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