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Share 0 “Jesus was…sleeping.” (Mark 4:38). Now there’s a scene. Jesus was sleeping in the midst of a storm on the Sea of Galilee. The disciples scream, Jesus dreams. Thunder roars, Jesus snores. He doesn’t doze, catnap, or rest. He slumbers. Who could sleep at a time like this? Could you? Could you snooze during a roller coaster loop-de-loop? In a wind tunnel? At a kettle drum concert? Jesus slept through all three, at once! Mark’s gospel adds two curious details. “[Jesus] was in the stern, asleep on a pillow” (Mk. 4:38). In a stern, on a pillow. Why the first? From whence came the second? First-century fishermen used large, heavy seine nets for their work. They stored the net in a nook that was built into the stern for this purpose. Sleeping upon the stern deck was impractical. It provided no space or protection. The small compartment beneath the stern, however, provided both. It was the most enclosed and only protected part of the boat. So Christ, a bit dozy from the day’s activities, crawled beneath the deck to get some sleep. He rested his head, not on a fluffy feather pillow, but on a leather sandbag. A ballast bag. Mediterranean fishermen still use them. They weigh about a hundred pounds and are used to ballast, or stabilize, the boat. Did Jesus take the pillow to the stern so he could sleep, or sleep so soundly someone rustled him up the pillow? We don’t know. But this much we do. This is a premeditated slumber. He didn’t accidentally nod off. In full knowledge of the coming storm, Jesus decided it was siesta time, so he crawled into the corner, put his head on the pillow, and drifted into dreamland. His snooze troubled the disciples. Matthew and Mark record their response as three staccato Greek commands and one question. The commands: “Lord! Save! Dying!” (Mt. 8:25). The question: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” (Mk. 4:39). They do not ask about Jesus’ strength: “Can you still the storm?” His knowledge: “Are you aware of the storm?” Or his know-how: “Do you have any experience with storms?” But rather, they raise doubts about Jesus’ character. “Do you not care…?” Fear does this. Fear corrodes our confidence in God’s goodness. We begin to wonder if love lives in heaven. If God can sleep in my storms, if his eyes stay shut when my eyes grow wide, if he permits storms after I get on his boat, does he care? Fear unleashes a swarm of doubts, anger-stirring doubts. And it turns us into control freaks. “Do something about the storm!” is the implicit demand of the question. “Fix it, or…or…or, else!” Fear, at its center, is a perceived loss of control. When life spins wildly, we grab for a component of life we can manage: our diet, the tidiness of a house, the armrest of a plane, or, in many cases, people. The more insecure we feel, the meaner we become. We growl and bare our fangs. Why? Because we are bad? In part. But also because we feel cornered. Shouldn’t someone mention Jesus’ track record or review his resume? Do they remember the accomplishments of Christ? They may not. Fear creates a form of spiritual amnesia. It dulls our miracle memory. It makes us forget what Jesus has done and how good God is. When fear shapes our lives, safety becomes our god. When safety becomes our god, we worship the risk-free life. Can the safety lover do anything great? Can the risk-averse accomplish noble deeds? For God? For others? No. The fear-filled cannot love deeply; love is risky. They cannot give to the poor. Benevolence has no guarantee of return. The fear-filled cannot dream wildly. What if their dreams sputter and fall from the sky? The worship of safety emasculates greatness. No wonder Jesus wages such a war against fear. Christ’s most common command emerges from the “fear not” genre. The gospels list some 125 Christ-issued imperatives. Of these, twenty-one urge us to “not be afraid” or to “not fear” or to “have courage,” “take heart,” or “be of good cheer.” The second most common command appears on eight occasions. If quantity is any indicator, Jesus takes our fears seriously. The one statement he said more than any other was this: Don’t be afraid. “It’s all right. I am here! Don’t be afraid.” (Matthew 14:27 NCV) “Do not fear, little flock, for it is your father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” (Luke 12:32) “Don’t be troubled. You trust God, now trust in me…. I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am.” (John 14:1-3 NLT) Fearless, Max Lucado, upwords.com .

The Winter Olympics 2010 are upon us. Athletes across the globe long to skate like Ohno and ski like Mancuso. Even if they don’t win the gold, they hope to score a cushy endorsement deal with Swatch or Wheaties. Nike’s got a spot! Will Tiger leave a hole??? As Christians, most of us are keeping score in life. We know Ephesians 2:8-9: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.” Yet something inside of us can’t accept the fact that we don’t earn our salvation. We still keep racking up brownie points for God in hopes that we can please Him on our own. Why can’t we receive God’s free gift of salvation in simple faith? Long-time Christians and pastors are suckers for legalism. We can be “good enough,” by golly! I began trying to get on God’s “nice” list at an early age. My third-grade year, it was my all-consuming desire to win the Sunday School perfect attendance pin. Practically perfect, the blue and silver shield had “perfect attendance” emblazoned upon the front like a banner from heaven. In order to receive the coveted award, I not only had to show up on time every Sunday without fail, I had to read the weekly Sunday School lesson and bring my offering envelope. On the Sunday before Labor Day, Mrs. Brumit marched Randy Phelps to the front of the classroom and announced he had won the coveted prize-the perfect attendance pin. He proudly stuck out his chest and Mrs. Brumit penned his award from Jesus to his freshly washed IZOD polo shirt. Applauding wildly, I had a revelation from the Almighty. When I looked at Randy’s bespectacled face, for one brief shining moment I thought I saw a halo encircling his blonde buzz cut. I determined that morning that the next year I would stand before God, the angels, and the cheering crowd sporting that silver emblem on my gingham dress. But “perfect attendance” wasn’t an easy feat to perform. Three Sundays in November I hacked and sneezed all over Sandy French because I wasn’t going to let the Asian flu keep me from my trophy. In April I puked twice in church after eating too many donut holes before the sermon started-or was I sick? I can’t be sure. After my breakfast preceded me, everyone looked a little green around the gills. Debbie McCoy and Vicky Palmer contracted the virulent strain of intestinal flu I so graciously shared with the class. Undaunted, I came week after week after week after week…… Twice I almost lost the competition because of an errant offering envelope. One windy March Sunday, it fell out of my pocket when I hopped out of our Pontiac and onto the pavement. Sweet Mrs. Bentley saw the little white square under the car and returned it to me in the nick of time. The second envelope fiasco came the Saturday night I decided to hide it in my Bible between Nahum and Habakkuk. I hoped the fiery minor prophets would hold it fast until I arrived at class. When Sunday School started, I frantically thumbed through the Bible pages hoping to locate my nickel for Jesus. Where did it go? I scoured all of the “ah” prophets: Isaiah, Hosea, Ezra, Jeremiah, Jonah, Nehemiah, Zephaniah and Zechariah.. My tithe was nowhere to be found. Suddenly I recalled a Lucky Strike commercial from the night before. The book had something to do with tobacco-no, it was Habakkuk. I found Habakkuk, placed my envelope in the offering plate and breathed a sigh of relief. After twelve months of hard work, I reached my lofty goal and wore my heavenly treasure, my Baptist banner, with pride. Be honest. I’m not the only Christian around who struggles with legalism. You’ve been there, too. But once I stopped trying to get into God’s good graces and start trusting Jesus for salvation, life just got a lot more fun. My walk with God is no longer a religion, but a relationship. Read or listen to “Spiritual Maturity Is Not Simply Legalism.”

Singing sensation Taylor Swift sold four million records last year. Among her best current songs are “You Belong with Me” and “Two is Better than One.” The Bible tells us we are created to need each other. So how do we truly care for the people God places in our life? In many ways, caring for one another is the foundational building block of all relationships, yet we struggle to be real and present with others as work, finances and time constraints take priority. In his writings to the churches at Rome, Corinth and Ephesus, Paul teaches us six truths about how the body of Christ demonstrates care to its members. (I Cor. 12:24-26) When one part of the body is in pain, it affects all the other parts. So when we hear that a friend’s wife has a terminal illness, we hurt for them. When one part of the body is cared for, all parts are affected. We are elated when a couple we know has conceived after 18 years of childlessness. Members of the body are meant to care for one another. It seems a natural response to call a friend whose long-time relationship with his girlfriend takes a different course. Care for one another should be mutual. We need to be givers and takers so there is reciprocity in the body of Christ. Care for one another should be equal. We should not show more care toward one person than we do another. Let’s take a mental inventory of our relationships. Are we encouraging some and neglecting others? Mutual care for one another is the key to unity. We can be aligned in our beliefs but estranged in our relationships if we haven’t demonstrated concern for one another. A generous dose of care is the best prescription for a fractured relationship or divisive church body. No one should ever have to experience the pain of being alone, including members of our own family. Here are some practical ways of caring for one another that have worked for me. Stay current with people’s lives. Caring for others is difficult if we aren’t aware of their struggles and joys. Keep in touch regularly. Concentrate on doing caring acts. We need to turn our caring attitudes into action: phone calls, notes and letters, items of personal interest. A friend’s collection of nativities inspired us to show her an article about another such collector, a gesture that showed we were aware of her interests. Take an interest in what other people are interested in. (Phil. 2:4) Our interests include physical and emotional needs, desires, hopes, fears and worries – the things we think about and are concerned about. A good way to get in the habit of caring for others is to take the issues that concern us and use them as a reminder that other people probably have similar concerns. Learn to enter into other people’s worlds – their physical, mental and emotional worlds. People feel blessed when we take the time to be physically with them, share their thinking and empathize with them emotionally. Recognize that caring for others can be a burden that God prepares us for and helps us to bear. We can experience sadness, disappointment and hardship. Caring can cost us in resources, mental anguish and emotional pain. Nevertheless, we should anticipate the inconveniences, the dying to self and the sacrifice that caring for others will demand. Look for unique and personal ways to express care for others. After a national football championship a few years ago, I called a friend to congratulate him on his school’s win. I wanted him to know that I cared for him and his history with that college. Have you ever felt like no one cares about you? It is a hopeless feeling, a sense of being terribly alone with our pain, fear and even joy. It is a feeling of being disconnected and without help, cut off, overlooked, ignored, anonymous. That’s why the Bible instructs us to care for one another. No one should ever have to experience the pain of being alone. Don McMinn, Ph.D. (with Kimberly Spring) Executive Director of theiPlace.org The 11th Commandment: More Insights into the One Anothers of Scripture

What are the things that slow you up in life? You know, the gum that sticks to the bottom of your shoe, the spare tire you grew over the holidays…Do your worries weigh you down? Do relational hang-ups keep you from abundant living? When I was growing up on the baseball field ~ Coach used to yell a phrase to get us to run faster: “unhook your trailer“. Vince was the poor guy that heard this the most. I’m not saying he was slow around the bases, just pointing out that maple syrup might have a chance to outrun him… Unhook your trailer… All around us – we see them. Some carry horses, cargo, cars & more. They come attached to Semi trucks, big trucks with over-sized tires, cars & some even attached to bikes. Can they become attached to humans? What we all know – is that when we’re loaded down, it impedes our progress – we run slower. Physics dictates this reality. Unhook your trailer… The writer of Hebrews says something similar – way more eloquently – but just as truthful: 1Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. 2Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith,… (Hebrews 12:1-3) As a follower of Christ – we’re called to unhook the trailer…to cast off those sins, poor decisions & habits that hinder our progress to being more & more like Christ. We’re to keep our focus on HIM. Now – easy to say, difficult to do at times. This isn’t just a matter of ‘will power’ – this is staying connected to HIS POWER. His grace is sufficient to forgive the past, empower for today and call us forward into tomorrow. What’s needed is our yieldedness – our acknowledgement of the weight/baggage we’re unnecessarily carrying around… So, are you weighed down today? Confession is good for the soul. The Scriptures continual call to us to return (search our hearts Psalm 139) and make sure that we’re relationally right with our Father. Stop – take a moment (if needed) to unhook your trailer ~ quiet your soul & confess… Afterwards…pick up the forgiveness, freedom & renewal that is yours in Christ. (1 John 1:9; Romans 8) Jesus said that his burden was light – He came to bring forgiveness & freedom. We all need reminded at times to unhook our trailer… ~Jack How does confession impact relationships? (post your thoughts )

Our ICU nurses, donned in red and green scrubs, smiled and cheered as we entered the hospital ICU. Angie, Jessie’s precious “angel nurse” had crocheted a colorful Christmas stocking blanket for our dying baby. For the first time since she was born, Jessie raised her tiny arm toward us as if to wave hello. I remembered another miracle baby born in a stable so long ago. This Christmas was bittersweet. Day after day, Roger and I made the trek to the hospital, never knowing if our daughter’s tiny heart would fail before we arrived. Roger gleefully patted my burgeoning belly in anticipation for the birth of our first child. The nursery glowed with bubble-gum pink paint, the Christmas presents were bought and wrapped ahead of time. Caring for a newborn is an arduous job. My Mom and Dad flew from Dallas to Tucson to help with “rocking duty.” But when I went into labor, Jessie’s fragile heart began to fail. Dr. Raphael performed an emergency C-section. Our kind obstetrician sadly shook his head when our little one emerged from my womb. Jessie was blue and limp, three pounds at best. All of a sudden, our tiny treasure drew a breath, coughed and rallied. Her heart muscle pumped through her brittle skeleton. I was still sedated when my husband Roger heard the grim news. “God,” he prayed, “I am your servant. Why us? Why is there a nursery full of healthy babies, some that were even unwanted, and mine is born to die?” Later, Dr. Raphael gently clasped my hand and told me of Jessie’s fate. “Most Trisome 18 babies live only a week. She won’t last long. I’m so sorry!” Every part of her body created by her 18th chromosome was malformed. Her heart muscle was weak, her lungs were damaged, her little arms and legs were limp from lack of circulation. Roger placed her tiny form in my lap and we sobbed as we cradled her. Finally, we had to return her to Dr. Raphael. She was whisked away to intensive care. Jessica had to be fed with a gavage tube placed down her tiny throat because she was too weak to suck on a bottle. She lived in her “oxygen box” to make it easier to breathe. I went home, devastated, and we waited for the grim news that Jessie didn’t survive the night. And waited. We doggedly drove twenty miles to the hospital-terrified we were seeing Jessie for the last time. But every day she rallied. After two weeks, doctors and medical students came to study her. No Trisome infant had ever survived this long. The same supernatural power that formed Jesus in Mary’s womb sustained Jessie. God showed Himself mighty once again. The poet David penned these words in Psalm 139: For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. God knew Jessica’s future. No doctor could predict the impact her life would have. Answers to our prayers just kept coming. Jessie lived nine months longer than 99% of Trisome 18 babies. At the end of December, we were able to take Jessie home. She was now a whopping five pounds. She never grew past that weight. I dressed her in ruffled doll clothes because baby PJ’s were too big for her delicate frame. She was too weak to cry, so she’d raise her tiny arms when she was hungry. We fed her formula through a gavage tube every two hours. Roger and I surveyed the colorful nursery where she slept, shell-shocked that our tiny girl was still with us. As the days dragged on, we grew more and more exhausted. Roger kept up his pastoral duties and preached his socks off Sunday after Sunday. I taught piano to make ends meet. I kept Jessie in a bassinette next to my piano bench. One cold Saturday night, Roger and I slumped drained and discouraged in each other’s arms. The constant feedings left us sleep-deprived, and the stress of never knowing if she would be alive when we peered over her cradle left us frazzled and despondent. We prayed earnestly for strength. As Roger said “amen,” we immediately heard a knock at the front door. Fourteen smiling church ladies filled our porch. Were they here to bring us goodies? No. They gave us the most incredible, selfless gift. Joy Artus grinned. “Roger and Julie,” she said. “We are the Mom Squad. Every night at ten o’clock, one of us will be at your door to stay up all night with Jessie so you can sleep.” We were speechless! Our families lived a thousand miles away, so we had no help with our ailing child. Mom Squad ladies were doctors, nurses, university administrators, grandmothers, teachers…and in the nine months of Jessica’s life, they NEVER missed a night. When church members love you like that, they become your FAMILY. God had sent us our very own angels to comfort us in the darkness of our desperation. Jessica Lynn Barrier went to be with Jesus in July. We kissed her cold little forehead and said, “Hello, Jessie. We’re your Mommy and Daddy. We can finally tell you how much we love you as you smile down on us from Jesus’ lap.” We wept at her homegoing. I still cry when I remember that first Christmas with her. Many years later, I tearfully put my pen to paper to write what I would say to Jessie today. “Dear Jessica, My precious little girl with Jesus, I can hardly remember how it felt to hold your delicate frame in my arms. I thought I would forget you, but you’re with me every day. There are so many questions I want to ask you as I look heavenward. Do you miss me? I wish I’d known you as a grown-up girl-my dearest confidant and friend. The longer I live, the grayer the line between here and hereafter. There’s my indomitable father-full of faith and cheating death at least twice every year. Just when he thinks he’s headed toward Home, God turns him around, marches him back to us and tells him he still has more to do. No matter what disaster or physical challenge he faces, he simply finds another more creative way to express his love for you. The consummate artist, he finds beauty where others fail to look. And then there’s your Daddy. His earthly heart may not be strong, but it beats with a passion and power that few men have. He always sees heaven before him, and he’s never been afraid to go there. But like the Good Shepherd, I think he is still here because he’s so good at taking care of everybody else. Your sister Brianna has seemed to walk so precariously through this world, touching heaven and fighting for breath day in and day out. She spends her waking moments serving God tirelessly, but the more God uses her, the more she seems to suffer. But that doesn’t surprise you, does it, Jessie. I weep for her agony. I wish you could have shared some face time with your baby sister Bronwyn while you were here. Although I know you watch her, her antics and her puppies must make you giggle. The anguish she has suffered is deep and crue. Yet she sees the world most clearly and loves so honestly and deeply. Her pain has made her real. Her pain has made her strong. Earth-dwellers live in a fierce battleground, and those who don’t see it are simply looking the other way. Suffering must look so differently to you from heaven’s parapet. Hannah Hurnard in Hind’s Feet on High Places wrote that her protagonist, little Much Afraid, could only reach the high places by grasping the hands of Sorrow and Suffering. You see the glory side, don’t you Jessie? As I ponder life and death and love and such, I long to see through your eyes. What must it be like to look upon Jesus’ face every day? How wonderful must it be to never have unanswered questions, to fear nothing and no one? At times, brief moments during my day, I catch a glimpse of that shining place where you live and feel oddly homesick. Save me a place by your side. I’ll see you soon. Dear Jessie, My precious little girl with Jesus, I can hardly remember how it felt to hold your tiny frame in my arms. I thought I would forget you, but you’re still with me every day. There are so many questions I want to ask you as I look heavenward. Do you miss me? I wish I’d known you as a grown-up girl-my dearest confidant and friend. The longer I live, the grayer the line between here and hereafter. There’s my indomitable father-full of faith and cheating death at least twice every year. Just when he thinks he’s headed toward Home, God turns him around, marches him back to us and tells him he still has more to do. No matter what disaster or physical challenge he faces, he simply finds another more creative way to express his love for you. The consummate artist, he finds beauty where others fail to look. And then there’s your Daddy. His earthly heart may not be strong, but it beats with a passion and power that few men have. He always sees heaven before him, and he’s never been afraid to go there. But like the Good Shepherd, I think he is still here because he’s so good at taking care of everybody else. Your sister Brianna has seemed to walk so precariously through this world, touching heaven and fighting to stay here day in and day out. She spends her waking moments serving you tirelessly, but the more God uses her, the more she seems to suffer. But that doesn’t surprise you, does it, Jessie? Earth-dwellers live in a fierce battleground, and those who don’t see it are simply looking the other way. Suffering must look so differently to you from heaven’s parapet. Hannah Hurnard in “Hind’s Feet on High Places” wrote that her protagonist, little “Much Afraid” could only reach the high places by grasping the hands of Sorrow and Suffering. You see the glory side, don’t you Jessie? I wish you could have shared some face time with your baby sister, Bronwyn while you were here. Although I know you watch her, she must make you laugh. The pain she has suffered is the deepest and cruellest of all. Yet of all my girls, she sees the world most clearly and loves so honestly and deeply. Her pain has made her real. Her pain has made me strong. As I ponder life and death and love and such, I long to see through your eyes. What must it be like to see Jesus every day? How wonderful must it be to never have an unanswered question, to fear nothing and no one? At times, brief times during my day, I catch a glimpse of that shining place where you live and feel oddly homesick. Save me a place by your side. I’ll see you soon.

Benefit of the slop or benefit of the doubt? Social media and magazines rake in bazillions of dollars by cashing in on our curiosity. Who did what to whom? The juicier the better. Gossip can also fuel the fires of dysfunction and dissension in our churches. “Tattle-taling” grows into “rumor milling” until innuendo becomes scandal. Apparently, gossip is an age-old problem. Solomon writes, “A perverse man stirs up dissension, but gossip separates close friends.” Proverbs 16:28 Identify gossip when it rears its ugly head. Refuse to fuel the fire. Set the record straight. Confront when necessary. Even if there is a grain of truth, give the person grace rather than condemnation. “Pray for the gossiper and the “gossipee”! Remember faith in God and others always brings healing. Gossip begins with an over-developed sense of nosiness. Snooping and sniffing for the dirt. Noses are nifty little facial appendages. They sniff, smell, sneeze, snort and snore. Our noses are supposed to help us savor the scent of a flower or to take a whiff of Aunt Ivelle’s Summer Rose toilet water. They were designed to warn of danger and help us taste our food. But mostly, noses run, bleed and provide an endless supply of crusty nuggets for mischievous little boys to pick and flick. Noses come in all shapes and sizes: pug, pointy, perky, flat, flared, hooked and stubby. One might think that human schnozzes would surpass the olifactory skills of God’s lowly creatures. Nothing could be further from the truth. My golden retriever, Surely, can sniff the hiney of a Doberman and immediately know if he is a fast friend or fiendish foe. My vet, Dr. Poage, tells me that a canine can sniff a puppy pal’s poop and determine the sex, age and kind of kibble his doggie buddy scarfed. Boy doggies sniff chair and table legs to see if interlopers have invaded their territory and peed in their domain. Goody, my pesky, overly suspicious Corgi, leaves a yellow trail around my grand piano legs to show whose boss of the house. Why stick your nose where it doesn’t belong: in someone else’s business? “Curiosity killed the cat” is a warning for people and puppies alike. Some stones should be left unturned. Harold, the paunchy tabby down the street, became bald as a billiard ball when he “curiously” sniffed and pawed the Sunbeam hair dryer precariously perched on the bathtub ledge. Harold was never the same again. His litter box was moved to the garage. Marge Minshew, the hefty alto in the church choir, was overly “curious” about every member of Cockrell Hill Baptist Church. Somehow she forgot to read Paul’s warning in 1 Timothy 5:13-14:”Besides, they get into the habit of being idle and going about from house to house. And not only do they become idlers, but also gossips and busybodies, saying things they ought not to.” Marge lingered in the bathroom stall to hear the latest tasty morsel about Art Palmer’s late hours at the office. She was convinced Jody Boyd, the church secretary, was swiping ten dollar bills from the Sunday offering plate. How else could she pay for that fire-engine red patent purse? Pastor Jones must be a ladies’ man, Marge surmised, because he slathered way too much “Bedhead” mousse through his brown wavy locks. Behind every coat closet and water fountain, Marge would gleefully glean her gossipy tidbits. Armed to the teeth with half-truths and innuendo, she began her calling crusade. Marge phoned Peggy, Peggy dialed Betty, and Betty called the entire Women’s Missionary Union to warn them of chinks in the pastor’s armor and skeletons in the deacons’ closets. With each phone call, the tales were tattled and the sins of the saints grew. By the time Ethel Bentley got the scoop, Art Palmer was a pimp and Pastor Jones was an axe murderer. Marge’s nefarious nose must be stopped up. Pastor Jones preached a fiery four-sermon series on “The Tongue is a Fire” from the book of James but Marge remained clueless, even when her husband Ed elbowed her in the ribs. She “amen’d” and cried “preach it, Pastor,” glaring at the sinners and backsliders seated in the row behind her. Marge really needed a nose job. Someone should have lobbed that sucker clean off her face. Nothing seemed to face the self-appointed “Baptist private eye.” She was sure the finger pointing applied to someone else. One reason Marge was oblivious to her shortcomings was because she always couched her remarks in the form of “prayer requests.” “Pray for Velma Peabody,” she moaned. “God has revealed to me that she has fallen off the wagon and hit the bottle again. Didn’t you see the rum raisin cake she brought to Wednesday night dinner?” Big deal. Paul told Timothy to take a little wine for his stomach. It was first-century Pepto-Bismol. But the Good Book warns, “…you can be sure your sin will find you out.” Marge stuck her snoopy nose out too far. Elba McElroy wandered over to our little congregation from the Methodist church down the street. Not enough sewing circles…When Elba joined the Baptist biddies, Marge had met her match. Elba gave her a taste of her own medicine. If Marge had “roast preacher” for Sunday lunch, Elba had “roast Marge” for Sunday dinner. Elba invited Marge and Pastor Jones to her house for pie and coffee, and Marge had to face Pastor Jones eyeball to eyeball. The Holy Spirit did the rest. The moment Marge got back to her old tricks and started the phone chain on the latest scandal, Elba grilled her for the details and checked her story. Marge finally decided the manure she was shoveling wasn’t worth the trouble. She had been cut down to size and the snooping stopped. If I had given monikers to the seven dwarfs (not small in size but small in soul) I might have named them Grumpy, Grouchy, Lazy, Fussy, Sleazy, Nasty and, the worst, Nosey. Now the only thing Marge Minshew sniffs is warm chocolate cookies straight from the oven. We should do the same. Identify gossip when it rears its ugly head. Refuse to fuel the fire. Set the record straight. Confront when necessary. Even if there is a grain of truth, give the person grace rather than condemnation. “Pray for the gossiper and the “gossipee”! Remember faith in God and others always brings healing. “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8 NIV

He had always loved those who were his own in the world, and he loved them all the way to the end. (John. 13:1) Give thanks to the Lord because he is good. His love continues forever. (Ps. 136:1) Moms, I have a question: Why do you love your newborn? I know, I know, it’s a silly question. Indulge me. Why do you? For months this baby has brought you pain. She (or he) made you break out in pimples and waddle like a duck. Because of her you craved sardines and crackers and threw up in the morning. She punched you in the tummy. She occupied space that wasn’t hers and ate food she didn’t fix. You kept her warm. You kept her safe. You kept her fed. But did she say thank you? Are you kidding? She’s no more out of the womb than she starts to cry! The room is too cold, the blanket is too rough, the nurse is too mean. And who does she want? Mom. She didn’t even tell you she was coming. She just came. And what a coming! She rendered you a barbarian. You screamed. You swore. You bite bullets and tore the sheets. And now look at you. Your back aches. Your head pounds. Your body is drenched in sweat. Every muscle strained and stretched. You should be angry, but are you? Far from it. On your face is a for-longer-than-forever love. She has done nothing for you, yet all you can talk about are her good looks and bright future. She’s going to wake you up every night for the next six weeks, but that doesn’t matter. I can see it on your face. You’re crazy about her. Why? * * * * * * * * God, I have a question: Why do you love your children? I don’t want to sound irreverent, but only heaven knows how much pain we’ve brought you. Why do you tolerate us? You give us every breath we breathe, but do we thank you? You give us bodies beyond duplication, but do we praise you? Seldom. We complain about the weather. We bicker about our toys. We argue over who gets which continent and who has the best gender. Not a second passes when someone, somewhere doesn’t use your name to curse a hammered thumb or a bad call by the umpire. (As if it were your fault.) You fill the world with food, but we blame you for hunger. You keep the earth from tilting and the Arctic’s from thawing, but we accuse you of unconcern. You give blue skies, and we demand rain. You give rain, and we demand sun. As if we knew what was best, anyway. We give more applause to a brawny ball-carrier than we do the God who made us. We sing more songs to the moon than to the Christ who saved us. We are a gnat on the tail of one elephant in the galaxy of Africa’s and yet we demand that you find us a parking place when we ask. And if you don’t give us what we want, we say you don’t exist. As if our opinion matters. We pollute the world you loan us. We mistreat the bodies you gave us. We ignore the Word you sent us. And we killed the Son you became. We are spoiled babies who take and kick and pout and blaspheme. You have every reason to abandon us. I sure would! I would wash my hands of the whole mess and start over on Mars. But do you? I see the answer in the rising of the sun. I hear the answer in the crashing of the waves. I feel the answer in the skin of a child. Father, your love never ceases. Never. Though we spurn you, ignore you, disobey you, you will not change. Our evil cannot diminish your love. Our goodness cannot increase it. Our faith does not earn it anymore than our stupidity jeopardizes it. You don’t love me less if I fail. You don’t love me more if I succeed. Your love never ceases. How do we explain it? The answer is found in the eyes of the mother. Why does she love her newborn? Because the baby is hers? Even more. Because the baby is her. Her blood. Her flesh. Her sinew and spine. Her hope. Her legacy. It bothers her not that the baby gives nothing. She knows a newborn is helpless, weak. She knows babies don’t ask to come into this world. And God knows we didn’t either. We are his idea. We are his. His face. His eyes. His hands. His touch. We are him. Look deeply into the face of every human being on earth and you will see his likeness. Though some appear to be distant relatives, they are not. God has no cousins, only children. We are, incredibly, the body of Christ. And though we may not act like our Father, there is no greater truth than this: We are his. Unalterably. He loves us. Undyingly. There is nothing that can separate us from the love of Christ. (Rom. 8:38, 39) Had God not said those words, I would be a fool to write them. But since he did, I’m a fool not to believe them. Nothing can separate us from the love of Christ. But how difficult to embrace this truth. You think you’ve committed an act which places you outside his love. A treason. A betrayal. An aborted promise. You think, he would love you more if you hadn’t done it, right? You think he would love you more if you did more, right? You think if you were better, his love would be deeper, right? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. His love is not human. His love is not normal. His love sees your sin and loves you still. Does he approve of your error? No. Do you need to repent? Yes. But do you repent for his sake or yours? Yours. His ego needs no apology. His love needs no bolstering. And he could not love you more than he does right now.

YOU HAVE one. A sack. A burlap sack. Probably aren’t aware of it, may not have been told about it. Could be you don’t remember it. But it was given to you. A sack. An itchy, scratchy burlap sack. You needed the sack so you could carry the stones. Rocks, boulders, pebbles. All sizes. All shapes. All unwanted. You didn’t request them. You didn’t seek them. But you were given them. Don’t remember? Some were rocks of rejection. You were given one the time you didn’t pass the tryout. It wasn’t for lack of effort. Heaven only knows how much you practiced. You thought you were good enough for the team. But the coach didn’t. The instructor didn’t. You thought you were good enough, but they said you weren’t. They and how many others? You don’t have to live long before you get a collection of stones. Make a poor grade. Make a bad choice. Make a mess. Get called a few names. Get mocked. Get abused. And the stones don’t stop with adolescence. I sent a letter this week to an unemployed man who’s been rejected in more than fifty interviews. And so the sack gets heavy. Heavy with stones. Stones of rejection. Stones we don’t deserve. Look into the burlap sack and you see that not all the stones are from rejections. There is a second type of stone. The stone of regret. Regret for the time you lost your temper. Regret for the day you lost control. Regret for the moment you lost your pride. Regret for the years you lost your priorities. And even regret for the hour you lost your innocence. One stone after another, one guilty stone after another. With time the sack gets heavy. We get tired. How can you have dreams for the future when all your energy is required to shoulder the past? No wonder some people look miserable. The sack slows the step. The sack chafes. Helps explain the irritation on so many faces, the sag in so many steps, the drag in so many shoulders, and most of all, the desperation in so many acts. You’re consumed with doing whatever it takes to get some rest. So you take the sack to the office. You resolve to work so hard you’ll forget about the sack. You arrive early and stay late. People are impressed. But when it’s time to go home, there is the sack—waiting to be carried out. You carry the stones into happy hour. With a name like that, it must bring relief. So you set the sack on the floor, sit on the stool, and drink a few. The music gets loud and your head gets light. But then it’s time to go and you look down and there is the sack. You drag it into therapy. You sit on the couch with the sack at your feet and spill all your stones on the floor and name them one by one. The therapist listens. She empathizes. Some helpful counsel is given. But when the time is up, you’re obliged to gather the rocks and take them with you. You get so desperate you try a weekend rendezvous. A little excitement. A risky embrace. A night of stolen passion. And for a moment the load is lighter. But then the weekend passes. Sunday’s sun sets and awaiting you on Monday’s doorstep is—you got it—your sack of regrets and rejections. Some even take the sack to church. Perhaps religion will help, we reason. But instead of removing a few stones, some well-meaning but misguided preacher may add to the load. God’s messengers sometimes give more hurt than help. And you might leave the church with a few new rocks in your sack. The result? A person slugging his way through life, weighed down by the past. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s hard to be thought¬ful when you’re carrying a burlap sack. It’s hard to be affirming when you are affirmation-starved. It’s hard to be forgiving when you feel guilty. Paul had an interesting observation about the way we treat people. He said it about marriage, but the principle applies in any relationship. “The man who loves his wife loves himself” (Eph. 5:28). There is a correlation between the way you feel about yourself and the way you feel about others. If you are at peace with yourself—if you like yourself—you will get along with others. The converse is also true. If you don’t like yourself, if you are ashamed, embarrassed, or angry, other people are going to know it. The tragic part of the burlap-sack story is we tend to throw our stones at those we love. Unless the cycle is interrupted. Which takes us to the question, “How does a person get relief?” Which, in turn, takes us to one of the kindest verses in the Bible, “Come to me, all of you who are tired and have heavy loads, and I will give you rest. Accept my teachings and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble in spirit, and you will find rest for your lives. The teaching I ask you to accept is easy; the load I give you to carry is light” (Matt. 11:28—30). You knew I was going to say that. I can see you holding this book and shaking your head. “I’ve tried that. I’ve read the Bible, I’ve sat on the pew—but I’ve never received relief.” If that is the case, could I ask a delicate but deliberate question? Could it be that you went to religion and didn’t go to God? Could it be that you went to a church, but never saw Christ? “Come to me,” the verse reads. It’s easy to go to the wrong place. I did yesterday. I was in Portland, Maine, catching a flight to Boston. Went to the desk, checked my bag, got my ticket, and went to the gate. I went past security, took my seat, and waited for the flight to be called. I waited and waited and waited—finally, I went up to the desk to ask the attendant and she looked at me and said, “You’re at the wrong gate.” Now, what if I’d pouted and sighed, “Well, there must not be a flight to Boston. Looks like I’m stuck.” You would have said to me, “You’re not stuck. You’re just at the wrong gate. Go down to the right gate and try again.” It’s not that you haven’t tried—you’ve tried for years to deal with your past. Alcohol. Affairs. Workaholism. Religion. Jesus says He is the solution for weariness of soul. www.maxlucado.com . Used by permission.

If you think your trouble-filled life is bad, this guy had it worse. Separated from people, a crazed maniac, in constant torment, crying out and cutting himself with stones to feel something else other than the despair he was feeling. This man lived a life of oppression by demons. Underneath that oppression was a wonderfully gifted person, loved by God, created in His image and placed on this planet with a unique destiny to fulfill…but one that would never be realized until the oppression could be lifted. He not only had a demon, but this demon was named Legion, signifying lots of demons. A Roman legion was about 6000 troops—that’s a lot of demons. This man’s oppression is symbolic of so many today around the world who also face oppression that covers over dignity, destiny, and hope–People oppressed by war, poverty, hunger, racism, lack of clean water, slavery, all forms of injustice. In a land of freedom and prosperity, we can look at the billions of oppressed people around the world and naively think, “Why don’t they just change it? Why don’t they just take responsibility for themselves and get out of that situation?” It’s a modern version of “Let them eat cake,” conceived by people who are out of touch with reality. Those forms of oppression drain all initiative, all dreams, all hope. Until the oppression is lifted, those things stay covered over. For this man, this was clearly the case. It makes you wonder who tried to help the man. We know they tried to tie him up unsuccessfully, but who tried to help him? Did anyone? Maybe, maybe not—but in his case, the reality is that they could not have done much any way. They needed a power beyond themselves. They needed the power of God, the power of the gospel—not just good intentions. He needed more than temporary help. He needed eternal hope. In this man’s life, this demon-oppressed person, he was without hope up until this story. We don’t know if anyone ever tried to help him or not, but what we do know is that Jesus decided to. The fact that Jesus did so is remarkable. The passage says that he went across the lake to the region of the Gerasenes, which was not normal. Good Jews stayed away from this region for two big reasons. First, the region was populated by Gentiles, non-Jewish people that they looked down their noses at. Second, the region was known for raising pigs. Pigs were considered unclean, so you never saw a good Jew down at Red, Hot, and Blue eating a pulled-pork sandwich. This region raised pork to feed the Roman soldiers garrisoned in various places in Israel, and it was a despised region. The fact that Jesus decided to purposely travel to the Gerasenes was a big deal in itself. Good Jews like the disciples would have never done that. But I love the quote I got from Zan Holmes said “Bridges are just walls turned sideways.” Zan then said, “Jesus never saw a wall that he couldn’t turn into a bridge.” Jesus is a wall-builder, and he just shows up where the needs are the greatest. He does so now through us, but in this story, he builds a bridge to the Gerasenes. And the story simply says he sailed in and then just as quickly sailed out after this man was released from the oppression. Did Jesus come all this way for this just one guy? Maybe. We don’t really know. Yet, he did come. He lands, and the demoniac comes to him. This man who was isolated from everyone, living among the tombs, comes all the way to the shore to greet Jesus. Notice what he does, he then falls on his knees before Jesus and shouts out, “Jesus, son of the Most High God? Swear to me that you will not torture me?” Who’s doing the talking? Not the man but the demon. Demons are angels who joined the angel Lucifer, now Satan, in rebellion against God. As created beings, Satan or any of the demons are not God’s equals. They can only do what they do underneath God’s sovereign control. The demon, or in this case demons, know that this is Jesus, and they beg not to be tortured, likely asking that Jesus not send them early into the eternal torment reserved for them. Jesus simply orders them to come out of the man and asks the demon to state his name. The demon answers with the Legion answers, and begs Jesus not to be sent away but instead to be able to inhabit the pigs. Jesus obliges their request, and they go into the pigs, 2000 of them, who then quickly charge into the lake and drown. But forget about the pigs and remember the person. This man was released from his oppression. The love of Jesus transforms a life. This man is now completely released from this horrific oppression. But notice something in the passage. How do the people respond? How many do you see celebrate this amazing life change? No one. Zero. The man is transformed, but that is not what people are focused on. Instead, what do they do? They beg Jesus to leave their region. Why? Because of the 2000 pigs! Their economy just got slammed. They just lost 2000 pigs from their herds. If Jesus stays around, what might happen next? They are fixated on the pigs. How much is one man’s life worth? Not 2000 pigs! Maybe one or two, but 2000? They just want Jesus out of there. They don’t want their lives disrupted any more than they already have been. They beg him to leave. And here is where this story challenges the heck out of me. How much is one life worth to me? How much disruption am I willing to introduce into my life in order to help release someone from oppression, whose life is covered over by hunger, poverty, slavery, or injustice? How much am I willing to disrupt my way of life, my own economics, my own comfort, to see lives transformed?

Christians often justify their decisions by saying, “I have a peace about it.” Is that a cop-out? Is God’s peace subjective? “Peace” is one of those Christianese terms that is sometimes used in the context of decision-making as a test for God’s will. Often when a Christian says, “I have peace about this or that,” they mean that they take that particular thing to be God’s will for them. Every Christian I’ve gotten to know over a length of time, no matter what country or culture they are from seems to have this universal catch-phrase in common. “Peace” is used as a barometer to determine the right thing to do in a given situation. Many go so far as to say, “God has given me a real peace about it.” (As opposed to him giving a false peace?) In my Christian experience I’ve sometimes taken to using the peace barometerto aid decision-making. Rather, I should say that I used to do that. I don’t do it anymore because, uh, well, because… I don’t have a peace about it. In all seriousness, as a Christian when you say you “have peace” about something it means nothing more than you “feel good” about it or there is an absence of emotional conflict. Some Christians refer to a “supernatural peace” taking their cue from Philippians 4:7, “The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” This is a comforting passage, but one that is often mistakenly called upon when trying to determine God’s will. This is a mistake because the scripture never gives us instruction to use “peace” as a barometer for determining God’s will—rather, the scripture uses conviction. Peace can be a byproduct of an already-made choice, but not always. “Peace” from a biblical view is first “peace with God” (Romans 5:1), meaning that our enmity with God has been erased by the atoning working of the Lord Jesus on the cross. Because of Jesus, God is no longer in conflict with those who have received him. We are “at peace” with him. Second, biblical “peace” is a lack of internal conflict, or perhaps we shall also call this internal enmity, with ourselves about something. In both cases this kind of peace does not proceed or coincide with a decision to do something, rather it is a byproduct of an already-made decision—sometimes. I’ll explain that qualifying “sometimes” in a moment. Take a close look at the book of Philippians for the context in which Paul was speaking when he briefly, almost in passing made his reference to the “peace of God which surpasses all understanding.” First look at when Paul said what he said, as it will aid our understanding of Paul’s context. Paul wrote this epistle while imprisoned by Rome awaiting judgment by Caesar for his evangelism activities (1:7). This was equivalent to a charge of political treason, punishable by death. Paul had peace about what he was doing and about what he would suffer because he had already made a decision—in advance—that it was right for him to set his face toward imprisonment and suffering. How many of us would have peace with that kind of decision? Paul’s imprisonment is fascinating since he deliberately set out on a mission that he knew beforehand would get him arrested. Let that sink in. I think I’ll go to jail and be executed. Yes. Ah, yes, I have peace about that. Paul’s imprisonment was no accident. He intentionally worked in such a way as to keep himself in Roman custody after he was arrested. During Paul’s time in Ephesus he set his face to go to Jerusalem knowing full well that if he preached Jesus while there (and being Paul he could not avoid it) he would be confronted and arrested. Look carefully at Paul’s words to his Ephesian brothers. “I am going to Jerusalem, constrained by the Spirit, not knowing what will happen to me there, except that the Holy Spirit testifies to me in every city that imprisonment and afflictions await me. But I do not count my life of any value nor as precious to myself…” (Acts 20:22-24). Did you notice that phrase, “constrained by the Spirit?” This is Paul’s way of saying, “I’m not really sure I like this idea, but God is moving me in this direction so I must do it regardless of my personal feelings.” Now, does this sound like Paul used “peace” to make his decision about God’s will? Not at all. Paul didn’t need supernatural peace for the decision-making process, he used conviction provided by, as he said, the Holy Spirit. Upon his arrival in Jerusalem Paul attempted to appease an angry mob of Jews that God had given the same blessing of salvation to Gentiles (Acts 22:21-22). At every step making his defense over a period of years Paul upped the ante saying things to his prosecutors and accusers that were all but assured to get him into further trouble. It was as if Paul was orchestrating things so that he could get to Rome, under Roman guard, to force a hearing for Christianity before the Roman emperor himself (Acts 25:11-12, 26:31-32, 28:18-20). In fact that is exactly what one late professor of theology taught Paul was doing. “[Paul’s] appeal to Caesar brought Christianity directly to the attention of the Roman government and compelled the civil authorities to pass judgment on its legality. If it was to be allowed as religio licita , a permitted cult, the persecution of it would be illegal, and its security would be assured. If, on the other hand, it was adjudged to be religio illicita , a forbidden cult, then the ensuing persecution would only advertise it and offer an opportunity for a demonstration of its power” ( New Testament Survey, Merrill C. Tenney, “Results of the Pauline Imprisonment,” page 329). Whether Paul would be executed or set free it was a win/win situation for Paul and a lose/lose for Rome. If Rome had simply ignored Paul and sent him on his way, Christianity would have remained in further obscurity. Paul’s strategy would either bring greater freedom to Christians to advance their faith, or cause greater suffering for the church at large. Some might have asked, who was Paul to make such a decision for the whole church? It was in this environment of difficult, sacrificial, painful choices and imprisonment that Paul wrote to his Philippian brothers, urging them to sacrifice themselves for one another, writing that his own life was nothing apart from Christ, even noting his suffering and many sacrifices to get to where he was. Isn’t that an interesting notion? I’ve sacrificed a lot to get to prison where I can suffer and be mistreated for the sake of Jesus, and possibly cause you more suffering. In the midst of all of this, when Paul knew that great suffering awaited him still, then and only then does Paul refer to the “peace that surpasses understanding.” In fact, Paul went on in the same chapter to describe how to attain that peace: “What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, practice these things and the God of peace shall be with you” (4:9). What example did Paul set for his Philippian brothers? He was an example of a man who lived godly as he embraced suffering and imprisonment with both arms for the sake of the Church and the sake of Christ. It was in that context that Paul wrote about peace – a context where Paul intentionally chose to intentionally suffer though he could have if he wanted, intentionally avoided it. By chance, do you see a pattern here? In this context what do we learn from Paul’s admonition of peace? It is that “peace that passes understanding” isn’t something that is given to make decisions. Where will I live, where will I go to school, what will be my job, who will I marry, etc.? Paul didn’t even use the peace barometer to make decisions about the persecution of the church. He used conviction. Feeling good or bad about decisions is not abnormal and does not require Paul’s “peace that passes understanding.” The peace that Paul refers to is supernatural because extreme circumstance require extreme conviction, and sometimes extreme encourageme nt. Feeling good or non-conflicted is not peace in the biblical sense. Peace in the biblical sense is that jaw-dropping, “how does he do that” sense of security and firm conviction in the face of absolutely overwhelming odds and opposition where no sense of sense makes sense to accept it. It is what the Apostle Peter had when he walked calmly to his own execution and begged to be crucified upside down because he felt unworthy of his Lord. It is what the early martyrs experienced when they smiled at the flames alight under their feat as the kindling began searing their flesh. It is what Paul experienced after he resolutely, firmly, and purposefully with deep conviction set his face to go toward imprisonment and suffering and embraced it at every step of his journey until the butcher’s axe severed his head from his neck. It is not to stand when the world demands you sit. It is the conviction to stand when the world cuts off your legs and greases the floor—and your conviction persuades others to stand with you. THAT is the kind of peace the Bible promises. Sometimes. Sometimes it’s a bit delayed. The night before the Lord Jesus was lead away to be crucified he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane asking the Father to, “remove this cup from me” (Luke 22:42). Yet at the same time his resolution was set, “not my will, but yours be done.” Did Jesus have “peace” at this momentous moment of decision – the decision to embrace the cross? Not in the slightest. Look at the following passages: “And there appeared to him an angel from Heaven, strengthening him (22:43). Rhetorical question: Why would Jesus need strengthening? Answer: Duh! Look at the following verse, even more revealing: “And being in agony he prayed even more earnestly” (22:44). Jesus’ stress was so great that it brought about hematohidrosis, causing blood vessels around sweat glands to burst so that he “sweat drops of blood” (22:44). Was this a Jesus “at peace” or was this a Jesus resolute in his decision regardless of his feelings? Clearly, the latter. He was suffering great mental and emotional stress knowing what was to come. Yet remarkably he embraced the cross anyway. In stark, almost violent contrast Hebrews 12:2 paints the picture of Jesus’ kind of peace this way: “Who for the joy set before him endured the cross, despising its shame…” Jesus didn’t embrace the suffering of the cross because he “had peace about it.” He embraced the suffering of the cross for the peace it would bring us later. When you make decisions about what course your life will take remember that “peace” is not designed to help us make decisions. If that were the case then all of our decisions would be designed to run from suffering like children. Rather, peace is the byproduct of decisions that are pleasing to God, regardless of suffering or joy. Yet also remember the suffering of the Lord Jesus who did not experience peace in the immediate aftermath of his decision. Instead he set himself resolutely to go to the cross because of his conviction and love for us. “Peace” had nothing to do with it except for the peace he was making between God and men. Whom do you admire in the scriptures or in history the most? Chances are, like Jesus they are people who endured great suffering or turmoil, and either because of it and/or through it transformed the world around them. And they didn’t always feel good about it. In contrast to the worldview that runs from suffering, that makes it decisions through escapism, the scripture encourages times when we must embrace suffering, for out of it and through it great deeds are done, lives are transformed, and yes, even heroes are made. For there is nothing admirable about the man who embraces his personal peace at the expense of doing the right thing.