The Three -- And Me

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us . . . . (Hebrews 12:1)


Much of 1 and 2 Chronicles retell the events in 1 and 2 Kings, but with a different focus on the various kings of Israel and Judah. What caught my eye this time around were the sobering stories of how three regents in particular – Solomon, Asa, and Jehoshaphat – started well with God, but finished poorly. I’ve read the chapters many times before, but this time their stories came into greater focus.

In his early days, Solomon had a unique and intimate relationship with God. Chronicles touches on the story, but you will find much more detail in 1 Kings  chapters 3 through 8. Not only did God call him Jedidiah – which means, “Beloved of God” – but He choose Solomon to build the great Temple and then gave him wisdom and wealth that surpassed that of every other king of his era. Nevertheless, within a few short chapters Solomon had married idolatrous women who seduced him from the One who’d so abundantly blessed him. You won’t read about his crash landing in 2 Chronicles, but you’ll find the terrible details in 1 Kings chapter 11.

Asa, another king of Judah, when meeting an overwhelming army in battle, prayed, “Lord, there is no one besides You to help in the battle between the powerful and those who have no strength; so help us, O Lord our God, for we trust in You, and in Your name have come against this multitude. O Lord, You are our God; let not man prevail against You” (2 Chronicles 14:11). And because of his humility and reliance on God alone, Asa and his small army shattered the invasion force of more than a million men and charioteers. You’d think such a miraculous victory would stay with the man for a lifetime.

It did not.

Years later, when Asa found himself threatened by another kingdom, he sought help from the Syrians instead of God. When God’s prophet rebuked him for his disloyalty, Asa put the prophet in prison. Even when he was sick with the illness that would ultimately take his life, Asa refused to seek God’s help. (2 Chronicles 16:12)

Jehoshaphat was the third Judean king who caught my attention. Early in his reign, Jehoshaphat “took great pride in the ways of the Lord,” and sent teachers throughout his realm who “taught in Judah, having the book of the law of the Lord with them” (2 Chronicles 17:6-9). But years later Jehoshaphat allied himself with the evil and idolatrous King Ahab. When he asked Jehoshaphat’s help in an impending war, Jehoshaphat replied, “I am as you are, and my people as your people, and we will be with you in the battle” (2 Chronicles 18:3). Not surprising was God’s response to the Judean king: “Shall you help the wicked and love those who hate the Lord, so as to bring judgment upon yourself?” (2 Chronicles 19:2)

I closed the Bible and settled into an uneasy self-reflection. How could such great men start so well and end so poorly? And more important, if it could happen to them, could it happen to me? And if so, how do I prevent it?

Before the last question crossed my mind, the Holy Spirit dropped the answer into my heart. It was from a text I’d memorized some time ago about, “fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith” (Hebrews 12:2).

I know myself well enough that I dare not presume I could never finish poorly, as those three kings. All too often the same conflict St. Paul groaned of in his letter to the Romans wages war within me as well: “For what I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate” (Romans 7:15).

How do I fix my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith? The Holy Spirit answered my question just as quickly as I asked it: Regularly receive the Sacraments, and spend time each day in prayer and studying – not just reading –  studying the Scriptures.

It’s really that simple. And it’s also that difficult. Staying focused on Jesus requires perseverance. And vigilance. 

And above all, God’s grace.

While the many tasks and necessities of day to day living sometimes seamlessly entice my gaze from Christ, the choice ever remains – to finish as Solomon, Asa, and Jehoshaphat – or to finish as Saints Paul, Peter, Timothy, and so many others in Church history.

O Lord, have mercy on me, the sinner.

Child or Tool

The longer I live, the more I experience, the more the truths God has shown me in the past come around again and again. This Christmas season, as I think about family and friends, I remember once more an essay I wrote many years ago and then posted in 2012. It's about how we become either a child of God -- or a tool of God.  We have no other options available. None. We will be one or the other.

Really. I have seen this happen countless times over the years. 
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I am God, and there is no one like Me . . . My purpose will be established, and I will accomplish all My good pleasure (Isaiah 46:9-10).


I can't help but think about Joe and Charles when I read passages like this one from Isaiah.


Forty years ago, Joe and I were best of friends. Although he was married, the father of two daughters, and six years my senior, we were almost inseparable. We worked the same shift at a local taxi company and shared the same interests: drugs, parties and women. After working all day, Joe and I often spent hours cruising the bar districts while his wife and children waited for him to come home.


However, what I remember most about Joe is what I thought of him in my rare reflective moments. His life was a disaster waiting to happen -- and more to the point, I realized unless I changed direction, my life would mirror his.


That realization eventually led me to the navy recruiter’s office. I thought if I learned a job skill in the military, I would avoid the life Joe modeled for me. But during my tour overseas I found something much more valuable in the navy than a job skill.


I found Christ.


When I left Japan three and a half years later, I enrolled in a Bible college. It was there I met Charles, a former missionary and pastor. He taught several of my classes at the college and made the Scriptures come alive for me. But what I remember most about him is not his gift of teaching, but his humility. Nearly four decades later I can still see him in my memory weeping at a church altar, pleading with God for wisdom to serve Him more fruitfully.


Charles never knew it, but he modeled for me a heart passionate to serve Christ.


I do not know if God used me Joe’s life during those years of our friendship, but God surely used him in mine. As I watched him manipulate and abuse even those closest to him, God gave me a glimpse of my own future if I persisted on that same path.


Nor do I know if God used me in Charles’ life. But God surely used him in mine. If not for my former teacher, my understanding of what it means to truly seek after God might be quite different today. And I might not have learned this important lesson: We have a choice how the almighty and omnipotent God will use each of us for His own purposes – as His tool or as His child, as a Joe or as a Charles.


I know how I want Him to use me.

In Our Most Desperate Need

I posted this back in March of 2013, I thought of its message recently after a conversation or two with some self-professed atheists/agnostics (frankly, I think their objections to faith is based more on moral grounds than intellectual, but that is besides the point, I suppose).

Anyway, the ideas than flowed through my keyboard in March are still timely. If you are relatively new to the blog, I hope you find this post engaging.

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Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me . . . so that you may live (Isaiah 55:1-3, RSV Catholic Edition).

Some forty-one years ago, I was stationed with the US Navy in Yokosuka, Japan and had just become a Christian. The people who influenced my early days as a new believer encouraged me to read the Bible every day because, they said, God speaks to us through its pages.

In those days I was completely ignorant of its content. I didn’t know Hezekiah from Timothy, Caleb from Philemon, 1 Chronicles from 1 Corinthians. But I took their advice and I read. Voraciously, I read.

And I was astounded by the things I was learning.

Meanwhile, another sailor from my unit lived a few doors down the hall from my barracks room. A confirmed atheist, he made no effort to hide his disgust for the Bible I was growing to love. At every opportunity he challenged my new faith, while I, undaunted, tried to persuade him to my side of the theological divide.

One afternoon as I walked by his room I noticed his door open. And there he sat at his desk, a Bible open before him, as he scribbled in a note book. I thought, maybe he’s beginning to search for God.

I knocked on the open door and smiled.“I see you’re studying the Bible.”
 

 He turned in his chair to face me.“Yeah. I’m studying it so I can prove it wrong.”

How silly of him. The Bible he was trying to disprove has sent some of the greatest scientific and philosophical minds in history to their knees in worship of the God of that Bible: Thomas Aquinas, Augustine of Hippo, St. Jerome, Justin Martyr, Sir Francis Bacon, Johannes Kepler, Rene Descartes, Blaise Pascal, Sir Isaac Newton, CK Chesterton, CS Lewis, William Buckley . . . .

The Bible he was trying to disprove has survived the contemptuous scorn and calumny of such world-renowned anti-God philosophers as Voltaire, Jean-Paul Sarte, and Friedrich Nietzsche. It has withstood the onslaught of the world’s worst political despots from Nero to Hitler to Stalin to Mao Zedong. And it remains an unshakeable mountain of granite while the bones of scientific geniuses as atheists J. Robert Oppenheimer, Carl Sagan, Ivan Pavlov and Linus Pauling are slowly turning to dust.

During the past two thousand years the Scriptures have been burned, denounced, spat upon, ripped apart, and covered with the blood of men and women who clutched it to their breasts as they died by sword, axes, clubs, and bullets.

I have learned over the last forty-one years many great truths from that book, and about that book. One of which is this: Sin will keep you from the Bible, or the Bible will keep you from sin.

I am now 63 years old. The last 41 years have passed in what seems like just a few weeks. Only God – and perhaps my wife of nearly 39 years – only they know how often during the last four decades of my life the Bible has given me comfort in my deepest despair, hope when I had none left, direction when I was desperately lost, light when I wandered in total darkness, courage when all of my courage had failed.

And in this I am not alone. For millennia the Scriptures have been meeting the most desperate needs and restless longing of men and women who are honest enough with themselves to admit to themselves one crucial truth:

They need God.

The Taunt

I know your deeds and your toil and your perseverance . . . (Revelation 2:2)

Sacrifice.

No one knows its claws,

how it can tear the soul,

like the one who gave up a dream,

a life, a purpose,

for decades.

Thirty.

Forty.

Years.

To walk a walk He charted,

only to find

at the end of the course

ashes.

Emptiness.

Loneliness.

Desolation.

Confusion.

The hope of something better,

the prayers for something precious,

the desire for something beautiful

disappear like wisps of smoke in the wind

and the voice on the shoulder taunts:

“What could have been

had you walked the road you gave up?”

But . . .

Like the child who gave his few fish to Jesus

and the Lord fed thousands;

Like the widow who gave her last pennies to God

and He enriched millions with her story,

nothing sacrificed to Jesus is useless.

No offering returns empty.

No life, or years,

no fish, or coin,

Nothing is a waste

when given to Christ.

He promised,

and still promises

through the Apostle:

Be steadfast.

Immovable.

Abounding always

in the work of the Lord,

because your labor,

your sacrifice,

your purpose,

and perseverance

is not now,

nor has been,

nor will ever be in vain

when done for,

and offered to,

the Lord.*

*see 1 Corinthians 15:58

Once a Year

How can a young man keep his way pure? By keeping it according to Your word. . . . Your word have I treasured in my heart that I might not sin against You. (Psalm 119:9,11)

As I read the psalm, the Holy Spirit stopped me and altered the words of the first phrase in my mind – “How can an old man keep his way pure?”

The answer, of course, remains the same: By keeping it according to His word.

I am no longer a young man. I can start collecting social security checks at any time now. And over the years I’ve often wondered what comes over a man or woman who turns away from the faith they’d known, lived, loved and proclaimed to others. It never happened overnight. It has always occurred by degrees. Step by step, until the change was complete.

Solomon is a classic example. He tells his story in Ecclesiastes. It’s an easy read. Twelve short chapters. You can finish it in one sitting. At the beginning of Solomon’s reign, God promised him he’d be the wisest man to ever live (1 Kings 3:5-15) – which in and of itself is good reason to read the book.  What might this man of God have to say to anyone in the 21^st century?

Quite a bit, actually. Especially when you know his background. You can read it in the early chapters of 1 Kings, especially chapters 3 and 8.  But by chapter 11, something dramatic has happened to the man who once enjoyed an intimate relationship with his Creator. By chapter 11 Solomon had married numerous wives who, we are told, “turned his heart away” from the faith he once loved. Astonishingly, this ‘wise’ king even permitted his wives to sacrifice to their gods – perhaps even human sacrifice, as was often done to Molech, the god of the Sidonians (1 Kings 11:4-8).

Many bible scholars tell us Solomon wrote Ecclesiastes toward the end of his life. They believe that the case especially because of what he writes in the first two chapters of the book. The king had it all. Wealth. Wisdom. Power. Possessions. And he had more women than any man could want (2:8; 1 Kings 11:3).

But not until the end of his life did he realize the true value of it all. A puff of air, he called it. Futility of futilities. Only at the end of the book – in chapter 12 – does he warn the reader of what he knew at the beginning of his reign but rejected in favor of the proverbial wine, women, and song: Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near when you will say, “I have no delight in them” . . .  . [And] the conclusion, when all has been heard, is: fear God and keep His commandments, because this applies to every person. For God will bring every act to judgment, everything which is hidden, whether it is good or evil. (Ecclesiastes 12:1, 13-14).

How can an old man keep his way pure? I believe the Holy Spirit changed how I read that verse in Psalm 119 to nudge me, that I not forget Whose I am and to Whom I belong. I believe He nudged me to remain ever vigilant to treasure His word in my heart, that I might not sin against Him.

Fire safety experts recommend changing the batteries in home smoke detectors at least once a year. I think that is a good principle to follow for our spiritual safety. I recommend Christians read Ecclesiastes at least once a year. Maybe at the same time we change the smoke detector batteries. We need the periodic reminder how easy it is to slip into sin, to compromise our walk with the Savior, to lose our intimacy with our Creator. And we need the reminder that everything we have and everything we do – everything – if not done for Christ, will be on our last day nothing more than futility of futilities.

Because I . . . ?

 

 I posted this once before. I got to thinking about it again today:

 

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 “For I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is no one like Me . . . .  (Isaiah 46:9)

 

 

 

Because I,

emphasis on I,

cannot conceive of Your limitless power

that simply speaks,

and galaxies suddenly appear

from utter nothingness,

therefore I am tempted to believe

You do not exist.

Because I,

emphasis on I,

cannot conceive of Your limitless love

that loves me

despite all I’ve done

that only I know I’ve done,

so I am tempted to believe

You do not really love me that much.

Because I,

emphasis on I,

cannot conceive of Your forgiveness

that reaches into the utter depths of my depravity

and washes me spotless,

therefore I am tempted to believe

You have not truly forgiven me

of all I’ve done.

Because I,

emphasis on I,

cannot conceive the infinite mind, heart and motive

of an infinite God,

I am tempted to believe

it is all a superstitious myth.

Can such arrogance be more profound?