Truths as Lasting as their Settings

At the base of Mount Gilboa in Israel, a spring still flows today as it has for millennia. Green grass, a swimming pool, and beautiful picnic spots surround the spring that takes its name from the valley that spreads before it.

Ein Harod, or sometimes called, “Gideon’s Spring,” represents the place where Gideon selected his three hundred men to fight the armies of Midian. (I always remember Gideon fought Midian because their names rhyme.)

Not surprisingly, the Lord gave Israel a great victory—and strengthened Gideon’s faith.

Years later, a fearful King Saul failed to learn the lesson Gideon had acquired in the same area. On the northern side of the Hill of Moreh, the city of Endor had a resident medium that Saul visited in a frantic attempt for supernatural information. Surprising even the medium, God revealed through the Prophet Samuel that Saul would die the next day (1 Samuel 28).

The army of Israel fought the Philistines on Mount Gilboa, and King Saul and his sons were killed. Their bodies hung in effigy on the walls of nearby Beth-shan until Hebrews from Jabesh-gilead recovered them (1 Samuel 31).

Centuries later, the southern side of the Hill of Moreh saw the Prophet Elisha raise the dead son of a woman from Shunem (2 Kings 4).

In the first century, Jesus raised a widow’s son on the north side of the hill in a town called Nain (Luke 7:11-17). (I keep the location of the sites around the Hill of Moreh straight by remembering a simple alliteration: Nain-north and Shunem-south.)

How interesting that two sets of desperate situations occurred in the same area. For Gideon and Saul, it was tremendous odds in battle at Gilboa. For Elisha and Jesus, it was the death of a mother’s son beside the Hill of Moreh.

In every instance, the lessons pointed to the same principle: God alone provides the necessary strength for overwhelming situations—even in circumstances as crushing as death.

The Harod Valley, the Hill of Moreh, and Mount Gilboa seem as beautiful and ageless today as in the days of the Bible. Geography doesn’t change.

I find it fascinating how the lessons taught in these places offer truths as enduring as the beautiful settings in which they occurred.

Images courtesy of Todd Bolen/BiblePlaces.com.

Waiting in a Weary Land

One of my favorite places to visit in Israel is the Judean Wilderness.

Because this wasteland sits almost completely unchanged from biblical days, I found it easy—even eerie—to gaze across the landscape and ponder that men such as Joshua, David, Jeremiah, John the Baptist, and Jesus saw these hills almost exactly as I was seeing them.

During one of the most desperate times of David’s life, the one who was the anointed future king of Israel found himself running as a renegade in the very land over which he would one day rule.

Pursued by the jealousy of King Saul, David took refuge in the Wilderness of Judah. Here David prayed, “My flesh yearns for You, in a dry and weary land where there is no water” (Psalm 63:1).

David wasn’t kidding about the land. It consisted of endless piles of rocks, steep hills, no trees, meager vegetation, little water, slight shade, and lizards. As far as my eye could see, it was empty, dry, and depressing.

But, the remoteness of the Judean wilderness offered an ideal hideaway. Throughout the Scriptures, this wilderness is often described as a place both of escape and of spiritual solitude. Why? Because no one would want to follow you there!

The “dry and weary land” served as a backdrop for David’s own weariness. And the lack of water around him illustrated an even deeper thirst he felt: 

“My soul thirsts for You” (Psalm 63:1). 

At the height of his emotional and physical distress, David sought refuge in his spiritual life. He yearned for God.

During the many years that David fled from Saul, God also used this wilderness to shape David’s character through the discipline of waiting on Him.

The Lord does the same in our lives, doesn’t He? God often allows the weary circumstances to compel us finally to do what we should have done at the beginning: surrender all control to God.

The unchanging landscape of the Judean Wilderness reminds me of God’s unchanging commitment to shape our lives as believers to resemble the life of His Son.

With that as our goal, isn’t the weary wilderness He leads us through worth it?





Adapted from Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, Calif.: Regal Books, 2006); and from Walking in the Footsteps of Jesus: A Journey through the Lands and Lessons of Christ (Ventura, Calif.: Regal Books, 2008). Used by permission.

Most of Life is Gaps

The Bible doesn’t tell us everything. Not even close.

Oh, to be sure, it tells us all we need to know. But it leaves out most of the details that scratch our curious itches. What did Jesus look like? Was Nehemiah bowlegged? Did Martha have a sidesplitting laugh? Was David more handsome than Brad Pitt?

We’ll never know.

That’s because when we read the Scriptures, we see selected events. Even in the cases of individuals whose births and deaths are recorded—like Samuel or Samson or even Jesus—we read only of certain incidents. The Bible never shows the entire life of anybody.

Think about when someone asks you your own life story. What do you tell? No one has the time—and honestly, no one cares—to hear all the details of your Jr. High School experience. When asked, you give just the highlights. Most likely, that’s all you remember anyway.

Occasionally, though, we encounter individuals who do remember the details. All of them. They drivel on about the color of the tablecloth, and the fact that Uncle Bob is related to Holly’s cousin by marriage, and the day and time Junior lost his tooth, etcetera, and so on. During these insufferable eternities of listening, we find ourselves alternating between squirming in our seats, checking our watches, or praying for a fire drill. It would be a great time for the Rapture.

Because time and especially patience are limited, most people really appreciate the bottom line. Frankly, I’m grateful the Bible gives it.

But that can pose a problem for us. Because the biblical narratives usually only reflect the turning points, we tend to see biblical lives as nothing but non-stop action. One only has to read the book of Ruth or the life of Paul to see God’s providence very involved in their lives. It’s exciting stuff.

Our lives, by comparison, seem, well—dull. We’ll go for years without a significant event!

We’ll think, God, why aren’t you working in my life like you did in biblical days? As result, we may assume God is angry with us, or that He sees us as insignificant, or we may even doubt our salvation.

We need to remember that between significant biblical events lay large gaps of time—weeks, months, years, and sometimes, even centuries.

Even though the Bible omits the gaps, most of life is lived in the gaps between great moments. The peaks in life seem to surface after miles and miles of valleys.

While the Bible reveals its characters in terms of their high points, we, on the other hand, tend to evaluate our lives by the lousy week we just slogged through. We read the Bible intellectually, but we evaluate our lives emotionally.

Sometimes that disconnect seems huge.

Remembering the gaps remains essential if we hope to maintain a life of faith, as well as to discern God’s hand in our lives.

Gaps are normal. Even Jesus’ life had gaps—huge ones. We need to accept the gaps as God’s will.

Most of life is gaps.


Image of bored hand by Emiichann. 

Finding God's Will This Year

There is only one way you’ll know God's will for you this year.

Read your Bible.

But more important than knowing God’s will is choosing to walk in it. A tough assignment.

From the first verse of Scripture, God revealed how the Earth set the stage for the divine drama of history to take place (see Gen. 1:1). From its formless, void beginning, the Lord fashioned the Earth with intent in its details. From this ground, God made physical man a spiritual being in His image (see Genesis 1–2).

The Lord planted two trees in the Garden of Eden (see Gen. 2:8–9). Adam’s physical need required him to make a spiritual choice: From which tree would he eat? Would he obey God’s command not to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil?

God originally inspired the book of Genesis for a people about to enter yet another land God prepared. That land would hold the direst of geographical conditions, placing them in a situation similar to Adam’s. Would they obey God’s commands? “I have set before you life and death,” God would tell them, “So choose life” (Deut. 30:19).

Centuries later, Jesus also found Himself facing the same temptation in this barren land—and He clung to God’s Word (see Matt. 4:1–10).

Either the Bible will keep you away from sin, or sin will keep you away from the Bible. —C. S. Lewis

Whether in Eden or Canaan or California, our decision remains the same. The land where we live—be it lush or desolate—is the stage on which we display God’s glory. Regardless of our location or influences, God gives us a choice each day from which tree to eat. In every case, life or death comes from our response to God’s Word.

As you commit to spending time in the Bible, commit also to obeying what your Creator reveals each day: “For it is not an idle word for you; indeed it is your life” (Deut. 32:47).

A prayer for reflection:

My Creator, whatever place I find myself this year, my duty remains the same: to choose life by obedience to whatever You teach me in Your Word and thus display Your image wherever You take me in Your world. I devote to You this year . . . and this day. Be glorified in it, O God.

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2006), p. 23. Used by permission.

Dealing with Holiday Loneliness

It’s true. For many people, the holidays draw up painful memories.

Sore spots from childhood or the loss of loved ones hit them hard during this sentimental season. While many people celebrate the joys of Christmastime, others suffer its loneliness.

During one of the most desperate times of David’s life, the anointed future king of Israel found himself running from two separate enemies—hardly a time to celebrate.

With the Philistines to the west and King Saul to the east, a distressed David sought refuge in the cave of Adullam (1 Samuel 22:1–2).

From all human perspectives, David was alone.

He expressed how he felt in the form of a prayer:

For there is no one who regards me. . . .
No one cares for my soul. (Psalm 142:4)

But David also said,

When my spirit was overwhelmed within me,
You knew my path." (Psalm 142:3)

In Hebrew, the word You stands emphatic, meaning only God truly understood David’s pain. From the depths of this cave, David cried aloud, “You are my refuge” (Psalm 142:5).

David’s words illustrate the tension between anguish of soul and dependence on God. Desperate aloneness often feels like a prison—as it did to David. Desperate thoughts and actions often follow.

But when we feel overwhelmed and lonely, we can remember that the Lord is present and is “intimately acquainted with all [our] ways” (Psalm 139:3). Regardless how we feel, God’s Word promises this is true.

He has not left us alone.

David models for us that the lonely seasons are the times to seek refuge in God through prayer. They’re not the times to seek the world’s solutions. The Lord often teaches us during these struggles by removing everything but Himself—a truth David affirmed: “You are all I really want in life” (Psalm 142:5 NLT).

So when we feel alone—and I mean really, really alone—we must cling to the Lord’s promises that He will never abandon us . . . never fail us . . . and never forsake us (Deuteronomy 31:8; Matthew 28:20; John 14:18).

Loneliness is God’s call for us to draw near to Him.
 

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2006), 131. Used by permission. Picture by Roger Gilbertson.

Red Light, Green Light

A few Decembers ago, my jaw dropped as I calculated how much I had spent on tolls that year. This painful revelation forced me to reexamine my commute. I decided to take the access road to work each morning instead of the highway.

But I discovered I pay either way. I pay in time or in money. In angst or in cash. Unfortunately, I seem to have more of time.

I pay my time at stoplights.

After two years of navigating stoplights and memorizing their patterns, I have concluded that someone, somewhere, is laughing at me behind some camera.

As I sit at the empty intersection (with no cross-traffic), I observe all these cameras and sensors with enough technology to catch me when I run the light, but not enough know-how to help me through the light in a timely manner.

The worst is when the stale green light turns yellow and then stops me with no one coming the other way. It seems the technicians who installed the street sensors cross-wired the lights so that my stoplight changes to RED when I drive up. “Here comes Wayne; let’s make him wait!”

So I stop. I have stopped just to stop. Dead silent. No cross-traffic. No one around. It’s just me and this long red light—and seven cameras pointing my direction, daring me to cross the line. I imagine some officer somewhere observing me through the camera, laughing at the poor idiot sitting at the light for no reason.

But there has to be a reason, I reason. Maybe I’m stopped at this light because on the other side of town somewhere a light is green and someone else is cruising through. Maybe my light is red so that their light can be green. I have to believe that there is a reason for the red light. A good reason, that is.

As I sit there morning after morning (saving money, remember), I have lots of time to think.

I realize how my morning routine at the stoplights feels like my morning quiet times with God. Most of the time, all I see are the systems in place to catch me running the light, but I recognize very few signals that God is helping me move forward. It’s like that game we played as kids—Red Light Green Light. As soon as we start to inch forward, God spins around and shouts, “Red Light!”

But because I trust God, I have to believe that waiting in the dark with no cross traffic serves a purpose. I can see no reason not to move forward—except for this light. So I wait.

Waiting on God usually means hanging on until He changes our circumstances—be they relational, financial, physical, or even spiritual. But God seldom seems in a hurry.

At all.

What. So. Ever.

Instead, He often allows the circumstances to stay the same—or even to worsen—while He waits on us to change.

So . . . both God and we are in a waiting game, idling in neutral until someone moves first. We want God to change situations. God wants us to change in them. We want relief. God wants repentance. We want happiness. God wants holiness. We want pleasure. God wants piety. God always wins in this game.

In the end, if we really knew the big picture, we too would want what God wants for us—and in the exact way He wants it to occur. Our pain often blinds us to that reality. We only see the red light. God sees the purpose—His good and loving purpose—for the delay.

And although we cannot understand why the light is there, we do know what the red light means.

It means to wait. For now, that’s all we need to understand.


Picture by Jacklee and Oden.

A Smarting Pain . . . and Change

Not long ago, my body gave me a little gift. I awoke suddenly one night with a smarting pain in my lower back. No matter how I fidgeted and adjusted, the hurt only intensified.

The best way I can describe the discomfort compares to having a doctor insert a three-inch hypodermic needle just to the left of the spine, exactly where the kidney sits. Occasionally, just for fun, the doc then twists the needle in a slow, clockwise motion. The pain literally nauseated me.

Never before had I experienced such an inescapable ache. The most frightful part was I had no idea what was happening.

As I described the symptoms to a doctor friend of mine the following day, he said it sounded like a kidney stone. It’s probably just a kidney infection, I thought, not a kidney stone.

As a boy, I had watched my father struggle to pass a kidney stone, and it wasn’t pretty. From my perspective at that time, I thought his kidney stone was just part of being old. And since I wasn’t old . . . I was safe. Perfectly logical.

A couple of days later, I sat in the urologist’s office, staring at the educational posters on his walls that scare patients into healthy living. He came in, shook my hand, and announced in a ho-hum manner, “You have a kidney stone.”

Holding up my x-ray, he pointed to a small, delta-shaped blip between my kidney and my bladder. It looked to me like lint on the x-ray, so I asked if he was sure. He just looked at me for a moment. “Yes, and it’s as large as a raisin.”

Suddenly, I felt really old.

As he proceeded to describe my options for removing the stone, I felt like King David having to choose his method of punishment from God after David’s impetuous census (2 Samuel 24:13-14). NONE of the options sounded good. I decided, as David had, rather than placing myself in the hand of man I would fall upon the mercies of God—and see if the stone would pass on its own.

As it turns out, God’s mercies take their sweet time.

Dealing with chronic pain day after day, sometimes minute by minute, can challenge a belief in the goodness of God. Waiting for that little darling to pass made me rethink my theology of Purgatory.

After three weeks, the little monster finally was exorcised from my body.

“You need to drink more water,” the doctor told me on my follow-up visit. Uh, yes—I am convinced. “Converted” might be a better word.

The kidney stone wasn’t my problem. It only revealed it. My problem was dehydration.

Sometimes the pain we experience—be it physical, emotional, or spiritual—is just part of living in a fallen world.

But very often, pain also serves as a warning that something in our lives needs to change.


Pictures by Roger McLassus and Li-sung.

Why Problems Linger

Problems never just go away or take care of themselves, especially when God allows them in order to shape our character.

The Lord will patiently wait and permit the circumstances to compel us to do what we should have done at the beginning: surrender all control to God.

Remember Jacob? Before his sons could purchase any more grain for the famine, he was required to bring the very person Jacob had refused to release into God’s control—his youngest son, Benjamin. In Jacob’s own words, “My son shall not go down with you” (Gen. 42:38).

However, like straws loaded on a camel’s back, day after parched day of the famine finally took their toll. “If it must be so,” Jacob conceded, “take your brother also, and arise, return to the man” (Gen. 43:11-13).

The circumstances literally forced him to do what he had refused to do otherwise: trust God with his sons.

Judah reminded Jacob that they could have gone to Egypt and returned twice in the time it was taking Jacob to surrender Benjamin. Two round trips from Hebron to Egypt amounted to about 1,000 miles—or seven weeks hard travel. Jacob wasted seven weeks, only to find himself facing the same issue as he faced in the beginning.

Problems don’t just go away.

We should hold nothing as dear to us as trust in God—not money, not a position, not even a child. Ultimately, comfort cannot come from a hope that God will protect us (or our children) from pain.

Our comfort can only come from trusting that God remains in complete control for His good purposes—even in what seems the worst of circumstances.

From the example of Jacob let us learn patient endurance, should the Lord often compel us, by pressure of circumstances, to do many things contrary to the inclination of our own minds. —John Calvin

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2006), 51. Used by permission. Grain photo by Fir0002 in Wikimedia. 

We Never Stay the Same

Tough circumstances of life always change our minds about God. They either force us to doubt what He’s promised, or they draw us closer to Him in faith. But we never stay the same.

Despite his difficult years spent in Egypt, Joseph gave his sons Hebrew names, which revealed his continued faith in God. In naming his firstborn “Manasseh,” Joseph gave God credit as the One who had made him forget the toil and the pain his family had brought him (Gen. 41:51). Joseph’s second son he called “Ephraim,” meaning “fruitfulness,” for Joseph said, “God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction” (Gen. 41:52).

But Egypt would become a land of affliction for more than just Joseph. The dreams that Joseph had interpreted for Pharaoh revealed that God intended to follow seven years of plenty in the land with seven years of famine on the land—a disaster the Nile’s generous water supply could not rise above.

Just as God earlier used natural elements to bring Joseph to Egypt, so the Lord would use the same to bring all nations to Joseph. The famine spread to Canaan, and in order to get food, Joseph’s brothers had to travel the same highway to Egypt by which they had sent Joseph 22 years earlier. God purposed to make the brothers fruitful (like Joseph) in a land of suffering, but not before He first developed faithfulness in them such as Joseph had displayed.

Just as the thread of sovereignty continued to weave through the family of Joseph, so God loops His needle through our lives and draws us close to Him. We must remember in our struggles that our duty lies outside of trying to understand God’s plan. He never asks that of us. Instead, He wants to see our trust in Him, through simple daily obedience, even in a land of affliction and confusion.

Both pain and prosperity require that we bow before God in humility, trust and dependence. Our hearts should long for faithfulness more than certain circumstances.

Faithfulness in carrying out present duties is the best preparation for the future. —Francis Fenelon

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2006), 50. Used by permission. Photos courtesy of BiblePlaces.com. 

People, Pigs, and Priorities

On one occasion, two individuals approached Jesus and declared they would follow Him wherever He went.

But Jesus’ response to them indicated that their hearts were more devoted to comfort and family than to Him (Matt. 8:19-22). After Jesus and His disciples sailed east across the Sea of Galilee, they landed at modern Kursi in “the country of the Gadarenes” (Matt. 8:28).

Mark and Luke use a more general location in describing the place, citing “the country of the Gerasenes” (Mark 5:1; Luke 8:26), referring to the city of Gerasa (modern Jerash), a large, Greco-Roman city some miles away from the eastern shore.

After landing in this Gentile territory, Jesus immediately encountered two men possessed by a legion of demons and cast them out of the men and into a herd of swine. When the pigs plunged down the steep hillside into the lake and drowned, the entire town “implored Him to leave their region” (Matt. 8:34).

The people felt more concern over the loss of their livelihood than the restoration of the men who were possessed. Like the Jews across the lake, these Gentiles held other things as more important than following Jesus.

While we probably would never admit to having a higher priority in pigs than in people, our commitments to comfort and even to our family often betray a devotion that sinks to the same level (see Luke 14:26).

To love the Lord with all our hearts means that Christ should have no rivals in our life. So as we follow Christ today, let us commit to nothing before our devotion to Him— whether creature comforts, livelihood, fear, or even family ties.

Discipleship is anything that causes what is believed in the heart to have demonstrable consequences in our daily life. —Eugene Peterson

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2006), 37. Used by permission. Photos courtesy of BiblePlaces.com. 

Staring Death in the Faith

Abraham lived for 62 years in the land God promised him before owning any of it. Even then, Abraham only purchased a plot of ground to bury his wife. The Cave of Machpelah in Hebron not only entombed Sarah’s body, but it also became the burial place of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

So when Abraham purchased a plot to bury Sarah, he demonstrated great faith in God’s promise to give him all the land—even though he (and many descendants) would die before ever receiving it. “All these died in faith, without receiving the promises,” the book of Hebrews reminds us, “having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth” (Hebrews 11:13).

Even though we suffer great loss in death, we do not lose God’s promises, because they continue beyond the grave.

We know this, sure. So why do we refuse to leave an eternal quest for the ideal life in the here and now?

Oh, we know about the hope of heaven and the bit about seeking first God’s kingdom. But in spite of all we believe as true, we still scurry to find satisfaction in this life.

When we fail to find it (as we always will), we often abandon the boring job, the struggling marriage, or the imperfect church, believing that we’ve simply been looking in the wrong place.

And in a way, we have.

Death brings the startling reality that this world is not our home. Like Abraham, we should remember that the ultimate satisfaction we seek comes after our death and resurrection.

Death represents not the end of life but its beginning.

"Let your hope of heaven master your fear of death. Why should you be afraid to die, who hopes to live by dying?" —William Gurnall

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2006), 36. Used by permission. Photo courtesy of BiblePlaces.com. Illustration Public Domain, from the 1728 Figures de la Bible, Gerard Hoet (1648-1733) and others, published by P. de Hondt in The Hague in 1728. Source here.

The God Who Hears . . . and Sees

For Sarai, the only thing worse than a barren land was a barren womb.

So, turning to her culture’s custom, she told her husband, Abram, to give her children through her Egyptian maid, Hagar. But when Hagar conceived, Sarai became resentful and mistreated Hagar, who then fled.

The Bible says that the Lord found Hagar “by a spring of water in the wilderness, by the spring on the way to Shur” (Gen. 16:7). The location reveals that Hagar intended to head back home—to Egypt.

But God told her to return to Sarai and to name the child Ishmael (meaning, “God hears”), “for the LORD has heard of your misery” (v. 11, NIV).

Hagar did so, and she called the Lord El Roi, “the God who sees me.” The well by which she sat received the name Beer Lahai Roi, meaning, “the well of the Living One who sees me” (see vv. 13-14).

The meaning of the names “God hears” and “God sees” would remain constant reminders to Abram and his family. Earlier, Abram had run to Egypt to escape a famine in the land (see Gen. 12). Sarai had turned to an Egyptian to escape barrenness. Hagar had run to Egypt to escape misery. But each effort, apart from God, found them at the same place of having to trust Him all over again.

How often have we traveled the road to Shur toward some Egyptian decoy, running from a chance to trust God? In situations today when we feel like running, may God find us instead on our knees—before a God who hears and a God who sees.

The Lord wants us to learn to turn to Him rather than run to Egypt during what seems inescapable despair. As we wait on the Lord, we have His promise that He waits with us, for God hears our prayers and God sees our needs.

If God told you on the front end how long you would wait . . . you’d lose heart. . . . But he doesn’t. He just says, “Wait. I keep my word. . . . In the process of time I’m developing you to be ready.” —F. B. Meyer

 Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2006), 31. Used by permission. Photo courtesy of BiblePlaces.com.

Mountain Biking

Consider two unrelated terms:

BI·CY·CLE. noun: 1. A vehicle consisting of a light frame mounted on two wire-spoked wheels one behind the other and having a seat, handlebars for steering, brakes, and two pedals.

MOUN·TAIN. noun: 1. A natural elevation of the earth's surface having considerable mass, generally steep sides, and a height greater than that of a hill.

Two words that have nothing to do with each other.

The term, “bicycle,” or “bike,” conjures images of family outings—leisurely rides in the neighborhood or on country roads. Beautiful fall trees, cool breezes, and laughing.

When I think of the word “mountain,” I envision looking up with awe and inspiration. Colorado comes to mind. Snowy peaks. “Rocky Mountain High” and cool clean rivers. I want to go there.

But put these words together—mountain bike—and the mood changes altogether. What was awe and  inspiring becomes “aw” and just perspiring.

And laughing becomes a wholly different sound.

My first mountain-biking adventure occurred on a Labor Day. Several random phrases came to mind during the experience.

“Yeah! Oh, this is great!”
“Dear God! Help me! Oh no, NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”
“George, George, George of the Jungle—look out for that . . .” SMACK!

I learned that biking in loose sand is like riding a stationary bike. But only for a moment. Then it isn’t stationary. You fall sideways.

As my wife and daughter and I stopped to catch our breaths, we decided to let another biker pass us on the trail because he was coming fast—clearly more experienced. And to him, we were noticeably much less experienced.

“You guys picked the hardest trail to ride on”—a nice phrase he tossed our direction as he blew by. Standing in his dust, I realized his statement implied several facts:

1. You don’t know what you’re doing.
2. You’re obviously novices at this.
3. I am much better than you.
4. The fact that you’re standing on the hardest trail proves the first three points.

The next morning the muscles in my arms, abs, back and bottom felt like rubber bands. Even my inner ear hurt.

But sometimes this is what quality family time requires.

(I wonder if we can mountain bike in Israel?)


 Picture courtesy of Phil Moore and Wikimedia.
_____

Expecting the Feast of Booths

It was probably the most unexpected request for the Feast of Booths ever made.

Jesus brought three of His disciples up on the slopes of a “high mountain,” probably Mount Hermon.

Six days after the prediction of His death in Jerusalem, Jesus gave affirmation to Peter, James and John of His glory, divine nature and coming Kingdom (see Matt. 16:28–17:8). The text says Jesus was “transfigured” on the mountain (Matt. 17:2; Mark 9:2). Jesus revealed His true glory, which His flesh had concealed like the veil of the Tabernacle had hidden God’s glory (see Heb. 10:20).

Suddenly, Moses and Elijah also appeared in glorious cameo appearances. They spoke of Jesus’ “departure” at Jerusalem, the very event Jesus had just revealed to His disciples in Caesarea Philippi (see Luke 9:31). Peter blurted: “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if You wish, I will make three tabernacles here, one for You, and one for Moses, and one for Elijah” (Matt. 17:4).

What was Peter suggesting? The prophet Zechariah had written that when the Messiah reigns on the earth, He will require all nations to come and celebrate Sukkot—the Feast of Booths, or Feast of the Tabernacles (see Zech. 14:16-19). Peter was pushing for the Kingdom to begin!

But even before Peter could finish his words, God the Father interrupted: “This is My beloved Son, with whom I am well-pleased; listen to Him!” (Matt. 17:5). The disciples fell facedown in a coil of terror. I guess so!

The Kingdom will come indeed—Jesus showed the disciples that—but first they had a cross to bear. So do we (Mark 8:34).

The transfiguration confirmed that the only way to glory comes through the cross. There’s no going around it. Even in the presence of Christ’s glory on the mountain, Moses and Elijah spoke of Christ’s death, or “departure”—literally, in the Greek, His exodus (Luke 9:31)— a nice literary touch with Moses standing there.

Peter’s passion had been to pursue his interests, not God’s. Essentially he prayed, “Your kingdom come, my will be done!”

Although we don’t carry literal wooden crosses, Jesus’ metaphor still demands a literal application of the struggle God calls us each to bear. My cross—and your cross—represents the difficult obedience God requires daily.

Notice also the order of events: Jesus went to the cross before He experienced the joys of glory.

When will we learn that it can be no different for us?



Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Walking in the Footsteps of Jesus: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands and Lessons of Christ (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2008), pp. 88-90.

Yom Kippur . . . and Satisfaction Fulfilled

Friday begins Yom Kippur—the Day of Atonement. I'll never forget a conversation I had in Jerusalem at the Western Wall.

A Jewish woman approached me. She somehow knew my affiliation with a radio ministry and told me we needed to broadcast God’s way to be saved to the nations. I told her that was, in fact, our passion.

She smiled and shook her head, and then she shared with me a list of what all Gentiles need to do to be saved. I recognized some of the standards as being from the Ten Commandments, and I told her so.

Again, she smiled and shook her head.

“Those commandments are for the Jews,” she said.

“Do you keep them?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Perfectly?”

“No, but when I don’t, I pray and promise not to break them again.”

“And when you break them again, what do you do?”

“On Yom Kippur, all sins are forgiven.” (She was referring to the Day of Atonement in Leviticus 16, when God annually forgave Israel’s sins through the death of a sacrificial substitute.)

“But Yom Kippur required the death of a sacrifice on your behalf,” I replied.

“We have no Temple where we can sacrifice, so we just pray.”

“That’s not enough,” I said kindly. “God is holy, and Yom Kippur required a sacrifice for your sins, not just prayers.”

“When the Messiah comes,” she told me, “he will explain all things and make them right.” I thought of Jesus’ compassion for the woman at the well who had said almost the same words to Him (John 4:25).

So I told this daughter of Abraham standing before me that I believed her Messiah had already come, that His name is Yeshua, and that He paid the final sacrifice for her sins with His own life just a few hundred yards behind her. And He said would come once more to Israel.

She shook her head again, but now she wasn’t smiling.

We lobbed the volleyball back and forth a few more times before she began to back away, talking so that I couldn’t interrupt her and again telling me to announce a salvation by works. As she turned to leave, I felt a great sadness. I remembered the words of a Jew who had found the Messiah:

For I testify about them that they have a zeal for God, but not in accordance with knowledge. For not knowing about God’s righteousness and seeking to establish their own, they did not subject themselves to the righteousness of God. For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes (Rom. 10:2-4).

I don’t remember this woman’s name, but God does. Please pray for her and for many others who want the Messiah—that their longing may truly be satisfied.

____________________

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2006), 156-157. Used by permission.

A Great Day for the Trumpet

Thursday is Rosh Hashanah, the “Head of the Year” in the Jewish calendar—also associated with the “Feast of Trumpets.” It marks the Jewish New Year of 5772.

When I went to Jerusalem, our group visited the Southern Steps excavations where an ancient, paved street sits unearthed from the time of Jesus. When the Romans destroyed the Temple, they hurled its stones down into this street. I saw one of those stones that had a Hebrew inscription that reads: “To the Place of Trumpeting.”

This represents the spot where the priests would stand and blow the shofar horn to announce various days, months, and feasts. The Feast of Trumpets would have been one of these.



I grew up in a church where every Sunday the service began with a “Call to Worship.” That meant nothing more than a musical cue to take my seat. But the trumpet in the feast represented the voice of God calling His people away from their earthly labors into His presence for worship—and in preparation for the upcoming Day of Atonement (Leviticus 23:23).

The New Testament finds the fulfillment of this feast beginning with another trumpet that calls the Lord’s people into His presence:

For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet of God; and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and thus we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfort one another with these words (1 Thessalonians 4:16–18; see also 1 Corinthians 15:51–52).

Rosh Hashanah and the Feast of Trumpets are great reminders that the Rapture could be any day, and at any moment, and that our hope lies beyond this life—and not in it.

Listen . . . do you hear a trumpet? It would be a great day for it!

---------------------

Instant Gratification

Sometimes the new life God is leading you to won’t seem as great as the one He has redeemed you from. Remember the whining of those redeemed from Egypt?

We remember the fish which we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers and the melons and the leeks and the onions and the garlic. —Numbers 11:5

In those moments, we betray our selective memories.

We remember the pleasures—leeks, onions, fish, etc.—all sensory, and no spirituality. It is never the lack of spiritual connection with God we miss. It is always the pleasure. All things being equal, we prefer leeks to manna. What we had seems better than what we have.

Never mind that we cried out to God to deliver us from bondage. Forget that we had no land of our own. We just want a better supper, like Esau, who for a single meal would abandon the blessing of a birthright (Gen. 25:29-34; Heb. 12:16). Like David, who for a one-night stand with a voluptuous woman would endure the life-long, agonizing sword that never departed from his family.

We remember the pleasures of a life apart from Christ, but we forget the painful bondage from which we cried to God for deliverance. We crave the best of two incompatible worlds.

When God removes something delightful from your life—something you had in abundance years ago—a number of emotional triggers kick in. Anger. Injustice. Pleasure is priority. Temptation to cross over. Coveting. But gratitude?

Uh, no.

Satan is the best marketer in the sin business. He can stretch a thin skin of beauty over a heap of dung and convince you to climb it. The devil renders the pleasures of sin as but a down payment—not a sacrifice on his part—for your ruin. He knows he gets back double for his investment. He loses nothing; you lose it all.

Only after you enter sin’s doorway will you see that that the facade that looked so enticing is actually propped up by a few two-by-fours. One strong wind will collapse the whole thing down on top of you.

But even when our longing isn’t for sin—when we grumble for only the good things God withholds—the same point applies: grumbling and complaining about God's provision amounts to rebellion against God. Has the Lord not promised to care for our needs? And if, for some reason, He chooses to wait to do so, might He have a reason?

Any kind of grumbling stems from a failure to see the true value in God’s will. To insist on instant gratification minimizes and overlooks that which is of infinite worth.

Our challenge today? Pursue that which is infinite over that which is instant.


Image courtesy of BiblePlaces.com.

Need a Break? Try Crooning Croatians

Okay, you probably need a break this time of the week. This won’t take long.

When Cathy and I were in Split, Croatia, this summer, we stopped for an ice cream and I heard these Croatian crooners behind me.

I took their picture, but I also recorded about sixty-seconds of their music with my inconspicuous iPhone. (It was a lot cheaper than buying a CD.)

Press play to hear them:

While you listen, enjoy a few more pictures of beautiful Split, Croatia (below).

Then you can resume your normal day.

It is vain for you to rise up early, to retire late, to eat the bread of painful labors; for He gives to His beloved even in his sleep. —Psalm 127:2

Back from Rome . . . with Lessons

Cathy and I enjoyed a trip to Rome this summer with Insight for Living. We saw the standard sites of tourists—the Trevi Fountain, the Forum, the Colosseum, the Catacombs—and innumerable other historic sites that lay alongside modern streets and buildings.

But what moved me most was a place most folks never see—and another place that wasn’t even on the map.

The Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans of his plans to see them: "I have had for many years a longing to come to you whenever I go to Spain —for I hope to see you in passing, and to be helped on my way there by you, when I have first enjoyed your company for a while" (Romans 15:23-24).

To be sure, Paul would go to Rome—but not like he thought he would.

He went as a prisoner in chains. Acts 27-28 tells us the story. Arrested in Jerusalem, imprisoned at Caesarea for two years, Paul appealed to Caesar and suffered a shipwreck on his way to Rome as a prisoner.

After two years, Paul was released from his imprisonment, after which he traveled and wrote two more epistles before his final Roman imprisonment.

One of the most meaningful places we visited was the Mamertine Prison (see picture above), where Paul wrote these words to Timothy:

I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing. —2 Timothy 4:6–8

Tradition tells us that Paul was martyred outside the walls of Rome at a place most folks have never heard of—a place not on the tourist maps of Rome.

Called Tres Fontane (“Three Fountains”) because, after Paul’s head was cut off, it bounced three times and three fountains sprung up! Laughable, I know. (You can listen below to an iPhone recording I made of one of the fountains.) But while the fountain story is apocryphal, the location of his death is historical.

Foxe’s Book of Martyrs relates Paul’s martyrdom as follows:

Paul, the apostle, who before was called Saul, after his great travail and unspeakable labors in promoting the Gospel of Christ, suffered also in this first persecution under Nero. Abdias, declareth that under his execution Nero sent two of his esquires, Ferega and Parthemius, to bring him word of his death. They, coming to Paul instructing the people, desired him to pray for them, that they might believe; who told them that shortly after they should believe and be baptised at His sepulcher. This done, the soldiers came and led him out of the city to the place of execution, where he, after his prayers made, gave his neck to the sword.

Strange how God will give a dream and a passion and we head off towards it. We expect that we'll go by means of A-B-C, but God often gets us there by means of 10-9-8.

We can expect the same as Paul. We dream, but we should not put God in a box in regard to His method. He will fulfill His purposes, but He will do it His way.

So do dream of how you can serve the Lord in the future. Have long-term plans for a life of faithfulness and fruitfulness. But be ready and willing for God to redirect.

Because He most certainly will.



(Don't expect too much . . . but here's the recording of one of the fountains, inside the chapel, near the marble relief at left:)

Comparing Crosses

When Peter first met Jesus, the fisherman followed the Master out of a motive for glory and a prime seat in the kingdom of God. But after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection, Peter would follow out of gratitude for God’s grace—out of love.

Along the shores of the Sea of Galilee, the Lord looked far into the future—to Rome—and revealed what that love would cost Peter: “When you were younger,” Jesus looked at Peter, “you used to gird yourself and walk wherever you wished; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else will gird you, and bring you where you do not wish to go” (John 21:18).

In other words, Jesus told Peter that he would die a martyr’s death—the very thing Peter had feared when he denied Jesus.

“Follow Me!” Jesus added, again reminding the apostle of their beginnings together (Mark 1:17; John 21:19).

Peter noticed John walking behind them. “Lord, and what about this man?” (John 21:21). Having learned of his own violent death, Peter inquired how John would die. Torture? Crucifixion? Come on, Lord, You can tell me!

Peter still struggled with comparisons. Jesus’ response brought Peter’s priorities back into perspective.

“If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you?” Then Jesus repeated the command, with a particular emphasis, “You follow Me!” (John 21:22).

Just as we reveal our love for Jesus by serving others, so we should serve without comparing ourselves to others.

Someone else’s calling or cross always seems a better deal than ours. But answer Jesus’ question, “What is that to you?” Jesus died for all of us at once; but we enter a relationship with Him as individuals: “You follow Me!”

The bottom line? Comparison stems from either coveting or pride and smacks of basic ingratitude to God.

The Lord reminded Peter what all believers should remember: Our relationship with God expresses itself by serving others without comparing ourselves with them.

And the motivation for such devotion? Jesus answered that with a question.

“Do you truly love Me?”



Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Walking in the Footsteps of Jesus: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands and Lessons of Christ (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2008), pp. 162-163.

What Do You Want from God?

If Jesus came up to you right now and asked, “What do you want Me to do for you?” how would you answer? What do you want from God?

Most of us want God to make our life easier. Others of us think we need God to make us more like Him. For most, it’s a blurred bit of both. But when we can’t have both, to which side do our prayers default? It all shakes down to this: Whatever we ask God for reveals our perception of need.

And like the disciples, we often only perceive our need for relief, ease, and promotion.

Did Jesus promise His disciples great places in the Kingdom? Absolutely. But the road to getting to those great places led straight to the cross. The disciples did all they could to avoid this reality. And so do we.

Great transitions in our lives often come as a result of great pain. Perhaps we endure the death of a loved one, a mentor, or a dream. Sometimes the unexpected loss of our job, our health, or even our marriage comes as an unwelcome course in the curriculum God has for us.

Often when we see the quickest and easiest way to where we want to go—or even where we should go—God forces us to take a longer—and harder—route.

But Jesus never just points the way and says, “See you there.” He walks with us through these course corrections. In fact, He leads us through them. Our problem? We want Jesus to lead the way we want to go. We want the easy walk to Jerusalem. We want the short track to heaven on Earth. We want glory.

But Jesus wants more for us.

With each step, we come closer to understanding the paradox of Jesus’ words to His glory-bound followers: “For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake and the gospel’s will save it” (see Mark 8:35).

Jesus’ destination for us is transformation, not just glorification.

And He loves us enough to lead us along a path of struggle, if that’s what it takes to get us from here to there. Even for Christ, the road to glory included the cross (see Rom. 8:17; Phil. 2:5-11).

Why should we expect any less for we who follow Jesus?

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Walking in the Footsteps of Jesus: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands and Lessons of Christ (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2008), pp. 110-111. Used by permission. Climbing image from Robert Hutton (Felix Dance).

Where You Are . . . the Center of God's Will

Location is everything. And where God places us is no accident.

Just look at Israel. Throughout biblical history, the land of Israel sat in an amazingly strategic position as the only intercontinental land bridge between the superpowers of the ancient world. The most important international highway of the Fertile Crescent ran the length of the land of Israel.

That means that any nation coming to or from Egypt, or traveling from the Mediterranean to the Gulf of Aqaba, had to go through Israel. For many years, Israel remained the crossroads for international imperialism, war, and trade.

Thus by design, God intended Israel, as a kingdom of priests, to take a mediatory role among the nations. When world powers traveled through the land, God’s people would either influence them for the Lord or be influenced by them toward idolatry.

Because of this, Israel’s central position among the nations proved to be a double-edged sword. Ezekiel records how God lamented that Jerusalem’s placement as “the center of the nations” had borne no obedient fruit (Ezekiel 5:5). Instead, God’s people had been swayed by the very nations God intended them to influence.

Similarly, God has placed us where we live, work, and worship in order for us to influence others for His glory (see Esther 4:14). As God appointed Ezekiel a “watchman to the house of Israel” (Ezekiel 3:17), so the Lord Jesus calls us to share God’s Word with those He brings to us and those to whom He takes us.

He calls us to make disciples of the nations rather than to become disciples of the nations.

We cannot even imagine what opportunities God’s providence has prepared for us today. Whom will we meet? Where will we go? May we miss no occasion to bring God glory among the nations— and to bring the nations to Him. 

We pursue the wrong priority. We want good health, a good income, a good night’s rest, and a good retirement. Our priority is We. God’s priority, however, is God. —Max Lucado

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2006), page 124.  Early woodcutting showing Jerusalem as the center of the world. HEINRICH BÜNTING, Magdeburg, Germany, 1581. Picture by Capture Queen (Smile), via Wikimedia Commons 

The Dead Sea will Live Again

Piles of driftwood, bleached white like old bones, surround the shoreline.

If bodies of water could be ghost towns, the Dead Sea would top the list. It’s the lowest place on earth, it’s the hottest spot in Israel, and nothing visible can live in its waters.

A mosaic on the floor of a church in Medeba, Jordan, represents an early tourist map for Byzantine pilgrims on their way to the Holy Land. The map shows fish swimming down the Jordan River and then turning around once they hit the Dead Sea! As the Jordan River snakes its descent from the base of Mount Hermon, it ultimately empties its flow just south of Jericho into brackish waters.

Today, most of the Jordan River is diverted for domestic and agricultural interests. But what does still flow delivers the Dead Sea its only continuous intake to replenish what water evaporates. With dimensions measuring forty-five miles long by eleven miles wide, the sea evaporates millions of tons of water each day. The unstable water level of the Dead Sea keeps both Israel and Jordan working to solve numerous problems—suggested solutions ranging from relocating hotels to pumping water north from the Red Sea.

The evaporation leaves behind concentrated calcium, magnesium, potassium, and sodium chlorides, giving the Dead Sea the highest salinity of any body of water on earth. The Nabataens in the fourth-century BC exemplify some of the many in history who have harvested the minerals for commercial purposes. Even today, the Dead Sea’s minerals remain big business. The worldwide demand for products keeps the more than 1500 employees of the Dead Sea Works Ltd. working around the clock.

With a name like the “Dead Sea,” one might expect a disappointing visit. And yet, anyone who experiences the place never forgets its wonder. Nothing on earth compares.

While tourists may purchase some facial creams and hand lotions, most come to the Dead Sea to experience its reputation for a remarkable buoyancy. The Dead Sea’s salinity is so dense that I literally could stand still without touching bottom and float with the surface of the water at my chest—a really strange sensation! Many who float on their backs can easily read a book. Throw a stick on the surface, and it appears to be lying on a mirror.

The historian Josephus records that when Vespasian came to the Dead Sea during the Jewish Revolt in AD 68, he decided to test the reputation that it is impossible for someone to sink. Vespasian tied up some people who could not swim and tossed them in the water! (I never understood why he tied them if they couldn’t swim anyhow.)

That story offers a good reminder for swimmers (and non-swimmers) to avoid water in the eyes and mouth—unless one enjoys weeping and vomiting. I’m told that water in the lungs likely will prove fatal. (You think?) Those commonsense warnings observed, the Dead Sea rewards each visitor with an unforgettable experience—including really oily skin.

At the beach at En Boqeq, the tourist stop offers beach umbrellas, chairs, sand, ice cream, cokes, and—most importantly—showers. Wading into the brackish water, many swimmers scoop handfuls of black mud and slather it on their bodies for a photograph.

The Dead Sea has had many names throughout history. The Scriptures refer to it as the “Salt Sea” (Numbers 34:3), the “Sea” (Ezekiel 47:8), and the “Eastern Sea” (Joel 2:20). Other designations in history include the "Sea of Asphalt,” the "Stinking Sea, and the "Devil's Sea."

It may seem hard to believe, but the region used to be a well-watered area—as lush and attractive as the Garden of Eden. But God’s judgment on Sodom and Gomorrah changed the area’s fertility to a desolate expanse that represented judgment on sin (Genesis 13:10; Deuteronomy 29:23; Jeremiah 17:6). The evaporation hovering over the Dead Sea gives a constant haze over its surface. It reminds me of the furnace-like smoke that rose from the valley after the destruction of Sodom (Genesis 19:28).

One day, Scripture promises, the Dead Sea will live again. Water will flow from Jerusalem’s Temple Mount and fishermen will line the banks of the Dead Sea (Ezekiel 47:8-11; Zechariah 14:8). What a picture of the power of God to bring life from death.

I wonder what we’ll call the Dead Sea in that day?

Images courtesy of BiblePlaces.com.
___

Just Returned from Ephesus

Cathy and I just returned from a trip with Insight for Living to a number of biblical sites in Turkey.

The most impressive? Hands down, it was Ephesus.

The apostle Paul devoted three years as a missionary living in Ephesus. Later, when imprisoned in Rome, Paul penned the book of Ephesians to this vibrant church. Paul also would write two letters to Timothy, the church’s pastor. Finally, the apostle John lived there and probably wrote the Gospel of John before his exile to Patmos. What great teaching Ephesus received!

No wonder Jesus commended them as John wrote to them from Patmos (see Rev. 2:1-3). They had stood firm in both their deeds and their doctrine for 30 years. Wonderful!

“But I have this against you,” Jesus continued, “that you have left your first love” (Rev. 2:4).

Amazing—this church had received three books of Scripture and two resident apostles! While other churches struggled against heresy, Ephesus had guarded their deeds and doctrine. Yet they had failed to maintain their devotion. Moreover, they had left it.

During our tour of Ephesus, I stood at the end of the Arcadian Way. The silting of the harbor had removed the city’s economic influence. Even today the Aegean Sea sits miles from the ruins.

I began to relate that silting to the spiritual life—the silting of the heart, not the harbor. Grain after grain of busyness, year after year of neglected devotion to Jesus, had finally reduced a church of such doctrinal strength to devotional attrition. The Ephesian Christians had lost their first love by allowing the silt of spiritual indifference to accumulate over the years. It can happen to anyone. Even to you and me.

We can wake up after a number of years and discover that our lack of passion for Jesus has gradually silted Him five miles away from our hearts.

Our hearts begin to silt when we content ourselves with maintaining a level of godliness that makes cultural Christianity our standard. In other words, compared to most Christians, like Jim or Susan or Pastor Ted, our spiritual life meets the standard. We seem in great shape. Our challenge has become spiritual maintenance rather than spiritual growth. And our hearts fill with silt without our knowing it.

But the pattern for the Christian life has never been other Christians—it is Christ. How easily we can forget that. Do we strive to be- come like Him or like our Christian culture? Do we give our all to Him—or do we just give what’s necessary to keep up appearances?

It takes guts to answer those questions honestly. It takes even more courage to change.


Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Walking in the Footsteps of Jesus: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands and Lessons of Christ (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2008), p. 174-175. Used by permission.

Dealing with Your Parents' Sins

It’s tough coming from a family that doesn’t honor God.

Josiah’s father and grandfather were two of Judah’s worst kings. When Josiah heard the Scriptures for the first time, he reacted in immediate sorrow: “Our fathers have not observed the word of the LORD, to do according to all that is written in this book” (2 Chronicles 34:21).

But Josiah determined to be different.

Josiah removed from God’s dilapidated temple everything that was pagan, burning it all in the valley outside Jerusalem. Not only did Josiah remove what was wrong, he also began doing what was right. He initiated repair on the temple of God. He gave instructions for the people to observe the Passover in strict accordance with Scripture. In fact, that year they celebrated a Passover the likes of which had not been seen for hundreds of years!

In short, Josiah tore down all that competed with the worship of God, and he built up that which assisted it.

We can learn from Josiah that our model for life must be God’s Word, not our parents’ examples. Living in the backwash of our parents’ sins does not allow us the excuse or justification to repeat those mistakes.

We must acknowledge our pain, grieve the losses, and call sin what it is. But then we can’t let righteous anger fester into unrighteous actions. It has to stop somewhere.

Like Josiah, we must determine to walk faithfully in our own generation by tearing down all that competes with our worship of God and by building up that which assists it.

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, "Breaking the Generational Curse," in Insight's Bible Reading Guide: Old Testament (IFL Publishing House, 2010), page 57.

Light is for Seeing

I usually leave for work in the dark hours of the morning. Navigating the twisting country roads on my way to the highway, my bright headlights are the only illumination. But I always have to watch out for critters.

More than once I have slowed to a stop for rabbits to run, deer to scramble over adjacent fences, a family of raccoons to cross single file in front of me, and numerous squirrels, cats and dogs. (I never slow down for snakes.) One morning, a buck with a multi-pointed rack just stood and stared me down as I slowly passed. No movement, no fear—he was awesome.

And then there are possums. Oh, dear. Possums usually just stop and watch me pass too, often requiring me to navigate around them in the middle of the road! They stare not because they are brave like the buck—but they are, I believe, brainless. They represent clear proof that God has a sense of humor.

Seeing these creatures respond to my headlights reminds me of a statement Jesus made about people running from the Light:

This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God. . . . I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life. (John 3:19-21; 8:12)

As I make my way back home at the end of each day, retracing the country roads I followed in the mornings, the roads always seem to display some casualty who couldn’t dodge the light fast enough. Often it’s a possum.

When I see these hapless creatures either scampering or squashed, I try to liken them to spiritual road-kill. I have determined to remember the importance of keeping a proper respect for the Light—for God’s holiness. And remembering the importance of helping to open the eyes of a world lost in darkness.

The Faith of Abraham . . . is Yours Too?

Shechem was Abram's first stop in Canaan as he followed God from Ur.

Genesis began with God blessing all He created.

But the fall of man, Abel’s murder, the rebellion at Babel and the global flood gave cause to doubt that there would be any recovery of that blessing. Genesis 3–11 sketches more than 4,000 years of suffering that people experienced under the curse of sin.

But then God chose one man through whom He would resurrect His blessing for all mankind. God told this man, Abram, to leave his family, friends and everything else familiar to go “to the land which I will show you. . . . And in you all the families of the earth will be blessed” (Gen. 12:1, 3). This promise ultimately found its fulfillment in Abram’s descendant, Jesus Christ (see Matt. 1:1).

It staggers the mind that the hope of the world would come from God’s promise to an elderly idol worshiper who, along with his wife, was well past childbearing years. In choosing Abram, God demonstrated grace. And in choosing to follow, Abram demonstrated faith.

Abram left Ur, a city with tremendous advantages. The move represented an incredible act of faith for Abram—especially for someone with no material needs. He forsook everything familiar to him to follow God into the unknown. And after he arrived in Canaan, he dwelt in a tent and struggled through famines in a barren land. It took faith for Abram to follow God—not just at the beginning, but every day.

God doesn’t always lead by promotion. Neither does He seek our approval before He tells us to move on. In His grace, God chose Abram, who then responded in faith—and followed the Lord.

The God of Abraham calls us to the same response today.

Adapted from Wayne Stiles, Going Places with God: A Devotional Journey Through the Lands of the Bible (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2006), page 27. Shechem photo courtesy of BiblePlaces.com. Faith photo from Bronze Magazine.