Hearing is Healing

My daughter has been volunteering with at-risk youth in the city of Spokane for the past year. 

On a visit to celebrate her 21st birthday, I had the privilege of accompanying her to the Impact Center. She knew every kid in the facility and it was clear that they knew and loved her too.

At one point a new face appeared in the doorway and made her way to our table. The card game came to a stop as “Anne” began to pour her heart out to my daughter about some recent crises in her life.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little awkward with the situation. There were some pretty private things being shared with anyone and everyone within earshot. And a number of people were on hold waiting for the game to resume. But the end was worth waiting for.

After several minutes, a long pause enveloped us. Anne broke the silence. “Thank you, Elizabeth. You always listen to me.”

The message was clear: Anne experienced being loved by the simple act of being heard. Elizabeth didn’t offer advice or solutions. Just a listening ear tied to a heart that clearly cared.

It is only when we have truly heard someone that we can begin to love them the way they need to be loved. To offer the care they need and are asking for. Hearing is healing.

Whether it was a Samaritan woman at a well, a father with a dying child, or a woman suffering from an ongoing illness, Jesus never seemed to be in too much of a hurry to be present. He took the time to listen to and explore the stories of those He encountered.

In his Gospel, Mark describes a woman who suffered from an illness for more than a decade. She had spent everything she had to get well, but only got worse. Her one remaining hope was to encounter Jesus. Pushing her way through a large crowd, she managed to touch a piece of his tunic. The bleeding stopped immediately. She knew she was well.

Jesus felt it happen and stopped in his tracks before asking a seemingly ridiculous question: "Who touched me?" The disciples thought it was a joke. "Who touched you? In this crowd? A better question would be, "Who hasn't touched you?"

But Jesus was determined. Refusing to resume his journey until the person came forward. Eventually she did. And kneeling before him -- right in front of everyone -- she told her whole story. Don't miss those last five words.

Why did Jesus stop the procession and force everyone to wait -- including a distraught father whose daughter was in the process of dying? Because Jesus knew that the physical aspect of this woman's healing was only one part of her journey. Being heard -- and, therefore, loved -- was the other.

Who do you need to begin hearing in a new way today? Hearing is healing.

Listen with one intention -- to understand. Ask clarifying questions to make sure you heard them correctly. And then thank them for trusting you enough to share.

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Recommended Resource: Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, by Peter Scazzero.

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2KIXcGu

Leaving Small Group

Some good friends just left our small group. And they aren’t coming back. 

It’s been a little over six months since we invited them. Over that time we have had them in our home, barbecued together, and vacationed together. We celebrated together and walked through difficult situations together — taking our turns at both high fives and tears. We shared the joys and struggles of marriage and parenting. We pored over God’s Word and poured our hearts out in prayer. 

I guess you could say we shared a good deal of our lives with them during this period of time.

So what happened?

They grew. 

And they left. 

They were supposed to.

It would have been easy to stay. And comfortable too. For all of us. Truth be told, our small group is different now. But — and don’t miss this — so are they. 

They saw the growth in themselves and their relationship with God. They understood following Jesus and being a disciple in a new way — and they owned it. And when they sensed a call, they mustered the courage to answer it. As a result they’ve gone from from invitees to inviters, from participants to leaders, from disciples to disciple makers, and a new small group was born.

Six months ago, they were intimidated by the idea of sharing God’s Word with someone and wondered whether they belonged. Today they are sharing His Word and what He is doing in their lives — and helping others find a place to belong.

The reality is this: they are going to reach people that they never would have reached had they remained in our group. They already have! It’s a big loss for our small group, but a big gain for the Kingdom. And that is what it’s all about: The Kingdom.

What did Jesus have in mind when He called the twelve disciples — and formed the New Testament's first small group? A group that would stay together forever? Or more of an incubator where people would grow for a time before being released? Did they exist for themselves? Or for the purpose of reaching and impacting the world around them? (Jesus’ recruiting invitation in Matt 4:19 may help answer these questions.)

While Jesus and His disciples formed lifelong relationships, the focus was always on impacting others in the same way that Jesus had impacted them. They would carry His message, use His methods, and continue His mission. The future of the Kingdom and the Church depended on it.

Fortunately for us, the original disciples eventually came to understand this.

I was thinking this morning: what would it have looked like if the 11 remaining disciples had simply chosen to keep their tight knit group together and “do life” while waiting for Jesus to return?

Don’t get me wrong, eleven families doing life together and worshipping Jesus is a beautiful thing. But who would they have reached? How would it have had the Kingdom-expanding impact that Jesus intended for His disciples?

What if a small group was the vehicle Jesus intended to use to reach the world? Was it? How would it be different if your small group and your home became the way more and more people were introduced to a life of knowing, following, and being on mission with Jesus?

I can offer some ideas from the past six months. It would look like people growing in their faith. It would look like people finding purpose in the mission of Jesus’ church. Like people taking chances and seeing God use them. Like people discovering the joy of giving themselves away for the sake of another — and then someday releasing that “another” to go and do likewise.

These friends left our small group, but we haven’t left each other. We’re as committed to one another as we ever have been! We will continue to meet regularly to encourage and disciple them, take phone calls when they have questions, gather in our backyard for barbecues, and celebrate what God is doing in and through them. And, over the course of time, we will meet those they have reached and hear the stories of how their lives have been transformed.

This is discipleship. This is being the Church.

The message of Jesus. The methods of Jesus. And the mission of Jesus.

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Interested in reading more about how the early church reached the world around them?

https://churchleaders.com/smallgroups/small-group-articles/285398-early-church-small-groups-larry-kreider.html

A Tale from the Trail

This past summer, my wife and I found ourselves in one of the most beautiful places we’ve ever been — Victoria, British Columbia. The city itself reminded us of Disneyland with its lush flower beds, sculpted hedges, and historic architecture, but there was even more beauty to be found in the surrounding area. And we were set on finding it.

We found it on a trail to the top of Mt. Finlayson in Goldstream Provincial Park. This half-day venture would allow us to stretch our legs, have those conversations that only happen on the trail, and take in the panoramic views of the surrounding mountains and sea.

The hike was challenging and the terrain difficult in many places. As I tracked our progress via an app, I couldn’t help but notice that there appeared to be a trail descending the backside of the mountain. While I strongly prefer to return the same way I came — especially in unfamiliar territory — maybe we’d do something different today.

No one at the summit appeared to be taking this other trail, but a few locals did confirm its existence. So, after some time enjoying the picturesque views and celebrating our victory over gravity, we began the new and unfamiliar descent.

The forest was spectacular in the afternoon light. And all was well for the first mile or so. Periodic checks of the map and our progress showed us right on track. Until they didn’t. One minute we were good. A half mile later, the app showed us way off the trail. And yet we were on a trail.

We faced a decision… To continue on meant we would be flying blind in unfamiliar territory. To turn back meant a long trek back to the summit before descending the way we had come.

In all honesty, it was a tough call. Risk wasting more time or getting lost? Or cut our losses and head back? As we mulled our options, my peripheral vision picked up movement in the trees. It was a hiker descending from the summit the same way we had come. We were in luck!

As he approached, we introduced ourselves — and our dilemma. He wasn’t familiar with our map or the original trail it showed, but he was familiar with this new trail and offered to accompany us the rest of the way down. 

His experience and confidence allayed our concerns and his presence proved helpful as we encountered more questions along the way. The trail proved longer and far different than I had envisioned it. I can tell you with certainty that we would have turned back at some point if not for his assistance along the way.

The significance of this event was not lost on me. My wife and I had made a major decision just months earlier to leave what we knew as ministry and venture into new and unfamiliar territory — relational discipleship. We had a map and even a couple of guide books written by those who had been there before. But we knew there would be questions along the way. We had so many already! 

What we lacked was someone who would take the to trail with us.

Unbeknownst to us, that person would step into our lives just a handful of weeks after this hike — and in a way that was eerily reminiscent of this day on the trail. We stood at a critical  junction in pursuit of this new ministry, but it was time to go off the map. To go from theory to practice. In unfamiliar territory. Unsure if we were on the right track or even understood the trail.

This time it wasn’t something in my peripheral vision, but rather the buzzing of my iPhone against the wooden surface of a nearby desk that caught my attention. It was a Facebook message from a pastor in Houston by the name of Brandon Guindon. We had met when I visited his church about five months earlier.

In keeping with our current theme, you could say that Brandon is a seasoned hiker. He knows the map and guidebooks well, having assisted in their development and production. More importantly, he has decades of experience on the types of trails we were setting out on. And, in an extraordinary turn of events that we couldn’t have foreseen or arranged, he was reaching out to see if we might need some guidance — or a guide!

In a world full of people standing at the summit, pointing to the trail, and wishing others well, here was someone willing to take to the trail with people just one degree of separation from total strangers. Who does that?

That Facebook message was just the beginning of an ongoing relationship that has included multiple trips to Houston, regular phone and video calls, and countless hours of conversation, questions, clarification, and encouragement. Just this past month, the pastor and his staff invested six days of time and training in some couples who have joined us on the journey. It was incredible!

To be honest, I still find it all a bit hard to believe. What makes Brandon and his people so different? Why are they so generous? And so committed? After being in the process long enough, I discovered the answer. And it’s incredibly simple: They get it.

They have experienced the transformation that occurs when one person intentionally invests what they have in another over time. They have reaped the benefits both personally and corporately. And they have discovered God at work in the midst of it.

When it’s something and someone you’ve become, it’s easy to figure out how to do that for others — you do what has been done for you.

Everyone when he is fully trained will be like his teacher. 

Luke 6:40

The reality is that true discipleship — what Jesus did with his followers — is a lost art. He took some pretty raw materials and made disciple-making machines out of them. He took fishermen and tax collectors, invested three years of teaching and on-the-job training in them — in other words, He invested himself — and then sent them out to change the world.

Disciple-making churches do the same thing, taking accountants, plumbers, and cooks — everyday people like you and me — and raising them up to be disciple makers, shepherds, and pastors. They are certainly the exception to the rule at a time when many churches seem focused only on improving the show and filling the seats. Ministry is left to the professionals while the vast majority of the body of Christ is relegated to the role of spectator.

It is crazy to think that this trail of discipleship is unfamiliar territory to me after 15 years in ministry. I should have had the trail of discipleship all mapped out long ago. 

It turns out that this trail lies on the backside of the mountain of church activity and goes largely unexplored. It’s a trail that follows the mission and methods of Jesus. A trail that is never traveled alone. And one that fits perfectly with who we’ve been created and called to be. 

Our current focus is on creating environments where authenticity is the norm, where it is safe to struggle and have questions, where individuals can explore what following Jesus really looks like, and where disciples and disciple makers will be raised up and equipped to do what Jesus has called all of his followers to do. Here's a little secret: it's not that complicated.

We couldn’t be more excited about this new trail and those who have joined it with us. We’ve been on it long enough to know it’s not an easy one. And we’ve done our best to count the cost. But once we’d experienced it — once we got it and began to see its impact on ourselves and others — we realized there’s no other trail we’d rather be on.

Maybe you've been sensing that there should be more to this following Jesus thing. Maybe you're frustrated with the ineffectiveness of the church or your lack of personal growth. If so, maybe it's time for a new trail. A new adventure. Maybe it's time to follow the ministry and methods of Jesus and see what kind of disciple he might want to make out of you.

We're on the trail and it would be our privilege to walk it with you. You can reach us at info@reallifearizona.com.

Something New

If change is hard for you, you’re not alone. Change is hard for most of us. Especially when it touches something close or important to us — a relationship, a favorite place, or a favorite anything really.

I still remember my reaction when I heard that the College World Series would be moving to a brand new stadium. New stadiums are nice and all, but I’d been attending games at Rosenblatt Stadium since I was a little boy. I had decades of memories tied to that place. Others had school and family traditions tied to it. It seemed that Rosenblatt Stadium was the College World Series. How could you possibly have one without the other?

A month or so ago, Starbucks announced that it will stop offering plastic straws with their drinks beginning in 2020. What? Someone’s going to mess with the way I enjoy my favorite drink? Everyone knows that Starbucks has the best straws! My wife and I now joke about hoarding Starbucks straws in preparation for Strawmageddon in 2020. At least, it’s partly a joke.

Change comes — whether we like it or not. And often whether we choose it or choose to avoid it. But the reality is that change is often good. And good for us. Despite my initial misgivings, I have now enjoyed several years of College World Series games at TD Ameritrade Park. And I have to admit, it’s really nice! Much nicer than Rosenblatt ever was. I confess, it’s hard to see now how a paper straw can possibly compare to the plastic that I’m accustomed to (not to mention be an improvement), but based on experience I should at least be open to the possibility.

As followers of Jesus, we, of all people, should be the most open to change. To something new. Even when it touches something important to us. After all, our relationship to God is the result of God having done something new. The Jewish people had their faith and memories and traditions based on what God had been doing and the way He’d been doing it for hundreds of years. And then Jesus showed up and started talking about something new. 

This something new seemed to be a real threat. A threat to their faith and understanding of God. A threat to their way of life. A threat to their memories and traditions. And there was a lot more at stake than a baseball stadium or a preferred vehicle for beverage consumption. This was the very fabric of their society. Their entire identity!

And yet we can look back now and see what God has done. In a passage that the people of Jesus’ day would have known well, God spoke to his people through the prophet Isaiah telling them, “I am about to do something new.” This was a big something new. A something new that literally changed the world. For the better. For good.

But it was change. And change is often hard. Yet it was good. And good for us. (That may register as the understatement of the year right there.)

Is there a something new on the horizon for you? A change that you are worried about? A new that you are hesitant about? A something you are avoiding?

In spite of all of your fears and all of your misgivings, something new might be exactly what you need. Exactly what the world needs.

Maybe this fear of change and new somethings is why God gave us the reassurance of Romans 8:28 along with the something new:

“And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God.”

Did you catch that? He said all things. Even new things. Even change things. For good. And good for us. Trust that. Trust Him. He might just be doing something new.

<< Leave a comment below and let us know how we can be praying for you and your something new. And feel free to pray for us as we venture out into our own something new. >>

Can You Believe It?

You and I live in the Information Age.  It may be more accurate to call it the Age of Information Overload.  Information is continuously at our fingertips.  Calling for our attention.  Bombarding our attention spans.  Unlimited access to ideas, statistics and images rides in our back pockets and purses, rarely out of reach.

The upsides are easy to spot.  You can learn more with less effort, find what you want in less time, and make fewer bad restaurant choices with just a few taps, swipes or key clicks.  

But the downsides are there too.  Suddenly, it seems, the truth is harder to nail down.  The facts depend on who you are listening to at the moment.  Everything has a spin.

Who is to be believed?  What can we believe?  And how much of it?  Whether it’s the direction of our country, police brutality, ISIS on the Mexican border, or Ebola ready to sweep through the nation, whose truth is the truth?  What are we to believe?  Who or what is believable?

While information overload may be unique to our time, deciding whom and what to believe is not.  Jesus told people some pretty unbelievable things and, in that moment, they, like us, had to decide what they should believe… what they would believe. 

In John 5:1-17 we find Jesus making his way through a very crowded Jerusalem.  A feast was being held and many God-fearing Jews had traveled to the city.  As he makes his way toward the temple, He passes by a pool known as the Pool of Bethesda.  

It’s a pair of pools actually, walled in with covered porches on four sides.  A roofed colonnade divides the two pools.  Popular belief states that at certain times an angel of the Lord would go down into the pool and stir the waters.  The tradition also holds that the first person to enter the pool after it was stirred would be healed of whatever infirmity he or she had.  As a result, the areas around the pools are filled with all manner of disabled people — blind, lame, and paralyzed (Jn 5:3) — waiting for the stirring of the water.  A multitude waiting for their opportunity to be well.

And then the focus narrows.  We go from a crowded city and a packed scene to a very tight view.  From a multitude of people to only two:  Jesus and one specific man. A man who had been sick a long time.  And waiting a long time.  Jesus sees and knows.  He approaches.  He initiates.  Because this is what Jesus does.  He finds us among a multitude but always approaches us as individuals.  His approach is always personal.  It’s the nature of relationship.

After acquiring the man’s attention, He asks:  “Do you want to be healed?”  It kind of makes you wonder what the man’s first thought was after hearing a question with so obvious an answer.  While we don’t have his thoughts, we do have his words:  “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.”

If in Jesus we see God as He really is — and we do —  then in the disabled man we see ourselves as we really are.  Sick from the effect of sin in our lives.  Longing to be well and whole, but lacking the means in and of ourselves.  Scratching and clawing our way to the waters, but always coming up short.

And it is into this that Jesus steps.  Initiating.  Asking.  Offering.  “Do you want to be healed?”  It seems like a silly question, but Jesus wastes neither words nor opportunities.  If He asks, there’s a reason.

“Do you want to be healed?”  It’s a valid question.  Do you?  Do I?  Really?  While our mind and mouth may answer “yes,” our hearts often betray a different reality.  We may be more like the lame man than we think — looking right past Jesus to all the reasons we can’t be healed, all the reasons restoration isn’t for us.  Our heart, where fear often resides, is well aware what healing might mean.  Healing might mean letting go.  Letting go of control.  Or anger.  Or bitterness.  Healing might mean beginning to trust again.  Trusting others again.  Trusting God again.  Healing involves change.  And change involves the unknown.  Pain and brokenness may be an enemy, but at least they are a known enemy.  And so we choose to remain where we are rather than trust God with the unknown.

It is precisely in that place right there ^^ that Jesus singles us out and asks again, “Do you want to be healed?”  Are you willing to trade pain and heartache for healing, even if it means trusting and some unknowns?

What kind of truth does Jesus desire to speak over you today?  What kind of healing is Jesus wanting to bring to you today?  What has He been waiting to speak over you and heal within you for a long time now?

The man in John 5 had been suffering this way for 38 years.  He never saw Jesus as one who could provide the healing that he so desperately sought.  And yet it was to this very man that Jesus speaks words with the power to heal: “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.”  

At the initial question, faith in Jesus’ ability to restore was optional, but at these words it was required.  In that moment, he had to decide.  Should he believe it?  Could he believe it?  He could.  He did.  For the first time in 38 years he stood.  On his own two feet.  Only 8 words earlier he had been crippled by the past and trapped in the present.  And now he stood.  Suddenly.  Suddenly freed from the chains of hopelessness.

What is your 38 year thing?  What is keeping you from being all that God has created you to be?  What is keeping you from believing that healing and restoration from the past are for you?  That every good thing that God has for His children applies to you as well?  What keeps you from believing that you are a beloved child of God upon whom the Father longs to shower his grace, mercy, forgiveness and kindness?  To reveal Himself as the Good Father and Shepherd that He really is?

It’s interesting…  A number of scholars believe that John shares the duration of the man’s disability for its symbolic value.  You see, 38 years is the length of time that the Hebrew people wandered in the desert, never entering the Promised Land.  On the edge of the river, but never crossing over.  A generation of people whose purpose and future were lost for one reason:  they failed to believe God.  Despite all the evidence to the contrary, they would not believe that God was willing and able to do all that He had promised.  They squandered their purpose and the promise.  38 years of pointless wandering — and a lifetime of regret.  

What’s your 38 year thing?

I’ll leave you with Jesus’ final words from this passage:  “My father is working until now, and I am working.”  

He’s not done with you yet.  Can you believe it? 

A Cautionary Tale

A short time ago I received some unexpected news: my uncle had passed away at the age of 75.  The surprise wasn’t so much in his passing, but rather in the timing.  Eldon was no stranger to health issues and his body seemed to battle several things on a daily basis, including diabetes.  He had been battling fairly well for so many years, it didn’t seem that now would be the time.

Knowing that my aunt would be inundated with calls and messages, I gave it a couple of days and then made the call.  When I found her, she was driving home from a granddaughter’s softball game – a much-needed break from the patterns of thought plaguing her at home.

As I strolled a sidewalk in the fading evening light, she related to me the events of the past several weeks.  She told me how one of his sons had come to Arizona to watch Spring Training baseball. How Eldon had gone to the games with him.  Not just a game here or there, but 14 games in close succession.  And in some very warm Arizona temperatures. 

A nurse herself, my aunt explained that fatigue combined with dehydration had created a dangerous complication with his diabetes, how once he had overcome that another situation arose, and then, ultimately, how pneumonia eventually took his life.  I heard the agony in her voice as she described the decision to remove him from life support.

Eldon was gone.  My aunt was heartbroken.  Children and grandchildren were grieving deeply.  As she laid out the memorial service arrangements, a question triggered in my mind: what story would be told in light of Eldon’s passing?  Clearly his demise had been avoidable if only he had used better judgment.  A whole lot of grief could have been spared if only some moderation had been employed. 

Knowing what I knew of Eldon – including his well-known stubbornness to heed the warnings of his doctors, his wife, or just about anyone else for that matter; his knack for eating the things that were explicitly laid out on the “No, you have diabetes” List; his penchant for doing what he wanted to do rather than what he should do, I arrived at what appeared to be a foregone conclusion.  Eldon’s story, told properly, would be, should be, a cautionary tale.

I was pretty sure I was right.  After all, there really wasn’t anything to challenge my thinking.  He had set the course of his own demise and it was something we could all learn from.

A few days later, I sat three pews from my aunt in a traditional Methodist church.  The memorial service was going just as I had envisioned.  A song, a welcome from the pastor, the funeral liturgy, another song.  And then it happened.  People – the people who knew Eldon best and loved him most – began to talk.  They told stories and shared memories.  Together they told a tale, but it was no cautionary tale of tragedy.  It was a tale of love.

Eldon was remembered – not reformulated or recreated, but remembered – as a man who consistently gave himself to others.  With his time, his talents, his joy, his humor, his smile, his touch, and, yes, his love of baseball, he had consistently given away what he had to share.  The more they spoke, the more I realized how right they were.

The pastor knew Eldon well through his involvement in the church choir and the singing of solos for special events, like weddings and funerals.  He spoke of Eldon’s dedication to the church and the ministry there.  How Eldon always took his calls.  How he could not remember a single instance of Eldon turning down a request to use his musical gifts at someone's special event.  How, despite his declining health through the years, Eldon always came.  First he came more slowly, then he came with a cane, then he had to sit during the singing, but still he came.

Over and over Eldon was remembered for what he routinely gave away – his time, his presence, his gifts, his love, a smile, an encouraging word, a piece of candy.  From what I gleaned, Eldon was never about guarding what he could keep to himself or for himself, but always about how he could bless someone else.

It was in those moments that I realized how well Eldon had actually lived.  Had he lived another way, he may have lived longer.  But while he lived, he had lived well.  And it became undeniably clear that he had also loved well.

It made me wonder… Are we too focused on our own life’s longevity?  And not enough on life’s brevity?  Could it be that we are ignoring Jesus’ advice rather than heeding it?  After all, it was Jesus who said that whoever tries to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will save it. 

Eldon’s life was a cautionary tale all right.  It just wasn’t the caution I was expecting.  As near as I can tell, Eldon hadn’t spent much of his life trying to save it, but he had spent much of his life and he had spent it well.  

“It’s what you sow that multiplies, not what you keep in the barn.”

--Adrian Rogers

Drilling Deeper: Humility

And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said,“Truly I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Jesus in Matt 18:2,3

Faith.  Trust.  Peace.  Power.  Compassion.  Many outstanding attributes of character marked the life and ministry of Jesus.  But one stood at the center, serving as the catalyst for the rest: humility.

Humility.  Jesus lived it and modeled it as the one who came not to be served, but to serve.  He preached it to his disciples as a prerequisite for those who would enter the Kingdom.  Paul held it up as the path to glory for Jesus and a key to living within the body of Christ.

So, what is humility?

I have heard many definitions and reminders of humility.  I’ve even taught some of them.  One common saying goes like this: “Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it is thinking of yourself less.”  This is practical and even helpful, but I’m afraid it doesn’t go deep enough. It is a practical reminder of brotherly love – which is the fruit of humility – but it doesn’t drill down to the core of what humility is.  Fortunately, Jesus does.

In Matthew 18, Jesus addresses his disciples.  Interestingly, he chooses to put a child in their midst as a model of humility.  Did I read that right?  Jesus put a child in their midst as a model of what?  Humility? And then he says this: “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” [Matt 18:4]

  Unless children were different in Jesus’ day, he certainly didn’t have that earlier saying about humility in mind when he chose a child as his architectural blueprint.

I know this because I have four children.  And I have been living with these creatures for almost fourteen years now. “…Thinking of yourself less?”  Is that typical of children?  Not the ones I know and love.  They think of themselves first when it comes to almost everything – where they sit in the car, who gets to play the game, who gets to go first, who gets to go at all.  It’s me, myself and I.  And every “I” for himself.

So what did Jesus have in mind when it came to children and humility?  How can we “turn and become like children?”  I think back to the days after our firstborn – Elizabeth – came into the world.  I remember one moment like it was yesterday.  I was holding this tiny, five-pound baby in my arms, looking into her sweet little face, when a monumental reality hit me: I was the only father she had.  In that moment, two things became sharply apparent: my responsibility and her dependency. 

For the next few years, she would depend on the love, care and compassion of others for her very survival.  She was born with two hands, but they were empty hands. Empty hands that could do nothing – for herself or anyone else.  Empty hands with nothing to offer.  Whether she knew it or not, she was desperate.

Jesus said that turning and becoming like children was a requirement for entering the kingdom.  So how do we become like children?  We stand before God with empty hands.  Empty hands that have let go of everything we thought we had to offer:  pride, self-reliance, performance, good character or anything else.  Realizing that, in and of ourselves, we have nothing to offer; nothing to commend ourselves to God, other than complete dependence upon him.  We stand with empty hands.

The authors of We Would See Jesus describe this key to entering the Kingdom so well:

“Grace permits us to come (nay, demands that we come) as empty sinners to be blessed: empty of right feelings, good character and satisfactory record, with nothing to commend ourselves but our deep need, fully and frankly acknowledged… The struggle, of course, is to believe it and to be willing to be but empty sinners to the end of our days, that grace may continue to match our needs.”

Did you notice that word “struggle”?  The “struggle” to be “willing to be but empty sinners to the end of our days.”  Oh, how true it is – even in the Christian life.  We start out with empty hands before God and then, before we even realize it, we have begun to pick things up and hold them in our hands: good works, good character, changed lives.  We think we have become something.  We think that we have something to offer.  Something to offer God and others.  That’s called pride – the chief nemesis of humility!

Ironic isn’t it?  That the very fruit of God’s work in our lives can become a barrier to true fellowship with him?

It’s time to take a look at our hands.

Young or old.  Rich or poor.  New believer or mature Christian.  All must approach God the same way – every day – with empty hands. 

Receiving the Light - Part 1

Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."  John 8:12

Effective teachers do more than convey information.  They ask questions.

Jesus was famous for asking questions.  As a matter of fact, He made answering a question with a question somewhat of an art form.  That’s because Jesus understood an important principle: Asking a person the right question often has far greater benefits than simply handing him the right answer.  Questions require thinking and analysis.  They push people toward an answer – toward a decision.  And Jesus is all about decisions.

The eleventh chapter of Luke paints an interesting scene.  Beginning in verse fourteen, we see a crowd of people witnessing an exorcism.  Jesus is confronting a demon that has silenced a man’s ability to speak.  I imagine that was something to see.  But unlike some of Jesus’ other demonic encounters, we don’t get a lot of details on the exorcism itself.  Instead, Luke’s focus is on the varied reactions of those present.

Some questioned Jesus’ power and authority saying that they came from Satan himself.  Some people marveled – they were intrigued by what they saw.  While others wanted more of a show – they wanted Jesus to show them more miracles.  They were curious, but they wanted more proof.

People respond to Jesus in similar ways today – marveling, questioning, and even demonizing.  But according to Jesus it’s not enough to marvel at the miracles He performed.  Nor is it enough to like Jesus or to enjoy listening to His teachings.  Surprisingly, it’s not enough to publicly praise Jesus (Lk 11:27,28) or even to be freed from demonic possession (Lk 11:26).  Jesus pushes his hearers beyond all of these things.  Jesus pushes those who would listen towards one goal: the decision to receive Him.

In this passage, Jesus likens himself to a lamp that has been placed high on a stand for all the world to see.  He has come to enlighten the world to spiritual truths that cannot be perceived with the naked eye or understood with bare human intellect.  And one of these truths is the very real existence of two unseen, spiritual kingdoms:  One a kingdom of darkness, the other a kingdom of light. One the kingdom of Satan and the other the Kingdom of God. One the kingdom of Hell, the other the kingdom of Heaven.

In Luke 11:21-22 Jesus tells a short parable of a king and his kingdom. He describes this king as a strong man, fully armed guarding his own palace.  His army and his kingdom have been secure and at peace – that is until one stronger than he arrives and attacks his kingdom.  This stronger man overpowers the king, overthrows his kingdom and divides the spoils of battle.

In this parable, the “strong man” is Satan and the palace he was guarding is this world.  Jesus is the one who is stronger – the one who has attacked Satan’s kingdom and has overcome him.  Jesus’ miracle proves the point:  The man with the demon is evidence of the reality of Satan’s kingdom and the exorcism is proof that Jesus is “one stronger than he.”  Satan is overcome by Jesus and the kingdom of darkness is overcome by the light.  The kingdom of God has arrived and Jesus is the Commander in Chief.

Jesus has both the power and the authority to overthrow Satan’s kingdom but, as in any war, the people must choose sides.  Which kingdom and army will they support?

Jesus asks the question and then adds, “Whoever is not with me is against me.”  Whoever does not choose to side with Jesus remains on the side of the enemy.  There is no middle ground (Lk 11:23).

Too often, people want to sit on the fence.  They want to avoid making a commitment, making a decision to receive Christ.  But Jesus warns us that the unseen battle is real, though we cannot see it.  The lines between these two kingdoms have been drawn though we cannot always perceive them.

We must choose sides.  We must answer the question:  What are you going to do with Jesus?  What are you going to do with the light?  Will you join him?  Or will you be part of the resistance?  An insurgent for the kingdom of darkness?

The default setting on the human heart is darkness.  We all begin there for that is the kingdom we are born into.  The question is, “Where are you today?” The answer to that question makes a world of difference – the difference between heaven and hell. 

There is only one way to know: Have you received the light?  Have you chosen to receive Jesus and the redemption that He offers?  It is the only way out of the kingdom of Satan and the kingdom of Hell. 

If you are not with Jesus, you are against Him (Lk 11:23).  But to all who do receive Him, who believe in His name, He gives the right to become children of God – children of the kingdom (cf. John 1:12).  Receive Him today.

"I'm sending you off to open the eyes of the outsiders so they can see the difference between dark and light, and choose light, see the difference between Satan and God, and choose God. I'm sending you off to present my offer of sins forgiven, and a place in the family, inviting them into the company of those who begin real living by believing in me.”  Acts 26:17-18 (The Message)

“And we know that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding, so that we may know him who is true; and we are in him who is true, in his Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life.”  1John 5:20

The Grammar School of Faith

“The righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe.” Romans 3:22

It is a strange thing indeed and might be an oxymoron were it not true. How knowing more about Jesus can lead to forgetting about Him. And how followers of Christ can often leave their leader behind. Neither makes sense. And both are owed to a conflict within us – the battle between the flesh and the spirit, the physical and the transcendent.

John Bradford, a sixteenth century English reformer and martyr, was well acquainted with this very human phenomenon. Bradford described what he called “Christless talkers.” Those who seemingly forget the elementary principles of faith and repentance. He was well acquainted with those who were full of “a bare head knowledge of sound words [that] availeth nothing.” Christless talkers. A moniker we would do well to avoid.

The constant challenge of the Christian life is to take a great journey of faith without forgetting the starting point. To walk a great distance with Jesus without ever getting far from the cross. For his cross is the source of his grace to us, and his grace is the source of our life in him.

This journey is not without its pitfalls. It is a journey with Jesus, but our flesh is always along for the ride. This flesh that would rather do than be. This flesh that would rather achieve than receive. The flesh that desperately wants a righteousness of its own rather than a righteousness that comes through faith.

And that is why a bare head knowledge of Jesus will never do. Because head knowledge often leaves the heart untouched. In this way it offers a sense of well-being, but fails to confront the pride-filled flesh. Paul noted a group of people in his second letter to Timothy whom he described as “always learning and never able to arrive at a knowledge of the truth” (2Tim 3:7). Knowing about Jesus. But not knowing Jesus. Giving lipservice to him, but serving ourselves.

If we want to be more than “Christless talkers,” we must remember the lessons from return regularly to what Bradford calls “the grammar school of faith and repentance.” We must return frequently and remember where it all began for us – where it can begin for you today – with a Savior on a cross and a sinner on his knees. It began with a heart crying out and Jesus answering her pleas.

This vision of Savior and sinner, the Righteous and unrighteous, must be woven daily into the very fabric of our hearts, lest we forget our need for him.

I speak from experience, because my struggle is not in knowing that I have been saved by grace through faith (Eph 2:8). Neither is my struggle in knowing that justification is a free gift (Rom 3:24). I have been taught that many times and read it countless more.

No, my struggle is in convincing my pride-prone heart that I need Jesus as much today as I did the day I met Him. My struggle is in remembering that today – in my own flesh – there is nothing to commend me to God (Rom 7:18). My struggle is in remembering that it is only by grace that I have been saved. And that is not my own doing. That is the gift of God.

My best days are the days that I live with an awareness of this fact: I am still an empty sinner in need of grace.

I like the way Roy and Revel Hession frame this in their classic work, We Would See Jesus:

“Grace permits us to come (nay, demands that we come) as empty sinners to be blessed: empty of right feelings, good character and satisfactory record, with nothing to commend ourselves but our deep need, fully and frankly acknowledged… The struggle, of course, is to believe it and to be willing to be but empty sinners to the end of our days…”

Empty sinners. To the end of our days. Seeing ourselves as empty sinners will keep us closer to the cross. Closer to the place where Jesus can be found. And closer to the source of his grace.

As Roy and Revel put it, when “our deep need (is) fully and frankly acknowledged… Then grace, being what it is, is drawn by that need to satisfy it, just as water is drawn to depth (by gravity) that it might fill it.”

How long has it been since you have allowed the grace of God to plumb – and replenish – the depths of your heart? Taking some time for a clear picture of your Savior in light of your sin can do wonders for the soul. Return again and again to the cross, in both humility and gratitude, and drink your fill of His glorious grace.

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A bare head knowledge will lead us away from Jesus,
blind to our need for Him.
But a heart that is mindful of its own poverty will keep us returning to the cross and the source of his grace,
that we might be filled again and again with the person and character of Christ.

For the Spirit says,
“I am the vine and you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.” John 15:5

The Good of Good Friday

I don’t know about you, but I generally do my best to avoid pain and suffering. I don’t even like the way those two words go together so smoothly… pain and suffering. Pain. Suffering. They are seemingly effortless. And unavoidable. Distasteful realities of the human condition. Realities that most of us wouldn’t wish upon our enemies.

Someone may boast a “No pain, no gain” philosophy in reply, but that speaks not of true pain, neither of true suffering but rather of a mentality of meritorious hard work. True, it may involve some degree of physical pain and even a type of suffering, but always at a level that the individual can withstand and always with the ability to make it stop. Those who extol this philosophy would likely see their pride extinguished when presented with an opportunity to truly suffer – like chronic hunger and malnutrition for a lifetime, or the sudden loss of the person closest to them, or a debilitating disease that brings a slow and agonizing death. No one chooses these things. Rather they seem to choose us – with their limitless levels of pain and no “Off” switch in sight.

It is in our DNA to avoid true pain when at all possible. Even a newborn infant expresses her displeasure at the slightest pain with the most insistent cry she can muster. And those cries continue right through old age when aches and pains manage to dominate a person’s thoughts and talk about the weather gives way to discussion of the latest and greatest analgesics.

Fifth graders know something about avoiding pain too. I observed them closely this past Sunday as we discussed the arrest and trial of Jesus in Sunday School. A few winced at the abuse and humiliation Jesus endured at the hands of the Sanhedrin – as they mocked and beat him (Mk 14:64-65; Lk 22:63-65). More recoiled at the description of the scourging Jesus would have endured prior to his crucifixion (Mt 27:26; Mk 15:15). But all eyes opened wide as their teacher produced a thorn-laden branch like those in the crown of thorns that was pressed into Jesus’ head (Mt 27:29; John 19:2). The branch made its way around the room, being passed from student to student with the utmost care. The passing student steadied the branch while the receiving student carefully selected a hold among the menacing thorns. More than twenty students handled the branch. No piercings. No bleeding. Mission accomplished.

Yet Jesus defined success very differently. Before the foundation of the world, pain and suffering figured prominently in his purpose statement. From the very moment he left heaven, they had their sights set on him. And when the crown of thorns came his way, he neither summoned ten thousand angels nor sought to find a safe hold, but rather grabbed on with both hands. His suffering and our salvation were inexorably linked. He achieved one by means of the other, grasping the thorns and his cup of suffering with both hands as they nailed him to the cross. There would be no other way.

Pierced. Bleeding. Despised. Rejected. Stricken. Afflicted. Wounded. Crushed. Cut off. Oppression. Grief. Sorrow. Judgment. “It was the will of the LORD to crush him.” (Isa 53:10).

“For all we like sheep have gone astray;
we have turned – every one – to his own way;
and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” [Isa 53:6]

Mission Accomplished.

It is in the picture of Jesus’ suffering that I am reminded of the ugliness of my own sins – all of them. Sometimes we trade in ugly sins for prettier ones. Unacceptable sins for acceptable ones. And blatant sins for veiled ones. But even the prettiest of sins is a thorn in his crown. A whip on his back. A nail in his wrist.

Why do we remember Good Friday and the suffering of Christ? What is the purpose of this graphic image of pain and suffering? Why grieve ourselves by remembering it? As the Apostle Paul wrote, “godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret.” [2Cor 7:10]

Salvation without regret. I don’t know about you, but I have enough regrets in my past – I don’t need any in my future. When I stand before Christ I long to hear the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant… Enter into the joy of your Master.” [Matt 25:21]

I pray that this Good Friday would be a reminder of the One who grabbed on with both hands because of the enormity of his love for us. It was for the joy set before him – bringing you and me back to himself – that he endured the cross (Heb 12:2). Oh, the wonders of the cross!

And I pray that we would be reminded of the ugliness of even our “pretty” sins. May the Holy Spirit unearth the sins we have quietly allowed back in. And may our sin grieve us for a godly grief that leads to repentance and salvation without regret.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses,
let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely,
and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us...

...looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith,
who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross,
despising the shame, and is seated
at the right hand of the throne of God." [Heb. 12:1-2]

Grab on to Jesus today. With both hands.

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If music speaks to your heart, take a few minutes to meditate on the words of this song by Sidewalk Prophets.

Our Refuge

[An audio version of this blog post is also available - click here to listen]

“For you have been a stronghold to the poor,
a stronghold to the needy in his distress,
a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat.”
Isa 25:4

My family and I live in Phoenix, Arizona. Certain times of year we count that a blessing and others we wonder if it might be a curse.

“Valley of the Sun” is the moniker given to Phoenix some time ago. It is a fitting nickname as we enjoy an average of 334 days of sunshine per year. In January it rolls off the tongue so nicely as bundled up reporters deliver images of blizzards and word of sub-zero windchills in other parts of the country. “Ahhh, yes,” we say to ourselves, “we are blessed to be in the Valley of the Sun.”

The Summer, however, can find us singing a bit of a different tune. After 14 consecutive days of 100+ temps and relentless sun, those 334 days of sunshine can seem like 300 too many. We begin to wish that the 31 days of clouds would arrive all in a row to give us a much needed break. It is at this point that I often modify the nickname: Valley of the Scorching Sun.

The sun seemed to unleash its full fury on me recently as I enjoyed a run through our neighborhood. The advent of September had reduced its intensity some, but it was still plenty fierce for me. I found myself criss-crossing the streets to take advantage of shade trees - even planning the next segment of my route based on the maturity of its foliage and the angle of the sun. I relished in the coolness of every patch of shade and the relief it brought to my weary muscles as cool air swept over them.

Life can be like that sun of ours. It too has its seasons.

Some days we bask in its warm glow. We are living the dream. Enjoying the moment and the truly precious gifts that have come our way. Thankfulness wells up within us, refreshing our resolve and seasoning our speech.

And then there are the scorchers. Those days where life seems to have our number and “fate” seems to treat us like its little brother – pushing every button we have until our patience and our tongue are ready to burst into flame. It is on those days that we wonder how much more we can take. It is on those days that peace seems more like a distant cousin than a close companion.

When I am in the middle of a scorcher, I often need to remind myself that a good God created everything – including life (Gen 1). That He had ordered and numbered my days (including this one) before the first beat of my heart (Psa 139:16). That the One who created the sun also created the trees. He who created the heat also gives us the coolness of a patch of shade.

The funny thing about that patch of shade is that you have to run to it if you want to experience its coolness. Far too often, it seems, we want to experience the peace of God without ever seeking His presence. We want him to shade us from life’s scorchers, but we don’t bother to take refuge in the shadow of His wings (Psa 36:7). We want all of the life-giving benefits of a pit stop, but we continue around the track at 150 miles per hour without ever pulling in.

After 5 years of seminary classes, some assignments stand out for their sheer workload while others stand out for the blessing they bestowed. I remember the latter most clearly. A dear professor gave us this homework assignment one week: Go into a closet or other quiet place and spend 45 minutes with the Lord. Don’t talk. Don’t pray. Don’t ask. Just be still – inside and out – before the Lord.

We turned in a brief paragraph about the experience. I just re-read mine. For the sake of space, I won’t tell you everything, but I will tell you that it includes the word “struggle” (we’re not used to being quiet, you know). But it also includes words like “serenity” and “peacefulness” as well as “vision.”

Are you in a scorcher? Where will you find the shade you need?

Are you still out on the track? Your crew chief is beckoning you to pull in for a pit stop.

His refuge is waiting.

Take refuge in the shadow of your Father’s wings and let the coolness of his presence refresh your weary spirit.

“You keep him in perfect peace
whose mind is stayed on you,
because he trusts in you.
Trust in the Lord forever,
for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.”
Isaiah 26:3-4

Where's My Miracle Part 2 - "A Greater Promise"

[An audio version of this blog post is also available - click here to listen]

And he said, “Where have you laid him?”
They said to him, “Lord, come and see.”

Jesus wept.

So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of
the blind man also have kept this man from dying?”
John 11:34-37

There’s something interesting about family. Ok, rephrase that. There are a lot of interesting things about family. But I’m thinking of one in particular. Have you ever noticed that we often show less courtesy to our own family members than we do to total strangers? Is it just that familiarity breeds contempt or is something else at work?

On a lighter note, I sometimes joke about my brother’s version of a family discount – he’ll sell me anything for just 20% more than he would sell it to a total stranger. Maybe he just knows what he can get out of me. In any event, it’s something we can both laugh about.

Jesus had family, too. A family that was very human – they even mocked his ministry in the beginning. Jesus’ earthly family was probably a lot like ours – some were blood relatives and some of them were just so close that they felt like family.

Well, if anyone was close enough to Jesus to be called family, it was a pair of sisters – Mary and Martha. Mary and Martha lived with their brother Lazarus in a town called Bethany. It’s likely that their home was a frequent destination for Jesus. Hospitality was huge in the Jewish world at this time and it appears that this family had a special place in the heart of Jesus.

If anyone was in good standing with God in the flesh, it was this family. And that is what makes the death of Lazarus, the brother, such a huge question mark. We don’t know what he died of, but we know he was sick for a few days – plenty of time for Jesus to get there and prevent his death.

The Gospels are filled with Jesus healing total strangers of all kinds of debilitating diseases – blindness, paralysis, leprosy, you name it. You’d think he would rush to the scene when a good friend like Lazarus is at deaths’ door.

But he doesn’t.

It’s not that he doesn’t know. He does. (John 11:3)

And it’s not that he doesn’t care. He does. (John 11:5)

Yet he seemingly does nothing. (John 11:6)

Lazarus is slipping. People are praying. His sisters are crying. And where is Jesus? About 2 days away. Waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for Lazarus to die.

So, when does Jesus show up? After Mary and Martha have been mourning their brothers’ death and, I imagine, questioning Jesus’ compassion. After four days of mourning and questioning, Jesus finally shows up.

It is a painful scene – one many of us are all too familiar with. Tears come in streams. The sound of weeping fills the house as family members arrive to cry, to console, and to comfort. Each knock at the door brings another familiar face and another wave of emotion. The death of Lazarus is recounted and re-lived time and again.

An elephant looms large in the room. It is the question everyone is asking, just not out loud: “Where was your friend, Jesus? Where was your miracle?”

Mary and Martha are in the middle of this scene when word arrives that Jesus is coming down the road.

We see the pain in Mary’s response: she has no response - at least not outwardly. She simply remains in the house, resigned. What pulsed through her heart at that moment? Anger? Doubt? Betrayal? All three?

And then there is Martha. She bolts out the door and charges down the road. When she meets Jesus, we see no embrace. Instead we see a bit of a rebuke, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” In other words, “Where were you?!? Where was our miracle?!?”

It’s a perplexing question, really. Jesus healed total strangers and yet allowed his friend to die. Jesus even healed people that didn’t ask for it. Yet when his closest friends sent for help, he left them waiting. He left them wondering. And then he left them mourning.

For the record, I’m relieved that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus when he was sick. Because it means that I am not the only follower of Christ who, like Mary and Martha, has watched and waited for Jesus to come, only to see someone I love take her last breath.

I’m grateful that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus. Because it tells me that Jesus knows and Jesus cares – even if he doesn’t show up in the way we would like him to.

And I’m glad that the tomb of Lazarus’ reeked of decomposition by the time Jesus showed up. Because it gives proof of a greater promise.

A greater promise? Yes, a greater promise! You see, all those people who were healed eventually died. The paralytics, the lame, the blind, the lepers. They all died. And even those few that Jesus raised from the dead during his earthly ministry all eventually died again.

But Lazarus was a believer. Jesus wanted to give Lazarus and his closest friends a taste of the promise he really came to make. Jesus never promised his followers a life of comfort here and now. He never promised a life free from suffering, pain or loss. He never even promised a long life.

No. He promised that he would overcome this world, this life. That after this life of struggle, disappointment and heartache, something greater awaits those who trust in Jesus – even when he seems two days away.

You see, Lazarus’ death was no accident. It was to display the glory of God and deepen the faith of all who witnessed what would come next: the raising of Lazarus from the dead.

Notice that when Jesus showed up and faced Martha on the road that day, he didn’t define himself as “the healer.” No. He said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” And he wasn’t talking about this life. This life, the here and now, is important, but the ultimate promise – the greater promise – is in the life to come. A greater life than we will ever know here.

Mary and Martha and Lazarus were followers of Christ. They were in. They were family. And right now, at this very moment, they are experiencing the promise. A greater promise. An eternal promise.

A life that requires no mourning. A life that never disappoints. But a life that comes only in our death. It is a giving up of the temporary in order to obtain the eternal. Ahh, yes. Now that sounds like the promise of Jesus.

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live,
and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”

John 11:25-26

Where's My Miracle?

And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well;
go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” Mark 5:34

The Gospel of Mark.

A man with too many demons to count. Tormented day and night, he lives among the tombs. Written off. Alone. Yet at the feet of Jesus he is made whole again.

A woman plagued by bleeding for more than 12 years. She is drained – physically, emotionally and financially. With a touch of Jesus’ cloak, she is healed.

A ruler of the synagogue whose only daughter is at death’s door pleads with Jesus. Word comes of her death, but for Jesus death is no different than sleep. He “wakes” the girl and gives her back to her family.

These are wonderful accounts from the life and ministry of Jesus. The kind that make me wish I could spend just one day watching Jesus move mountains. The kind that make me stand in awe of the God of the universe. Faith. Healing. Resurrection. Great stuff!

Yet if we are honest, these accounts can leave a weird aftertaste. The kind of aftertaste that begs the question, “Where is my miracle?” or “Where was my miracle?”

Where was my miracle when my mother battled cancer for three and a half years? For that matter, where was her miracle?

Where is my brother’s miracle as he battles cancer today?

Where was my aunt’s miracle as her husband battled Leukemia?

Where are parents’ miracles as they watch their child slip away?

Where was your miracle? Where?

But caution is in order here. Miracles are part of the story, but they are far from the whole story. Is it possible that the miracles are there to show us who Jesus is – God in the flesh – but that the other details show us what He came to do?

Jesus’ day was no different than our own. It was often some kind of personal need that brought people to Jesus: One of life’s fearful storms. Relentless demons. A debilitating disease. A loved one on the brink. These were the things that drove many to seek Him out. Yet Jesus always addressed a deeper need – a spiritual one.

Let’s take a look at the woman in these verses. She has secretly touched the hem of Jesus’ garment and has been healed. The story could have ended there: Jesus keeps walking. She goes home. Great story.

But it’s not the end. Rather, Jesus turns a secret healing mission into a public confession of faith. He moves from something good to something great. He takes a temporary physical fix and leverages it for permanent and eternal significance.

Her mission may be finished, but His is not.

Jesus stops the whole procession and calls out, “Who touched me?” She tries to hide, but she knows He knows. And He knows she knows He knows. So He asks again, looking her way this time, “Who touched me?” The compassion and gentleness of Christ compel her. She can hear it in His voice and see it in His eyes. She squeezes through the crowd, falls before him and “tells him the whole truth.”

And what is the result? She is saved. For eternity. Jesus makes it explicit. Although it is often translated “your faith has made you well,” we could just as easily translate it “your faith has saved you.” In this case, it meant both.

She could feel the physical healing in her body (v. 29) and now Jesus brings spiritual healing to her soul. He pronounces “shalom” or “peace” to her, a term with fantastic significance for the people of Israel. It meant that all was right between her and God – wholeness, unity, a restored relationship. Shalom. He calls her “daughter” – a child of God (something her disease had convinced her she wasn’t).

As the text says, the woman told Jesus the “whole truth.” I imagine “this whole truth” was quite a story. We don’t know where her story began or how long it lasted, but we know where it ended – at the feet of Jesus Christ – testifying of her faith and His redeeming work.

Jesus offers that same shalom, that same salvation to us. And He offers it the same way. The Apostle Paul tells us that “if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.”

It’s a promise. And the miracles of Jesus are here to show us that He will make good on that promise.

"The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save." Zeph 3:17