Who is Your Enabler?

A woman from church recently encouraged me that God had equipped me to accomplish certain tasks that lie ahead.

Her words were “apples of gold in settings of silver” – exactly what I needed to hear.

I munched on that golden apple, relishing the taste of knowing God had prepared me. I thanked Him for enabling me.

Social norms immediately swept through my mind, denouncing my use of the term enabling, but I resisted the taint now associated with the word.

Merriam-Webster lists the following definition for Enable: 1 a: to provide with the means or opportunity … b: to make possible, practical, or easy … c: to cause to operate … 2: to give legal power, capacity, or sanction to

The next entry in the MW dictionary adds an r to the end of enable and the word becomes enabler, the less-than-flattering term that today bears a load of negative connotations.

Again, I resisted. God enables us but not in a passively harmful way. He empowers us, strengthens us, gives us what we need to serve Him and grow in faith.

One morning soon after, my devotional reading took me to John 6 and the account of people deserting Jesus because of something He said. He explained to His disciples that He knew even some of them didn’t really believe.

“This is why I told you that no one can come to me unless the Father has enabled him” John 6:65 NIV).

Though surprised to see the word enable, I was thrilled to find it. Vindicated somehow.

Of course God enables us. How else would we have strength for anything?

The choice is ours, the power is His.

Phil. 2:13 NIV

Meeting Jesus: A Story

“Shalom.”

“And peace to you, my brother.”

Nicodemus stepped hurriedly through the doorway, glad to be off the street at this time of night in the lower city. “Is he here?”

“Yes.” His friend glanced toward the ceiling, re-opened the door and stepped back. “Go up and see him. I think he expects you.”

Nicodemus’s eyes widened, but he retained his dignified demeanor. “Thank you, my friend.” His hand clasped the other man’s arm and secretly he wished his friend lived in a safer part of the city. Nodding, he stepped back into the evening.

At his left, a rough, narrow staircase led to the roof, and he lifted his robe to spare it from dragging against the plastered steps. He had heard much of the man he was about to question—too much, really. From a distance he had listened to the words of this Galilean carpenter’s son, and had planned to wait him out as he had all the others, watch for his demise, observe from afar as one more zealot fell either to the destruction of self-importance or a Roman sword.

Yet the incident at the temple during Pesach could not be ignored. This one had braided hemp cords together and whipped about the moneychangers and dove keepers until they fled from the outer courts. The man’s wrath was fearful. His voice had roared above the cackle of bartering merchants and lowing animals as he shouted that the temple was meant for prayer, not for profit.

Nicodemus shook his head again at the memory. How obvious the remark, yet how few had uttered it.

He slowed as he neared the top, and over the low wall bordering the roof saw the man standing near the northern edge, looking out over Jerusalem. His expression was indiscernible in profile, but Nicodemus suspected that his thoughts were not filled with joy.

His sandaled foot scraped against the last step and the object of his visit turned in his direction. For a moment he met those dark eyes, deep beyond the man’s thirty or so years, full of much more than one that young should have opportunity to learn.

Nicodemus dropped his gaze, though he was the elder to whom respect was due. But no disrespect was given. It was something else: a knowing. A shiver rushed over his body, though the night was not yet cold but only cooler by degree than the day had been.

“Rabbi,” he said. As a Pharisee, he himself was a teacher. He had studied most of his life and enjoyed at last a place on the Sanhedrin, his nation’s ruling council. His fellow Pharisees envied this young, uneducated Galilean. No, they feared him, for they could not successfully argue with his wisdom. Nicodemus swallowed his pride, knowing that he stood before one who could teach even him.

“Rabbi,” he repeated.

The Galilean nodded in reply, and gestured toward a low wooden bench where Nicodemus seated himself. The man joined him on a similar bench set at a right angle, and a slight smile teased the corners of his mouth.

It was indeed as Nicodemus’s friend had said: the man expected this visit.

 “We know you are a teacher who has come from God,” Nicodemus began. “For no one could perform the miraculous signs you are doing if God were not with him.”

The younger man returned his gaze to the sleeping city. He rested both hands on his knees and breathed deeply as though considering his first words to his visitor.

“I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.”

A slight gasp escaped Nicodemus’s mouth, but he quickly gathered himself. How could the man have known the hidden question of his heart? Nicodemus had carefully rehearsed his first words to the popular teacher, yet it was as if they had not been spoken, as if the man saw through to his very thoughts. Did he read minds? Was this how he gained such a following?

Indeed, the teacher spoke in riddles, for man does not shrink to the form of a child, an infant, and retrace his entry to this world.

“How can a man be born when he is old?” Nicodemus said, struggling to disguise his frustration. He did not want to appear rude, but this was unthinkable. He shifted on the bench and decided upon a more tactical approach. “Surely he cannot enter a second time into his mother’s womb to be born!”

The dark eyes met his, so full of light though the night closed its hand upon them and only a small lamp flickered nearby. “I tell you the truth, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit.”

Ah, yes, the kingdom of God. Well, if the carpenter hadn’t noticed, the city struggled to stay alive in the kingdom of Rome! Nicodemus composed himself once more and studied the Galilean’s face, sensing he had more to say.

“Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, ‘You must be born again.’”

Nicodemus moved uneasily on the hard wooden seat, scrutinized, as it were, by one who could detect his masked astonishment. Oh, for a cushion upon which to rest his aging bones! How could this man speak of two things at once—the flesh and the spirit? Surely, a Sadducee would laugh him to scorn.  

A sudden gust swept across the rooftop and the lamp’s flame danced and winked out, only to reappear, standing steady at the lip of the clay bowl.

“The wind blows wherever it pleases,” the carpenter said, his eyes on the lamp.

Of course, Nicodemus mused. The freedom for which Israel yearns,

“You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going.” The preacher paused and looked at his visitor. “So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”

Nicodemus brooded over the remark. How quickly this man grasped that which lay nearby to teach his lesson. Yes, the people were right. His words carried an unspoken authority.

“How can this be?” Nicodemus finally whispered, as if too loud a word would whip across the lamp and extinguish the flame.

At this the carpenter stood and walked again to the low northern wall of the rooftop. From the back he looked as any other poor Galilean in homespun garments and colorless leather sandals. No gray yet tinged his light hair, and Nicodemus wondered if, with his rash sayings, he would live long enough for his beard to whiten.

“You are Israel’s teacher,” the man said to the rooftops of the neighboring homes, “and you do not understand these things?” He turned then and sat on the wall, pressing his hands on its plastered surface as he leaned forward, emphasizing his words. “I tell you the truth, we speak of what we know, and we testify to what we have seen, but still you people do not accept our testimony.”

Nicodemus shifted his robed weight to his right hip, wondering what the Galilean meant by we.

The younger man’s demeanor softened and he regarded Nicodemus as a parent would a child who is slow to understand. “I have spoken to you of earthly things and you do not believe; how then will you believe if I speak of heavenly things?”

Yes, heavenly things. That is what I came to discuss, Nicodemus thought, yet he does not answer me plainly.

At that moment the deep eyes flashed as if in response to the unspoken complaint. “No one has ever gone into heaven except the one who came from heaven—the Son of Man.”

Nicodemus knew the reference, but why the lowly epithet?

“Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”

The carpenter returned to the bench, leaned his forearms on his legs and studied his calloused hands. “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” He paused, settling his gaze on Nicodemus. “Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he has not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son.”

It was in that moment, when Nicodemus searched the carpenter’s face for the truth of his words, that a movement in the far corner of the rooftop distracted him. There, hunched against the wall with his legs pulled up to his chest, sat one of the man’s followers. From appearances, he was a fisherman, though not as poor as the carpenter. He must have stolen up the stairs as his teacher spoke; he had not been there earlier.

A strong hand touched Nicodemus’s arm, startling him, and he returned his attention to the Galilean.

“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.” He bent down and picked up the oil lamp, and its tiny flame cast a warm glow across his face. “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.”

The man’s expression, seemingly intent upon Nicodemus understanding, appeared to hold within it the very light of which he spoke. Nicodemus laid his hand over the place where the teacher had touched him, and warmth pulsed from beneath the sleeve of his rich garment. Could this man be the one, the Mashiach, he of whom the prophets spoke?

I must search the scriptures, Nicodemus decided as he stood to leave. The carpenter also stood, regarding him still, and he smiled and nodded as Nicodemus bid him good night.

At the stairway, Nicodemus looked back. The man stood again at the low wall, gazing over the city, the follower at his side. Fewer lights now flickered from neighboring housetops.

The night had finally cooled, and Nicodemus pulled his cloak over his head as he descended to the street. It would not do for a man of his stature to be seen in this part of the city, visiting a transient preacher. A faint light glowed through the high, narrow window of the living quarters, and he envied the conversations his friend would no doubt have with his guest. Stepping into the street, he headed for the upper city, the broader streets, the safer quarter.

And though he looked the same as when he had arrived, in his heart Nicodemus knew he would never be the same again.

Based on the scriptural account found in John 3:1-21 NIV.

Getting from here to there

“Transition” is not one of my favorite words. It implies hard work, change, letting go of the familiar and heading into the unknown. It takes a person from what was to what will be and often involves pain. Biological mothers everywhere know exactly what I’m talking about.

So do daddies watching daughters glide down the aisle in white dresses, and employees leaving the nest of comfort on the wings of promotion. Transition is everywhere.

As a writer working on a fiction manuscript, I face it in nearly every scene. How does Fernando get from his Ford and into his front room? How does Paula get from dinners for one to picnics in the park? Transition.

And how do last month’s holiday cookie-eaters get from their sweatpants back into their dress pants? They call my son Jake.

Jake is a personal trainer who helps people change. He teaches them how to get from pudgy to perfect, and even uses special exercises called—you guessed it—transitional exercises.

For example, if a client is working muscle set A, and wants to move to muscle set B, Jake takes him from an exercise for set A, into an exercise that uses both set A and B, and then into one that uses only set B. Sounds logical, but it’s hard work.

We can’t get away from transition, and we shouldn’t want to. The push from here to there keeps us moving forward. It squeezes life out of boney winter branches into green spring buds, and builds strength into the flabby muscles of winter revelers.

Transition challenges us, even as we trade in an old, marked-up calendar for a nice new clean one.

Some people worry that 2012 will be the last page in mankind’s datebook. If it is, fine. If not, great. My life doesn’t hang on a round Mayan rock with no room for the future; it hangs on the cross of Jesus Christ who said He’d never let me out of His hand.

Transition is not easy, but we have Someone who promised to get us through it. As we take those first steps into 2012, let’s look to the God who knows what’s coming, and trust Him to take care of us along the way.

Behold, I make all things new. —Rev. 21:5 (NKJ)

What is Your Perfect Gift?

Tradition teaches us that 2,000 years ago three Eastern kings journeyed to the land of Israel to see the foretold Christ child. But scripture mentions the number of gifts, not the number of kings.

When the Magi found Mary, Joseph, and the young Jesus, “they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh” (Matt. 2:11b NIV). Unusual gifts for a little boy.

Gold was the currency of kings. As a first-century Judean carpenter, Joseph probably had seen very little of it and so prized it accordingly. No doubt it helped finance the family’s flight to Egypt when Joseph was warned to relocate.

Incense, or frankincense, represented the adoration of God’s people. Priests offered it in the temple to symbolize prayer rising to heaven. This costly commodity was harvested by collecting the sap from slashed and bleeding Boswellia trees.

Myrrh is also a fragrant resin obtained from tapping a specific tree, one whose thorns can pose a considerable challenge. It served medicinal purposes, and was used in burial preparations, as when Nicodemus wrapped the crucified body of Christ in linen and myrrh and aloes (John 19:39-40).

These gifts are nothing like those I received for my newborns and toddlers, but they were highly fitting for the Son of God—our King, our Priest, and our Sacrifice.

This Christmas as we open our treasures and consider what to give, we probably won’t find gold, incense and myrrh. But we will find representations of them: faith refined like gold, the sweet savor of worship, and the sacrifice of praise.

Never doubt that you have something of great value to give our Lord. For you bring the one perfect gift He wants above all else, the one which only you can give—yourself.


For Christmas reading: The Other Wiseman by Henry Van Dyke.

Fear

In my personal acrostic of the word “fret,” fear was the first and most obvious element. It took up most of the room, so I had to push it out, make a conscious effort to get rid of it—something I could not do on my own. Of course that realization led to more fear, so I turned and ran straight to God’s word.

The breed of fear I battled was not the kind we read about when we’re told to fear the Lord. And we shouldn’t be surprised to find two different meanings, just as we do when we say we love our spouse and we love lasagna. Not the same thing.

I found wonderful things in the Bible about fear: “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and sound mind” (I Tim. 1:7); “Perfect love casts out fear” (I John 4:18); “I sought the Lord, and … he delivered me from all my fears” (Ps. 34:4). These tell me God didn’t send the fear, His love will chase it off, and He’ll snatch me from its clutches.

I also read a fabulous novel by J.M. Windle titled Betrayed. I highly recommend it. In the book, the main character hears the biblical story of Sarah and how her husband’s fear landed her in a harem. The character learns that God rescued Sarah, and that she can be like Sarah if she will “do what is right and do(es) not give way to fear” (I Peter 3:6). I won’t say more because it’s a great read and I don’t want to spoil it for you, but did you notice the “do” and “do not”?

The “do” part fills in the vacuum of the “do not.” Psalm 37—where I first discovered “fret”—is full of “do’s.” Trust in the Lord and do good. Dwell, enjoy, delight, commit, be still, wait, refrain—all this in just the first eight verses.

Fear is a paralyzing poison that immobilizes us into doing nothing. Why do you suppose the big cats roar? The intimidation tactic turns their targeted prey into hotdog-on-a-stick.

Franklin D. Roosevelt said we have nothing to fear but fear itself. He may have been thinking of Psalm 34:4. John Wayne said courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyway. Sounds like the first eight verses of Psalm 37.

But Jesus said, Don't be afraid, I'm here.*

In the middle of the night when all I see is darkness and all I hear is the beating of my own heart, what Jesus said wins out over the platitudes of men who once lived.

When I need help, give me the words of the God-man who still lives—the One who will back them up with His presence.




*Mark 6:50; Matt. 14:27; Matt. 28:20

Not Today

Some are touting today as The Last Day.

I do not believe that today will mark the end of the world, the rapture (departure) of Christians, or the return of Jesus. I believe all of these events will take place, but not today.

If I am wrong, cool. I'm ready. If you live near me (and are not a believer) you may take my piano, guitar, car and anything else left behind.

If I am right, I still plan on being ready. Isn’t that the bottom line?

The Bible tells us that we won’t know the exact date of the above mentioned events, because they will come “as a thief in the night,” and as in the days of Noah—when no one is expecting anything out of the ordinary.

We do not know how many days we have left—individually or collectively. But we can know if we are ready to meet our creator and savior.

Are you?

Jesus: Dead or Alive

Slip out of time with me and consider:
Jesus is dead.

Crucifixion will do that.

But it was just his body that died.

Just?

I don’t know too many people who aren’t doing everything they can to protect their bodies from death. Most of us try to avoid it at all cost, sometimes at great cost.

Jesus did not. He gave his body.

But all things are possible, right? Isn’t that what the angel told Jesus' mother 33 years earlier? She proved it to be true when she believed the message, conceived the word, and bore a child.

Imagine how thrilled she must have been when her boy made water jars pour out wine, and blind men see the light, and crippled children dance. She must have thought Yes! when he rode into town through cheering crowds. All things are indeed possible!

Yet what did she think at Golgotha where a cross bore her babe and his hands poured out blood and the demons danced? O God, this can’t be possible!

Was his death the finale of her faith?

What of the promise?

What of the miracles?

What of that great, cheering crowd?

Yet, don’t we respond the same way during our darkest days of entombment?

“Everything was going so well.”

“I was so close to victory!”

“What happened?”

“Did I miss God?”

And then the third day dawned. Morning and men found the tomb empty. Jesus’ body was gone - walking gone. Instilled anew with life.

Indeed, all things are possible.

And we, like his mother and others across the ages, cry, “Jesus is alive!”

Only the Clean and Unbroken

I drove past the local flower shop, and cringed when I read the sign.

“Only the Clean and Unbroken.”

I knew the store owner was recycling floral vases and encouraging people to bring them in rather than throw them away. I knew the sign referred to the inexpensive glass containers used to deliver bouquets and rosebuds.

But somehow the words felt like a personal indictment: I was anything but clean and unbroken.

“Oh, God,” I thought. “What if you required me to be unsoiled and whole before coming to you? What would I do with the stained and broken pieces of my life?

Israel’s great shepherd-king wrote, “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psalm 51:17 NIV).

The Message version puts it this way: “Heart-shattered lives ready for love don’t for a moment escape God’s notice.”

King David cried out in Psalm 51 as a broken and sin-stained man. He had not only stolen another man’s wife, but also had that man killed. As a result, an innocent child died. Not exactly a pristine situation.

Yet David knew he could run to his God in spite of the blood on his hands and the blackness of his heart. He knew the Lord would look on his brokenness and repentance and forgive him, wash him, and make him whole again.

Centuries later when Jesus was accused by religious leaders of hanging out with the riff-raff, he replied, “Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? I’m here inviting the sin-sick, not the spiritually-fit.” (Mark 2:17 The Message).

God is in the recycling business, but unlike the local florist, he restores and recycles human wreckage.

Yes, he wants to use us again, but first he will do what we cannot: put us back together and wash us with the sin-cleansing blood of Jesus.

Would Jesus have a Facebook page?

I believe he did.

In first-century Palestine, Jesus participated in the social medium of the day: itinerant teaching. From hillsides, roadsides, tables and wells. He met the people where they were, where they were looking, and where they needed him. Face to face.

Were there other traveling teachers doing the same thing, from perhaps less than the purest of motives? Of course. There have always been counterfeits, knock-offs and wannabes, but they have never kept the Real Deal from being the Real Deal.

From the Road to Emmaus to the Information Highway, Jesus is there. He still has truth to give to those who are hungry, thirsty and looking. He is that truth.

Log on. He’d love to meet you.

For more information on Jesus, who he is and who he could be to you, see a little book in the New Testament called John, chapter 7, verses 37 and 38.

Ready or not!

Remember playing Hide and Seek - running away from the seeker who, with covered eyes, counted to 10 while you squeezed under any little bush or board you could find?

“Ready or not, here I come!”

Life is like that. Most of us think we are well hidden. Truth is, we’re not.

Those six little words of warning do not fade away with our childhood. They hang around in the shadows and pop out at the most unexpected moments:

College entrance exams.
Driver’s license test.
Childbirth.
Root canals.
Moving.

Some things find us whether we are ready for them or not.

I was reminded of this truth when we totaled our car on a rainy, midnight highway. All of my so-called preparation of blanket, jacket, umbrella and flashlight meant little. Crawling out of the wreck and groping in the backseat for glasses that were moments before resting comfortably on my face – and then groping some more for a new cell phone that had flown from my purse – I forgot all about the water, blanket and flashlight in the trunk.

My husband and I survived the crash, the airbags, the insurance delays and the purchase of another car, but since then my emergency kit has expanded to include first aid, a toothbrush, comb and deodorant – those niceties we take for granted until holed up overnight in a roadside motel without them. Fortunately, I get another go at “ready or not.”

But we don’t get a second go at eternity. It’s a one shot deal and there’s only one exit.

I am happy to say that we were spiritually ready that night, for we are both hidden and found in Jesus, because He came to find and save the lost (Luke 19:10).

My rescue is based on what He has done, not on what I’ve done. All my good deeds and donations to charities and the church are mere afterthoughts compared to His mercy. Those are wonderful things, and certainly I strive toward them, but when I look into forever, they will be only as good as water and blankets and flashlights.

How about you? Have you found your life in Jesus? Better yet, have you found Him?

He isn’t lost, and He’s not hiding. But He is waiting for you to say, “Ready or not, here I come.”

The Tomb

Dead.

Dead and gone.

Gone where? Gone?

He is not here, but is risen!

Alive!

John and Peter saw the evidence – grave clothes without a body in them.

Mary saw him alive and thought he was someone else – until he spoke her name.

And later he spoke to all the disciples. They saw the wounds of nail and spear, felt his smile, breathed his peace, and realized he had conquered death.

They would not have risked their reputations for a hoax.

They would not have risked their lives for a fable.

They could not have risked the faith of their Jewish forefathers for anything less than the promised Messiah, the risen savior of all who believe.

Jesus lives and so can we. Death is not the final word. Death does not win!

If.

If we take Jesus at his word.

If we believe him.

Believe and live.

Live!


John 20:1-20, The Holy Bible

Good Friday. Good-bye.

We call it Good Friday. Is that because we get off work early to pack for a weekend away at the lake or the beach or the mountains if it’s warm enough?

More than 2000 years ago, a handful of Jewish leaders in Roman-occupied Jerusalem considered this a good day because it meant they were getting rid of a troublemaker. “Good riddance,” they might have quipped in Hebrew to the man who had turned their world upside down.

However, Good Friday was intended to commemorate the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth on a Roman cross. He hung there, the Bible tells us, in our place. He took our mistakes and failures and sins upon himself and paid for them with his very blood. He died there. His friends retrieved his body, wrapped it in linen strips and laid it in a stone tomb.

That day the Passover holiday was upon them and they had to get Jesus out of the way. It was their tradition – not an uncaring ritual, but one that dictated immediate burial of the dead.

So they did.

And that should make it good.

I know that without his death I would die, but I still find it hard to call this day Good Friday. Crucifixion is anything but good. I’d rather call it Black Friday – a day when the Light of Life went out and Satan sang in triumph. But “Black Friday” is taken. It’s the day after Thanksgiving when American retailers raise their profits out of the red pit of loss – another misguided moniker.

Maybe it’s easier for modern man to consider this a good day because we know the rest of the story. But Jesus’ family and followers did not. He was gone. Dead. Buried. They were alone. They didn’t know he was the ultimate Passover Lamb sacrificed in their place. Nor did they know he would live again.

Tonight and tomorrow imagine what it would have been like to have everything you believed in destroyed. Imagine finding the answer to life only to have it ripped from your fingers and nailed to a cross. Imagine turning your back on the stone-cold tomb and walking away wondering if you would be next.

Imagine.