Tag: Jesus

all the way home

[5 minutes]

Thirty six years ago a baby boy was born in the same city where I first spotted the girl I would marry and who would later be his mommy. That baby was born to someone else, but that someone already gave him up to Jesus so that we could have the rapturous joy of bringing him home. That was then.

He was the answer to his mama’s many prayers and the happy surprise of his disabled daddy. He’s perfect, we said. All his fingers and toes and not a flaw to be seen. He actually favored me. I had only wanted daughters, not a son, but he changed all that with my first look. That was then.

Graham learned how to walk by steadying a pudgy hand on my wheelchair tire, trailing trustingly along as I s l o w l y rolled across the living room floor, him putting one foot gingerly in front of the other. His favorite way to travel was to perch himself between my legs and ride on my footrests, giggling and bouncing at the world in front of him. We were Thunderbolt and Lightfoot. Speed Racer and Chim-Chim. My favorite way for him to ride was when Gra-Gra climbed on my lap, pulled himself upright, facing me. When he grabbed a fistful of my shirt and pumped his legs up and down, that was my signal. Off we went, doing wheelies and spinning and carving donuts in the carpet. That was then.

We could take him anywhere. He smiled at everybody he saw and they usually smiled back. Our little guy loved to sing Jesus songs and was never off-pitch. He made friends easily. He told other little boys on the McDonald’s playground about Jesus. He loved church, he loved his cousins, and he loved Christmas and Halloween and birthdays and pretty much any other day of the year. That was then.

The boy could pick up any instrument and learn how to play it by ear. Like his mama, music was inside him and moved him. He wasn’t a great student, didn’t have the handwriting skills of his mother, but he was the spark of life in every classroom. From kindergarten through elementary school, he was rewarded as the student with the most personality, aka class clown. That was then.

The angels God assigned to our Graham had their hands full. Rambunctious, daring, and always scoping out the next epic adventure, we never knew for sure if we had a tight enough hold on him. He was so adaptable, which is a good thing on the one hand, but not always on the other. Don’t get me wrong; Graham wasn’t a troublemaker, but trouble often found him anyway. That was then.

He gave his heart to Jesus before he became a teenager. I may have mentioned it earlier, but our son didn’t shy away from telling people about Jesus. He went on mission trips, laid hands on people and prayed for their healing, traveled hut to hut with the gospel, and left his only pair of shoes in Honduras for another who had no shoes. That was then.

Prodigals aren’t as rare as you’d think. Especially not the ones who grew up in pastor’s homes. Like many of us, Graham had high hopes but he got mad at a God whom he accused of ruining his dreams. He didn’t know what to do with that, where to take all that anger. It molested him, throttled him, imprisoned him. He became addicted to it, wore it all on both sleeves, and it became the death of him. That was then.

The thing about God’s mercy is that it keeps following us and hounding us and nipping at our heels. All the way home, the psalm says. All. The. Way. Home. God’s lovingkindness never lets up. I shared with another parent of a prodigal just this week the same words that encouraged Sandy and me when our beautiful son died: the power and strength and determined will of God’s hold on us is eternally stronger than our will to walk away from him.

The other thing about prodigals is that some of them, perhaps more than we think, come home. Graham sure did.

God’s merciful love did that. It followed him all the way home, praise Jesus.

Graham would be 36 today. Sandy is in Georgia this week to celebrate still being his mom. She has many things on her docket, but none more important than sitting by Graham’s graveside and reminiscing about all the “that was then” moments. It’s been almost twelve years now, but still we grieve — and that’s okay. Some years are harder than others to celebrate his birthday while mourning his passing. This is one of those years. Sigh.

Were it not for the rich mercies of Christ Jesus, we might just stay by his cemetery plot and never leave, chained to unremedied sorrow. But a hope greater than our grieving is beating in our chests and beckoning us on. We can drive away from that plot of ground, assured and at peace, because there’s a new now, not then, past the veil and scrim of this side of eternity, where Graham is waiting for us to get Home too.

Selah, beloved.

a savior who has time

When the wine ran out, Jesus’s mother told him, “They don’t have any wine.”
“What has this concern of yours to do with me, woman? ” Jesus asked. “My hour has not yet come.”

John 2:3,4

[5 minutes]

For Jesus, His “Hour” was the thing He held most sacred. It could not be trifled with; it couldn’t be waved off or pushed aside; he refused to be distracted from it. It was most expedient. His Hour was the work of His Heavenly Father through him to accomplish God’s will from the beginning. His Hour was His appointment with the Cross for the redemption of lost humanity.

At the wedding celebration in Cana Jesus wasn’t caught in a moment of fleshly irritation. No. There was no sin in his response to his mother no matter how much we try to run cover for Him. “Well, Jesus wasn’t really being disrespectful, there’s technical nuance in the original language that we don’t see in ours, etc.” While true, Jesus showed no ambiguity in exposing his inner motivation to His mom. For our Savior, the Hour of His death was everything. No surrender; no capitulation.

I was honored to share at my dad’s funeral seven years ago. Sharing from John 12:23 (And Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.”), I remembered something my dad said a day before he died. He had been rushed to the hospital with a heart episode and we thought his hour had come. But no. Dad rallied and recovered quickly and, only a few hours later, was resting comfortably in his hospital bed. Crisis averted.

“You had us all scared Dad,” I said. He flashed his signature boyish smile at me. All of 88 years old, he still looked like a much younger man.

“Did you feel ready if, you know, it was your time?” I asked haltingly, yet knowing the answer.

His soft blue eyes were shiny. “Every day I look up at the sky and spot a cloud. I wonder if my Savior will step out on that cloud and come for me. And I always tell him, I’m ready, Lord.”

A few hours later, Jesus stepped out on a cloud and said, “Let’s go, Tom.”

That last conversation with my dad means everything to me. Knowing my dad could have died before I got to him, yet given those extra hours with him, is a precious gift I hold dear.

Death comes for us all. We all have an Hour. That Hour is sacred, binding. There’s no avoiding it. For the believer in Jesus, we leave it in God’s hands and celebrate the days we have until then.

Jesus may have been at a wedding party, but he saw the Cross standing ominously in the background. Still, He was present and merciful and gracious and cared enough to keep a good party going. Isn’t He wonderful?

Tim Keller thoughtfully addressed the inner tension Christ must have felt in that moment:

When Jesus makes his enigmatic statement it’s as if he were looking far away, past his mother and past the bride and groom, and past the whole wedding scene. He’s seeing something else. He’s thinking, ‘Yes, I can bring festival joy to this world; I can cleanse humankind from its guilt and shame. I have come into the world to bring joy, but, oh, Mother. I’m going to have to die to do it.’

– Tim Keller, Encounters With Jesus

Even so, Jesus performs the miracle. How amazing! Yes, he faces a Cross, but he’s also in the company of people who are sad, worried, and frantic. The Gospel of Mark tells of a time Jesus healed a paralyzed man. When he encountered the pitiful man, he dealt with the worst problem in his life: his sin. “Your sins are forgiven you,” Jesus told the man. And then, because of the man’s physical condition, he showed compassion and said, “Rise from your mat and walk!”

In the upper room, following his resurrection, Jesus encountered Thomas. Thomas needed to feel the wounds in Jesus in order to see that he was really alive and not just some ghost or figment or hallucination. When Jesus entered the room, he knew immediately. This is really Jesus, my Savior, my Master! Even still, Jesus invited Thomas to touch him.

Jesus has time for us.

He takes time for us.

He makes time for us.

Jesus sat amidst all the joy of the wedding feast sipping the coming sorrow so that today you and I who believe in him can sit amidst all this world’s sorrow sipping the coming joy.

– Dr. Edmund Clowney

Don’t miss it. The “Hour” Jesus spoke of was His biggest assignment. Bigger than our life events or schedules or plans. And yet he kept the party going.

Master, carest Thou not that we perish? He stills the waves because of course He does. Not because we demand He do it, but because He wills it for us.

How can I pay my bills, Lord? He points out the birds of the air and the flowers of the field. Don’t you see, Child? You think I don’t have time for you, too?

Put yourself in the Savior’s sandals. Facing a Cross of execution as the Substitute for all humanity for all time, bearing all sin and its curse, and then someone — his mother! — tugs at His sleeve and says “We need more wine.”

And Jesus is liable to say, “You see those stone water jars? Bring them to Me.”

Selah, beloved.

it had to be john

[5 minutes]

Hey y’all, I want to share some thoughts with you I’ve been mulling over about the naming of John the Baptist in Luke 1…and what that means for us, the grace-endowed people of God.

When Zechariah and Elizabeth presented their miracle baby for circumcision, Elizabeth insisted her baby be named John. Insisted. Others thought Zechariah would be more appropriate, but Elizabeth stood her ground.

“No,” she said staunchly. “His name will be John. Period. End of discussion.”

We know why she was so adamant from a verse earlier in the chapter:

But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call his name John.”

Luke 1:13

I mean, the angel Gabriel said so, come on. Who’s going to defy God’s main messenger angel? John it was prophesied, and John it shall be.

When Elizabeth told those closest to her about the naming, they balked. When has there been a ‘John’ in our history? Give him the name of a notable priest or prophet! This is a miracle! It deserves a BIG name! But John?!

“John” means ‘Yah (the LORD) is gracious’ in Hebrew. “God has graced us” is a beautiful rendering also. Zechariah and Elizabeth were graced with a son in their olden years.

Remember, Elizabeth and Zechariah were well past childbearing years. The name infers “special grace“ for a privileged couple. All of John’s days he would have the reminder of his name to know that he was a grace-gift.

May I just insert here – [it is my thesis after all!] – you and I have been blessed to carry the name of Christ Jesus. This should remind us all day, every day that we are stewards of special grace and are to extend that same grace everywhere we go.]

They could have gotten really clever and named their baby Zechariah John. That’s catchy, right? Got a nice ring to it? It’s good compromise after all. But no. His name was John. No other name would do.

So from here on are the thoughts I’ve been mulling over about this scene in the third gospel, Luke 1:59-80 in particular.

John’s birth and calling worked in tandem with the Advent of Jesus who is the Christ. So close were they on the timeline of salvation’s grand history you can’t be witness to Jesus’s arrival without hearing John’s announcement.

The Baptist was born into the world to do one thing: prepare people’s hearts for the Advent of Messiah (Luke 1:17). His coming illustrates the Church’s mission since her birth in the Acts.

We believers should take joy in being part of something so special, birthed by God, indwelt by His Holy Spirit, and called out among all the peoples of the earth to announce and proclaim the Coming of Christ Jesus to the world. The Church is meant to be a blessing for all!

forerunner of Messiah

Enter John. It had to be “John.” We have been wonderfully, gloriously graced to meet Jesus. It became official when his Dad, Zechariah, (finally) said the name out loud, much as the Father spoke over Jesus: This is My Beloved Son.

John was a peculiar name just as we are a peculiar people. We are peculiarized (my word) in our naming and identity. We are Christians (belonging to the realm of Christ) and called-out ones, called to wilderness life this side of heaven to prepare us and make us ready for the Day of our Revealing as the sons and daughters of God (Romans 8:19; 1 John 3:2).

And the child grew and became strong in spirit, and he was in the wilderness until the day of his public appearance to Israel.

— Luke 1:80

John grew and “became strong in spirit” (v80). The tense of the verb is that he kept growing and he kept getting stronger in spirit through his lifetime. We won’t mention John’s briefly questioning Jesus’s creds when he was in prison facing execution. I think he gets a pass for that, considering he was faithful unto death.

Maybe as you have read along, trying to follow the flow of my thinking, you’re slowly beginning to pick up on it too. The trajectory of John’s life, beginning to end, is the same testimony of the Church.

Enter the Church. We were conceived in grace, birthed in promise, named intentionally, living as nomads and exiles on earth, all the while announcing the Glorious Arrival of the Christ of Heaven.

The Apostle Paul said it has to be us, too. God doesn’t have a Plan B. Weak, foolish, low, and despised though we may be, we’re it. If you got to play God for a day, would you choose us?

the church as forerunners, too

Brothers and sisters in Christ, we know there’s a lot of “not the Church” “inside the Church.” That’s pretty obvious to us (and to the world). Don’t fret it and sweat it. God knows it too. He graced us with a calling and mission. (By Christ) we’ll get it done.

God’s graced us with fiery prophets and prayer warriors and preachers and wilderness voices and faithful husbands and devoted wives and surrendered singles and poets and artists, as well as Spirit-filled children …with more yet to be birthed into the Kingdom!

God stands over it all, steady and unflinching. He named us. And because He promised a faithful Bride for His Son, we will see unparalleled growth by the Spirit — along with increasing hardship — as we draw ever closer to the Day.

‘God is gracious.’

He has graced us.

Let us give thanks.

And you, child (Church), will be called the prophet (people) of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people in the forgiveness of their sins,
because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

— Zechariah’s blessing over John, with slight edits to include us

That’s what I’ve been chewing on lately. What are you thinking about these days?

Until next time,

Selah, beloved.