Pasturescott Archives - Page 20 of 27

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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a little wine for your troubles

Today I’m braving a huge ask of the Father.

I find myself emboldened to do it based on a morning reading from one of the ancient prophets. No doubt we’re all familiar with the famous verse where the Father invites Jeremiah to,

Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.
Jeremiah 33:3, ESV

As happens so many times (for you too, I’d wager), I had just unrolled on the Lord a heavy burden before turning to the Word. In short order I sensed the Spirit opening to me the Father’s heart in the very place I was reading.

Here I found my Ebenezer.*

The Lord challenged Jeremiah to do something bold, mind-stretching, and unthinkable. He invited the prophet to ‘accost’ him with a demand (that’s the Hebrew sense of the word); to open his mouth and throw up on the Almighty all that was in his heart.

Don’t hold back, my son, he commanded. So I’m not.

If you set the passage in its context you’ll find this is part of an ongoing dialogue between Potentate and prophet. In verse one we see the call for holy boldness is embedded in the “second” of three separate promises made to Jeremiah.

The first promise comes in the previous chapter:

Then the word of the Lord came to Jeremiah: “I am the Lord, the God of all mankind. Is anything too hard for me?…”
Jeremiah 32:26-27, NIV

I’m not going to tell you what I’m asking of the Father but I can tell you the huge favor I’m regurgitating on him is not for me but for another. This person needs a miracle and they needed it yesterday.

“Is anything too hard for Me?”

The answer, we already know in our hearts, is no. Nothing is outside or beyond him. When life gives you lemons, God makes us a pitcher of lemonade. Or wine, as the next promise elucidates.

The second promise is sweet to the palate. God tells Jeremiah to “call out,” unload upon, barrage the Almighty with his request.

You mean it, Lord? Jeremiah must have wondered.

“I most definitely do…and what’s more, when you do it, I’ll take you down to My wine cellar and produce the finest vintage** you can imagine!”

We have the promise that (whatever we ask) the Father won’t ridicule us or tell us we’re stupid. He’s never in a “condescending” mood toward his trusting children. Ask, he tells us. Go ahead, he proffers. I dare you. I want you to “blow up my feed.”

What a picture. We share with him an agony of soul and he responds by placing a glass of his choicest wine in our hands. What does it mean? It means we have royal access to his vault and whatever burdens we bring are met with heavenly vintage.

Wine is often code for “joy” in the scriptures. Rest assured, beloved, your Father trades in joy and he means to get you in the same mood and mindset he’s in.

I said there are three promises given Jeremiah (and by extension, US too, as each can be borne up by scripture) in this running dialogue. The third promise reads this way:

…keep watching! I will restore this city and heal the wounds of My people. I will lavish them with peace and stability.
Jeremiah 33:6, Voice

Restore.

Heal.

Lavish.

Jeremiah was weeping for the City. He longed to see the wicked removed and the holy shine come back. He was sick of the lies and deception from the most powerful voices and wanted them muted. He yearned to see all wrongs righted and a Righteous Day return.

God said, Keep your eyes on the City. It’s still MY City. You’ll be tempted to lose hope but I have plans for My City. Keep watching. You’ll see it in due time if you don’t lose faith.

Today I am arming myself with this trio of promises and storming the throne room. I’m asking God to uphold the cause of a wounded soul and restoring to them all the years the locusts have ravaged. I have something very specific in mind. And bold. I believe it’s a righteous ask. Amen.

And, as Paul counseled Timothy, I invite you to drink some wine for what’s ailing you. Perhaps leave a “pray with me” or a “pray for me” (nothing more need be shared) in the comments?

In any case, I pray for him to restore, heal, and lavish Himself for you in your great hour of need.

Selah, beloved.

*Ebenezer means ‘Stone of help’

** “hidden” is synonymous with ‘inaccessible’ but the Hebrew adds the wonderful nuance of ‘vintage’ (as in grapes)

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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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