(shared from DarkLight)

“Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus at night… brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds.” (John 19:39)

Nicodemus, who first visited Jesus in secret, now comes to serve Jesus in the open. But Jesus is dead. Nicodemus proclaims his faith over a dead God.  In his own way, he proclaims faith in a dead God. Even more, in a dead God who, by all appearances, has failed to fulfill his promises.

That is a dark place to be. How do you have faith when the source of all light has gone out? How do you have faith when the things he has promised you are buried with him in a tomb? How do you have faith when God is dead?

 There is something profoundly beautiful about Nicodemus throwing his lot in with a man who claimed to be God but who was just crucified as a criminal. It feels like an act of defiance, like a bold stand taken against all the darkness and death that weigh heavy over all the earth.

I want to believe like that.

On the personally apocalyptic album Pale Horses, Aaron Weiss (lyricist/vocalist of mewithoutYou) sings, “This is not the first time God has died.” It is a powerful and helpful reminder. For those moments when the promises of God have not come through as expected, for those moments when all you hoped for is clutched securely in the hands of death, for those moments when God has died in your life, it is encouraging to remember that God has died before.

But the God who died also came back to life again. The tomb, not his promises, is empty. He will come back to life for you, too. Until then, however, you have an opportunity to stand courageously with Nicodemus and proclaim your belief in a dead God to fulfill all of his promises.

This is not the first time God has died. And it won’t be the first (or last) time he conquers death.

(shared from DarkLight)

I love the beginnings of stories. As characters are introduced and the plot begins to take shape, there is this delightful sense that something wonderful is about to unfold. One of my favorite story beginnings is from The Hobbit.

In the movie, there is this fantastic scene between Gandalf and Bilbo. The quest of the dwarves for claiming gold and conquering a dragon has been laid out, and Bilbo has been invited into this grand adventure. However, he has shrunk back at the magnitude of the risk involved. Gandalf is trying to convince him to abandon his rather meaningless life, sign the contract and join the quest. He tells the story of one of Bilbo’s ancestors who, although a hobbit, was also a great warrior. The scene concludes with the following dialogue:

Gandalf: You’ll have a tale or two to tell of your own when you come back.
Biblo: Can you promise that I will come back?
Gandalf: No. And if you do, you will not be the same.
Bilbo: That’s what I thought. Sorry, Gandalf, I can’t sign this. You’ve got the wrong Hobbit.

You can feel the tension so strongly here between who Bilbo is and who he could become. In the book it is especially clear that part of Bilbo longs for something more, and yet there is a part of him that thinks the cost is too great. And so he must decide: take the risk and gain the possibility of something far better than he has ever experienced, or play it safe and accept that this is as good as it gets.

Bilbo is not the only one to have faced such a decision. There was once a man, an invalid who lay by the pool of Bethesda, hoping for a miracle. For thirty-eight years he has been crippled. Then Jesus shows up and asks him a puzzling question: “Do you want to get well?” (John 5:6).

This question has always fascinated me. It seems a little insensitive at best, and completely ridiculous at worst. Imagine going into a hospital and asking a patient if they want to get better. But, of course, Jesus always asks the best questions. Not because he doesn’t know the answers, but because he is inviting us into discovery.

This question is deeper than it looks at first. “Do you want to get well?” The sad truth is not everyone does. Sometimes it is safer to stay sick. Because to hope for healing, to seek that kind of change is to risk. Risk looking like a fool. Risk getting your hopes dashed. Risk that the offer of a better life will not come true, leaving you more crushed than if you’d simply settled for less.

And so many do settle for less. But Jesus is always inviting us into more. Jesus opens the door for the invalid to enter into new life: “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk” (John 5:8).

The crippled man takes the risk and chooses to trust in Jesus. He gets up and walks into a challenging, complicated, yet beautiful story with Jesus. And somewhere far away in Middle Earth, Bilbo also finally chooses the better story - partly in order to prove himself, and partly because Gandalf gives him a little nudge in the right direction. (In Corey Olsen’s book, Exploring J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit,” he notes significantly that “Gandalf is not just a storyteller; he is a storymaker” [p. 19]).

Jesus is calling each of us into a better story, too. I think our questions are usually very similar to Bilbo’s: Can you promise I won’t get hurt? Can you promise it will be easy and comfortable? Can you promise it will be as I expect, with no surprises or detours? The answer is a definitive no. But you can know this for sure: you will never be the same. And you will be living a story worth telling. And whatever happens, you will be walking in the path of Jesus, the greatest storymaker ever.

“The men went back to Moses, Aaron, and the entire Israelite community in the Wilderness of Paran at Kadesh. They brought back a report for them and the whole community, and they showed them the fruit of the land. They reported to Moses: “We went into the land where you sent us. Indeed it is flowing with milk and honey, and here is some of its fruit. However, the people living in the land are strong, and the cities are large and fortified.

...So they gave a negative report to the Israelites about the land they had scouted: ‘The land we passed through to explore is one that devours its inhabitants, and all the people we saw in it are men of great size. ...To ourselves we seemed like grasshoppers, and we must have seemed the same to them.’” (Numbers 13:26-28, 32-33)

To me, this is one of the most heartbreaking moments in the Bible. It is evidence of the most tragic of truths: it is possible to taste the fruit of the Promised Land, and still turn back. It sounds impossible, but this is the power of fear and unbelief that can rob us of the greatest of gifts God offers us.

I don't know what your promised land is right now, what good God is leading you towards. But I know this: God has something in mind for you, some specific plan designed for you  Maybe you are on the edge of that promised land, for the first or final time. Maybe you are in the desert. Maybe you turned back. Or maybe it was the other ten who did. Wherever you are in your journey, listen to the lessons calling to you through this story.

1. Let go of dead weight

“How long?” It is the question that usually rises to the top as we wander in the desert. But to answer that, we first have to ask: what is the purpose of the desert? The purpose is death. You will wander in the desert until the unbelief that kept you from entering the Promised Land is dead. Don’t worry; this doesn’t mean you need to be perfect. The Israelites were far from even being good when they finally did cross the Jordan and conquered Jericho. But they placed their weak trust in his strong hands and followed him into the land flowing with milk and honey. 

Everyone twenty years old and over who had turned back at the first crossing had died in the 40 years of wandering in the desert. As a nation, that part that had rejected God’s plan for them had to die so that faith could be given a second chance. The same is true for us. Thank God, though, that we have Jesus who has taken all our deaths upon himself. In him, we can die and yet live. We can bury all that separates us from him in death. We can let go of the part of us that said no to his plan and let it die in the desert. Then we can rise again and move forward with Jesus towards the Promised Land again.

There is one more thing to consider about the desert. As we saw in this story, it is possible for you to be faithful to God’s plan (like Joshua and Caleb) and yet have others reject it. The somewhat terrifying reality of the free will God has given each of us is this: God’s promises and plans for you can sometimes be interrupted by the choices of other people. But remember this: the Promised Land is still there, and God will bring you to it again. Hang on to him, even through the disappointment and heartbreak along the way.  

If it is others in your life who turned away from God’s plan, one of two things will happen. They will either let their fear and unbelief die in the desert and choose trust, or they will choose the desert. And if they choose the desert, it is ok for you to let go, to shake the dust from your feet, and move on. Of course, this doesn’t mean you should treat anyone unkindly or judge them or conclude anything about where they are in their own journey. Nor should you come to this decision lightly or without much prayer and consideration. But it is ok - even good and necessary sometimes - for you, as a follower of God’s plan for you, to let the dead bury their own dead. You don’t have to yoke yourself to those who choose fear. You don’t have to choose those who choose the desert.

2. Find your Caleb

Which brings me to the next point. While there are people who will choose fear and unbelief in God’s promises, there are also those who will choose faith. Of the twelve spies, only Joshua and Caleb believed in God’s promises. Only these two survived the desert and took possession of the Promised Land 40 years later. I imagine during all those years of wandering, Caleb became very important to Joshua, especially as he began to be prepared for his leadership role. I imagine these two encouraged each other often, reminding each other that though God’s promises were delayed, they would not fail, and would certainly be fulfilled one day.

In a world of fear and unbelief, you need a Caleb. You need someone in your life who will be there, who will remind you that what God has promised is true, that the land he is leading you towards is good beyond imagination, and that God’s plans for you will come to fruition. Because there will be difficult times in the desert. There will be times of doubt. And a friend like Caleb who will stand by your side no matter what and help you keep your focus on Jesus is worth more than all the riches in the world.

3. Choose trust, not fear

This is the final and most important truth of this story. Because this is really what it all came down to for the twelve spies in the Promised Land. They looked at all the good and all the obstacles, and they were all faced with fear. The story doesn’t say that two saw only the good and ten saw only the bad. All twelve saw both the blessings and the obstacles. All faced fear, but ten chose that fear based on what they could see, while Joshua and Caleb chose to trust in what God could see and do.

Wherever you are in your journey, I am pleading with you: don’t turn back. I can guarantee you two things. First, there will be obstacles, because there always are along the path to good. But in God’s eyes, there are no obstacles he can’t overcome. There are giants, but do not fear the giants. God has a reputation for slaying giants. And the second thing I can guarantee: the plans God has for you are good. So good. Don’t be afraid. Have courage and take heart. God will not fail you.

Don't turn back. You are so close. And more importantly, God is close to you and he will not give up on you. Hold on to the good God has for you now and the great good he has in store for you in eternity. God is faithful. He will fulfill everything he has promised. Not one word will fail. God is faithful. Trust him.

“Joshua son of Nun and Caleb son of Jephunneh, who were among those who scouted out the land, tore their clothes and said to the entire Israelite community: “The land we passed through and explored is an extremely good land. If the Lord is pleased with us, He will bring us into this land, a land flowing with milk and honey, and give it to us. Only don’t rebel against the Lord, and don’t be afraid of the people of the land, for we will devour them. Their protection has been removed from them, and the Lord is with us. Don’t be afraid of them!’” (Numbers 14:6-9)

The sun sets on Bethlehem’s horizon, dragging with it the heat of the day. The dark and the chill of the night creep in, spread across the land, find their way through open windows, cracks in walls, find their way into skin and bones, make themselves at home. A people living in darkness kneel in darkness, heads bowed by a weight they cannot shake, and beg God for mercy. Beg him for a miracle. Plant yet more tears in the poisoned soil of their lives.

The first Christmas day has risen and fallen. The wait is over. Jesus is here. But for every joyful shepherd or seeking wiseman, there are thousands who go to sleep that night still waiting for their miracle. Still unaware that God has not only heard and answered, but become. Immanuel. Redemption has arrived.

The wait is over, yet still they wait. Still they wake in the middle of the night, plagued by trembling heart and aching soul. They cry out in the all too familiar refrain: “How long, Lord, how long?” For all they can see, the promise of God is still unfulfilled. For all they know, there is nothing to believe in but silence and emptiness.

Across town, the promise lays asleep in a manger. The miracle sleeps. Light asleep in darkness.

 

This will not be the last time Jesus sleeps. This will not be the last time the power of Jesus underwhelms, delays, displays itself as apparent inaction. The storms will come and Jesus will sleep in the sinking boat. The dead will be buried and Jesus will sleep for three more nights. The cross will kill and Jesus will sleep.

If I am honest, sometimes I wonder if he is sleeping still. We wait and wait and cry and beg for mercy. For miracle. We hang all our hopes on him and wonder if he will ever show up. Jesus sleeps and we resign ourselves to our inevitable end.

Christmas tells a different story: Immanuel, God with us now. Jesus has shown up, though maybe not in the way we expected. The promise has been fulfilled, even if our eyes can’t see it. The miracle is a reality long before we ever see the proof. Jesus sleeps, but the storm will be calmed, the dead will rise, all things will be redeemed.

“Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
 yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.”

(Habakkuk 3:17-18)

“He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—

how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?”
(Romans 8:32)

Bridges and ships and safety nets,
long since left in ashes.

I find the edge again,
force broken bones to rise,
fall again.

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

 

As many of you know, I am not a big fan of most of what passes as CCM on the radio these days (or, for that matter, pretty much anything on the radio). But once in a while something comes out that strikes a chord in me, and this song struck me with this: defiance.

Yes, defiance. Don’t be fooled by appearances, or the way it sounds, or the fact that the Newsboys aren’t the Newsboys anymore. Listen to the opening lines:

“In this time of desperation

when all we know is doubt and fear
there is only one foundation:
 
We believe.
We believe.
We believe.”




Do you see it? Defiance against all that we see around us. And yet I couldn’t help but think: this is absurd. The song goes on to say all these different things we believe as Christians. Jesus. The Resurrection. The Second Coming. New life. These are things we believe in in spite of the fact that everything around us screams the opposite. The evidence we have, the facts we see cannot be ignored: desperation, doubt, and fear. And yet… we believe.

And yes, it is absurd. I understand why our critics scoff. It is as if we stand at the shore of the Red Sea with an Egyptian army bearing down on us and say, “We believe we can still escape… and defeat the enemy.” It is as if we stand in front of a fiery furnace and say, “We believe the flames will not burn us.” It is as if we kneel, crushed by the power of shame and sin, and say, “We believe grace is more than enough to raise us up again.”

Absurd… if we are wrong. But if we serve a God who performs last-minute rescues, if we serve a God who specializes in doing the impossible, if we serve a God whose love is the most powerful force in the universe… then absurdity becomes breathtaking power. All we see and know and can imagine is not the only reality. This is not as good as it gets. God is not done yet. He gets the last word.

“And the gates of hell will not prevail
for the power of God has torn the veil.
Now we know Your love will never fail.
We believe. We believe. We believe.”

So join with me and say: we believe.

If you are on the edge of something beautiful, say: we believe. If you are shattered in defeat, say: we believe. Wherever you are, whatever you face, say: we believe. Because there are blessings unseen in the hands of God just for you. It is terrifying, I know, but throw yourself into belief, fall into the unknown, and trust that Jesus will never fail you.

 We believe.

“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” (John 20:29).

I love you through a glass darkly,

dimly I perceive you in these pleasures –

light on my face, warmth on my skin.

Would I love you the same

under a cold and distant sun?

You shine nonetheless –

foolish, wasteful to my shaded eyes,

wasted as I love the love, leave the lover.

I cannot escape, cannot run far enough.

You pursue me with a thousand gifts –

glimpses of you just beneath the surface,

just behind the veil of your disguise.

Even in your shadow, I see you and know:

I do not yet see, do not yet know,

cannot comprehend and yet cannot deny.

All my blind stumbling, desperate grasping –

yours is the face I wish to find. 

I begin at the end.

Not because I can see it on the horizon. Not because I can see the path to it. Not because I can see, but precisely because I can’t.

If I am brutally honest, I do not even believe in this end. I look around at the rubble and ash, and think: impossible. There is no way from here to there.

Which is why I must write about the end now. Because at the end, there is redemption.

There must be.

It is the hardest truth to believe, but the only one I cling to when I doubt everything else: the redemption of all things.

Even now, I think again: impossible! There are some things too horrible, some wounds that cut too deep. Crushed beneath the weight of injustice, suffering, death… can there really be redemption at the end?

There must be.

The redemption of all things.

Yes, even that.

And not just a bandage. It is not enough for the past to be merely wiped away. We require redemption.

Strength from weakness. Life from death. A crown of beauty from ashes.

We require a love powerful enough to redeem us beyond mere restoration.

Impossible.

And yet…

• What was meant for evil, God used for good.
• Dry, dead bones coming to life.
• Lazarus hears the Voice of the Resurrection and the Life… of all things.
• All things work together for the good of those who are His.
• Restoration of all the years the locusts stole.
• Death swallowed up in victory.
• The God become man, who came to die, not just to destroy our curse, but to redeem it with His life in us – better off broken and redeemed than never lost at all.

Jesus, the Redeemer of all things.

Impossible, and yet there is no other hope. There is no other name.

Jesus.