You’ll know them because they barely lift their eyes.

More than one will come with one foot in promise and another in Egypt. Some of those may even have a golden calf still hiding in their closet somewhere.

To your left might be a once-gifted-leader who blew it big time and is just a shell of the man he once was.

There will be a worshipper nearby who remembers all too well the leprosy of her sin. Her friends remember it too.

A great many however, will have stood on the banks of the Sea and seen God make his name famous. They will, as the first verse in the very next chapter says, “Sing to the LORD a new song.” Such are witnesses to the waters being lifted up and pushed aside, making a way for them to pass through on dry land. They can tell you about that day. Some will weep in worship, others will dance and clap. Some will just stand there shaking their head, still in disbelief.


“Come, let us bow worship and bow down…”


So sing we will, with desert sand between our toes, because Jesus came and changed the Story. To that end “A Christian should be an alleluia from head to foot,” said Augustine.

Through him then let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of our lips, acknowledging his name.

Hebrews 13:15

I want to sing. I want to sing all those songs I mentioned above, but I don’t want to sing to you; I want to sing with you. A choir, no solos. Broken saints, doubting saints, beleaguered, tired, whipped saints, happy saints, all. “Come, let us sing!” Sing with me, will you?

What shall we sing?


P. S. Here’s the song that started it all for me: