Author Archives: Christopher J Wiles

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About Christopher J Wiles

Hey there. My name's Chris. I'm a teaching pastor at Tri-State Fellowship, and a research writer for Docent Research Group. Thanks for stopping by; be sure to stay connected by subscribing to blog updates and more.

And who is my neighbor? (Luke 10:25-37)

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We’re greatful for another great post from Curt Snyder, on staff at Lifehouse:

Growing up in a very small town where my grandparents and parents owned and operated a small general merchandise store, I had the pleasure of basically knowing most everyone in our community. They shopped there, socialized there and often times just hung out there. For the most part everyone knew everyone and with that looked out and cared for each other in the process. Genuine relationships and community were the norm.

However, as the world expanded and localized community began to shift to more globalized community, this idea of true neighbors and care began to erode and disappear. Now with technology and communication as it is, what once was nearly impossible has become the new normal and it has blurred the lines of “who is my neighbor”. But that question isn’t a new phenomenon. Jesus himself was asked this question by a religious leader of his day.

25 On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 “What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?” 27 He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” 28 “You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.” 29 But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”   – Luke 10:25-29

But apparently that answer wasn’t enough so the leader, in an effort to justify his self-centered thinking, asked “and who is my neighbor.”

30 In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. 31 A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. 32 So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. 34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. 35 The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’ 36 “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” 37 The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”   – LUKE 10:25-37

As Jesus unfolded his answer to the man’s question he spoke right to the issue; and in his parable he took those who should have been the first to respond to the need and have the greatest understanding of who our neighbor is and showed them as the most indifferent. Then he took the most unlikely character and demonstrated what true care and compassion looked like.

Here’s the catch! We would love to think that we more reflect the attitude and actions of the Samaritan, but the harsh reality is that, more times than not, we are closer to the two religious leaders and their actions toward the man who was in crisis.  We actually get as far away from the problem as we possibly can rather than getting involved in the need at hand.

You see, because of this thing called sin in each of our lives the tendency is to separate ourselves, to become insulated from the events around us and to look out for me first; but that is counter to what Jesus said we should be about. He said first we love God with everything in us and then we are to love people; and to be honest, you can’t truly love God with everything if you don’t love people.

Everyday you and I will encounter people who are in need. It may not be as critical as the man in Jesus’ story but in their life it is a crisis. Will we truly become the hands and feet of God by stepping into people’s lives and demonstrating the love of God to those who are far away from him? What steps can you take today to become that demonstration of God’s love?

Can you make this your prayer today?  “God help me to see the needs of people around me. Would you let me see with your eyes, hear with your ears and feel with your heart so that I can see the need in peoples’ lives?  And would you give me the courage to step into the situations I encounter and be a real demonstration of your love to others.  Amen.”

The Cross and the Call Away from “Fairness” (Matthew 5:38-43)

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“Individualism lies at the very core of American culture,” writes Robert Bellah in his influential work, Habits of the Heart. 

“Our highest and noblest aspirations, not only for ourselves, but for those we care about, for our society and world, are closely linked to our individualism.  Yet…some of our deepest problems both as individuals and as a society are also closely linked to our individualism.”[1]

In a nation of individuals, differences abound.  That’s actually a good thing: God created humans to each express their God-given design in unique and diverse ways.  The gospel isn’t opposed to individuality; it’s opposed to individualism. The difference?  Individuality celebrates our uniqueness; individualism denies man’s common purpose.

Thus, differences abound, and for lack of common purpose difference only breeds distance, and distance breeds distrust.

The problem of individualism is nothing new.  In fact, in Eden’s paradise man and woman chose to reject God’s designs to seek their own fulfillment—and we’ve been wiping the juice from our chin ever since.

How do we reverse this?

The temptation is to reclaim justice through a relentless devotion to fairness. Fairness is the currency of individualism, for through fairness do we hope to see ourselves validated and transgressors punished.

In fact, fairness is so central to our understanding of the world that we become incensed at the presence of a lack of fairness.  Even our conversations about racial reconciliation are replete with statements about fairness and equality.

The Christian ethic isn’t built upon fairness, but upon virtue.  The cross shatters any expectation I have about fairness, for through the cross the righteous becomes sin so that sinners become righteous.  God’s justice is met, yet we stand aghast at how this confronts any notion—or any demand—we might have of “fairness.”

So when Jesus asks that we “take up the cross” and follow him, we have to realize that Jesus’ ethics have little to do with self-validation, and everything to do with self-sacrifice.

THE GOSPEL AND FAIRNESS

Now understand, the ancient people lived by a principle we know as lex talonis—the famous “eye for an eye” system of punishment (Exodus 21:24) designed to maintain social stability.  But Jesus challenges his readers that now, in the shadow of the cross, this former way of thinking proves itself inadequate:

38 “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ 39 But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. 40 And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. 41 And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. 42 Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you. (Matthew 5:38-42)

In the first-century world, Jews were merely tolerated by the Romans.  Therefore Roman soldiers were known to make unfriendly demands of the Jews.  We might imagine that many of the ancient people expected their Savior to call for a political revolution.  Jesus’ revolution would start with the human heart.

If we only had this passage to work with, we might assume that Jesus is calling his followers to serve as mere doormats.  Not so.  We must read this passage in light of the gospel.  The gospel says that despite my in-born brokenness, God revealed his eternal significance by rescuing me through the blood of the cross.  That means my worth can never be measured by what I do—positively or negatively—because nothing I do can be so good as to render the cross unnecessary, and nothing I do can be so bad as to render the cross insufficient.  This also means that no one is beyond the reach of God’s grace.  Therefore to follow Jesus is to follow the way of the cross, to extend love to the world around us…even when it’s not fair.  Fairness appeals to human performance; God’s love appeals to Jesus’ performance.

COMMON GRACE

Jesus goes on to talk about the way we engage those who seem different from us:

43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew 5:43-48)

It’s tempting to divide the world into “liberal” and “conservative,” “democrat” and “republican,” “black” and “white”—all variations of the divide between “us” and “them.”

Jesus says that such divisions are impossible in light of God’s grace—and God’s grace is shown to all people.  Historically this has been called “common grace.”  Common grace isn’t about salvation, but about God’s kindness and compassion on his creation.  The ancient teachers used to see even the rain (a necessity when your whole economy was based on the growth of your crops) as a sign of God’s goodness.

Jesus therefore calls each of us to mirror that same goodness in love for our neighbors.

Are you willing to show love to your neighbors?  Even those who look, think, or act differently than you?  Your life, your love, your example may be the only gospel your neighbors ever hear.  Does your life story rhyme with that of Jesus?  Or are you too busy worrying about what’s fair?

[1] Robert Bellah, Habits of the Heart, p. 142.

Counting the Cost (Nehemiah 2:11-20)

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We would like to introduce you to Curt Snyder.  Curt is pastor of discipleship and outreach at Lifehouse Church, and will be sharing some thoughts on the book of Nehemiah throughout our series:

“In every battle there comes a time when both sides consider themselves beaten, then he who continues the attack wins.” – General Ulysses S. Grant

Ulysses Grant, the 18th President of the United States, is probably best known as the commanding General that accepted the surrender of Robert E. Lee and the Confederate Army at the end of the Civil War. Some have praised him for pushing until the union army caused the confederate army to surrender, but others have vilified him for his willingness to send so many men into battle and causing their death by his relentless pursuit of victory on the battlefield. Regardless of how you may feel about this, the reality is Grant understood the cost of victory and was willing to take the steps necessary to see that become a reality even if it meant continuing when others would have quit and sending men into harms way.

Nehemiah had a desire to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. He had King Artaxerxes’ approval and he had arrived in the city to begin the process, but he didn’t have the backing of the city officials who were already there.  As a matter of fact he hadn’t even shared with them the plan he had. So, he made a private assessment of the disrepair, evaluated what it would take and then went to the officials to get their support. He counted the cost, gave the officials the information they needed and then gained their support to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem.

“I went to Jerusalem, and after staying there three days 12 I set out during the night with a few others. I had not told anyone what my God had put in my heart to do for Jerusalem. There were no mounts with me except the one I was riding on. 13 By night I went out through the Valley Gate toward the Jackal Well and the Dung Gate, examining the walls of Jerusalem, which had been broken down, and its gates, which had been destroyed by fire. 14 Then I moved on toward the Fountain Gate and the King’s Pool, but there was not enough room for my mount to get through; 15 so I went up the valley by night, examining the wall. Finally, I turned back and reentered through the Valley Gate. 16 The officials did not know where I had gone or what I was doing, because as yet I had said nothing to the Jews or the priests or nobles or officials or any others who would be doing the work. Then I said to them, “You see the trouble we are in: Jerusalem lies in ruins, and its gates have been burned with fire. Come, let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem, and we will no longer be in disgrace.” 18 I also told them about the gracious hand of my God on me and what the king had said to me. They replied, “Let us start rebuilding.” So they began this good work.

Nehemiah knew the destruction. He had assessed the situation and drawn a conclusion as to what it would take to rebuild the wall but he couldn’t do it by himself. He needed the city officials on his side. He got their support, but it wasn’t that simple. He also ran into opposition.

But when Sanballat the Horonite, Tobiah the Ammonite official and Geshem the Arab heard about it, they mocked and ridiculed us. “What is this you are doing?” they asked. “Are you rebelling against the king?” 20 I answered them by saying, “The God of heaven will give us success. We his servants will start rebuilding, but as for you, you have no share in Jerusalem or any claim or historic right to it.”

Everything in life that is worthwhile comes with a cost. It may not be a financial cost but it will be something that you hold dear and most times it will require something of others around you. Many of our cities and communities lay in ruin and there are those who oppose any change to the current situation. It is not necessarily a physical ruin where structures and buildings are falling down but rather a spiritual and moral ruin.  Division, disunity and despair fill our streets, our homes and our families. But that is not the end.

We have this great promise from the Old Testament and what is required is pretty clear.  2 Chronicles 7:14 states, if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.  

So, have you counted the cost of “rebuilding” your city? What are you being asked to do and are you willing to do your part? What steps can you take right now that will help “rebuild” the city?

 

The True and Better Nehemiah (Nehemiah 2:1-10)

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Hopelessness is always a reaction to what’s on the surface, but our desire for restoration goes all the way to the bone.

If you’re an avid TV watcher, you’ve probably encountered one of a dozen reality shows like American Restoration, where a team of professionals take something old and restore it to its original beauty—or as close as they can get it. In a recent article in Christianity Today, Fritz Kling describes an encounter he had with a young woman who had just moved to the city of Richmond.  The young woman loved the slow process of restoring her old home, but caught herself slightly embarrassed by her city’s reputation that lingered from the segregation and oppression during the Civil War.  Kling confronted her with a piercing question:

“Is it possible that, just like you expect your house’s defects and quirks will eventually make it a more interesting and beautiful home, couldn’t we…expect that our city’s complications and baggage make it a more beautiful future city?  Just as old houses are sometimes advertised as a ‘carpenter’s dream,’ couldn’t we view [our city] as a ‘Christian dream?’”[1]

What if Hagerstown was a Christian’s dream come true?  What would happen if we started seeing ourselves as being here with a purpose?

NEHEMIAH BEFORE THE KING (NEHEMIAH 2:1-8)

As we return to Nehemiah’s story, we see that roughly four months pass.  During that time we can imagine Nehemiah as routinely praying before the God of heaven that he would use Nehemiah to fix the walls of the city.

The scene now changes from a conversation between Nehemiah and God to a conversation between Nehemiah and King Artaxerxes.  In chapter 2 we read:

In the month of Nisan [around March], in the twentieth year of King Artaxerxes, when wine was before him, I took up the wine and gave it to the king. Now I had not been sad in his presence. 2 And the king said to me, “Why is your face sad, seeing you are not sick? This is nothing but sadness of the heart.” Then I was very much afraid. (Nehemiah 2:1-2)

Nehemiah had good reason to be afraid.  In the ancient world, discontent in the king’s presence was often considered an offense against the king.  The punishment could well be swift and severe.  Nevertheless, Nehemiah, his life changed and shaped by prayer has a new confidence, and so he speaks to the king of the fate of his city.  Look at verse 3:

3 I said to the king, “Let the king live forever! Why should not my face be sad, when the city, the place of my fathers’ graves, lies in ruins, and its gates have been destroyed by fire?” 4 Then the king said to me, “What are you requesting?” So I prayed to the God of heaven.  (Nehemiah 2:3-4)

Don’t overlook that.  Nehemiah prayed—he prayed, right there before the king.  He had trained his mind so well through months of diligent prayer that in an instant, he was able to direct his thoughts to God and find strength to make a specific request.

5 And I said to the king, “If it pleases the king, and if your servant has found favor in your sight, that you send me to Judah, to the city of my fathers’ graves, that I may rebuild it.” 6 And the king said to me (the queen sitting beside him), “How long will you be gone, and when will you return?” So it pleased the king to send me when I had given him a time. 7 And I said to the king, “If it pleases the king, let letters be given me to the governors of the province Beyond the River, that they may let me pass through until I come to Judah, 8 and a letter to Asaph, the keeper of the king’s forest, that he may give me timber to make beams for the gates of the fortress of the temple, and for the wall of the city, and for the house that I shall occupy.” And the king granted me what I asked, for the good hand of my God was upon me.  (Nehemiah 2:5-8)

Nehemiah was the ultimate politician: he built a wall and got the Persians to pay for it.  It could be that Artaxerxes sees this as an opportunity to further his political reach, but God would ironically use this as an opportunity to demonstrate a power all his own.  As for Nehemiah, his life reveals a greater, spiritual truth: The gospel helps us find our voice when others lose all hope. 

Nehemiah became a part of God’s eternal plan to restore his community.  And with God’s help, so too can we attend to the needs of our city today.

THE TRUE AND BETTER NEHEMIAH

Now, Hagerstown is not Jerusalem.  God’s promises to Israel cannot be applied elsewhere.  But the person of Jesus reveals a greater vision for God’s unfolding Kingdom.  Jesus is the true and better Nehemiah.  Like Nehemiah, Jesus leaves a throneroom and a place of privilege to enter the broken city of man.  In Luke’s biography of Jesus he tells us that like Nehemiah, Jesus weeps over the city of Jerusalem as he rides in on the back of a donkey.  On the cross, Jesus offers forgiveness for our past.  Through his resurrection, he offers a vision for our future.  Christians await the day when Jesus returns to put all of creation back to perfection and beauty.  In Revelation 21 we read John’s vision of God’s glorious future: “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. 2 And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.”  Following Jesus is more than “waiting to go to heaven when I die;” it’s about longing for the marriage of heaven and earth.  It’s why the writer of Hebrews tells us that “here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come.”  In a word, the Christian life vision is one of hope.  Through the cross and resurrection, Jesus undoes the curse of Adam.  In the beginning—the very beginning—one man’s disobedience turned God’s garden into a graveyard.  In the resurrection, the graveyard becomes a garden.  In Jeremiah’s day God called his people in the midst of exile to “seek the good of the city.”  Our prayer this morning is that we might do the same for our city—that we might stand amidst the ruin and declare the radiance of possibility.

TROUBLE BREWING (NEHEMIAH 2:9-10)

Though he had the king’s support (support that extended to other regional governors as well), Nehemiah was not without his opponents:

9 Then I came to the governors of the province Beyond the River and gave them the king’s letters. Now the king had sent with me officers of the army and horsemen. 10 But when Sanballat the Horonite and Tobiah the Ammonite servant heard this, it displeased them greatly that someone had come to seek the welfare of the people of Israel. (Nehemiah 2:9-10)

We addressed the division they stirred in Sunday’s sermon.  If the resurrection of Jesus Christ is indeed a historic reality, then so is our future hope in him.  There can be no opposition to God’s unfolding plan.

The gospel therefore transforms us into men and women who are relentlessly committed to his eternal purposes and conformed to his eternal promises.

 

[1] Fritz Kling, “This Old City: A Christian’s Dream of Renovating Richmond,” ChristianityToday.com.  March 29, 2012.  http://www.christianitytoday.com/thisisourcity/richmond/thisoldcity.html

Will God forgive repeated sins? (1 John 1:1-10)

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We’ve talked a lot this week about repentance and the love of God.

But what about our bad habits?  What about repeated sins?  If repentance is to change my attitude toward sin, then how can my repentance be genuine if I continue living in sin?

More to the point, will God forgive me for things I repeatedly do?

The beautiful simplicity of the gospel is that I am acceptable to God not because of the magnitude of my faith, but because of the object of my faith.  If I cling to self-righteousness for my sense of self-worth, then of course I will feel miserable when my failings persist.  But if I cling to Christ’s righteousness, then I will feel grateful for God’s unending forgiveness.

THE TRUTH OF THE GOSPEL

John was one of Jesus’ closest disciples.  In addition to writing one of Jesus’ biographies, John also wrote a series of letters to Christians living in the Mediterranean world.  He begins his first letter by emphasizing the historical reality of the gospel:

That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and have touched with our hands, concerning the word of life— 2 the life was made manifest, and we have seen it, and testify to it and proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and was made manifest to us— 3 that which we have seen and heard we proclaim also to you, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. 4 And we are writing these things so that our joy may be complete. (1 John 1:1-4)

John was living in a day when people were beginning to forget just who Jesus was, and others were popping up to make claims about Jesus that weren’t true. John’s letter is largely devoted to correcting these false teachers, but it’s helpful for our question as well.

The gospel isn’t based on wishful thinking—it’s not even primarily about religious teachings.  It’s about a person: a God who walked among us as a human being, a God who stretched his arms out and gave his life as payment for sin, and a God who rose from the grave to proclaim his victory over even this greatest of enemies.

If he is the object of our faith, then, we have only to look to him for forgiveness and healing.

THE IMPACT OF THE GOSPEL

Secondly, John takes some time to unpack the wondrous reality of the gospel:

5 This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. 6 If we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. 7 But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin. 8 If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. 9 If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 10 If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us. (1 John 1:5-10)

A relationship with God demands moral purity.  The absence of moral purity demands payment, but rather than demand our blood God offers his own.

We can respond to sin by living in denial, but John will allow none of this.  Instead John encourages us to confront the brutal reality of our sin while maintaining confidence in the cleansing forgiveness offered by God.

In one of his sermons from the last century, Dr. Martin Lloyd-Jones put it this way:

“So as I am aware of my sinfulness and my unworthiness and my unrighteousness, I look to the blood of Jesus Christ, and I see there the forgiveness of God.  I see the justice of God; I know that there God has forgiven and still forgives and will forgive….I can have this confidence that the death of Christ upon the cross is the propitiation for my sins—indeed, for the sins of the whole world—and that all my sins have been dealt with and are covered, are removed and banished there in Him.

Knowing thus the faithfulness and justice of God and the power of the blood of Christ to deliver me and to cleanse me from the guilt and stain of my sins, I can with confidence go forward, knowing that all is clear, my conscience has been cleansed, and I can continue to walk with God.”[1]

And that’s what separates gospel repentance from “cheap” forms of grace that ignores the gravity of sin.  It’s tempting, after all, to dismiss Christianity because God’s forgiveness gives us license to do as we please.  On the contrary; God’s grace sets us free to walk with him, and as we walk with him our character changes, our hearts are molded continually into the image of his Son.

So if you struggle with the need to repeatedly repent for the same thing, take heart; you are not alone.  The gospel promises that you are made clean by the endless grace of God, and the gospel likewise promises that as you move forward in the presence of God and the presence of like-minded Christians, your repentance will gradually become a real and lasting part of your character, until that day when all shall be made perfect and complete.

Take heart, dear Christian; God’s not done with you yet.

 

[1] Martin Lloyd-Jones, Life in Christ: Studies in 1 John.  (Wheaton: Crossway, 2002), 134.

“At home” in God (John 15:9-17)

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“Love” has virtually become a bankrupt word—a scarecrow of a word without life other than the dried meanings we stuff inside it.

After all, we can “love” anything, can’t we?  I love my fiancée.  But I also love tacos.  I certainly don’t love tacos the way I love my fiancée, but when I’m hungry the magnitude feels close.

One of the most fascinating books I’ve read in the last few years has been one by Yale professor Simon May as he chronicles the history of love in western cultures.  Though not a spiritual man, May begins with the Hebrew Bible and then moves through the years, from writers ranging from ancient philosophy to Sigmund Freud.

In surveying this wide spectrum, he concludes that “love” is a sense of “ontological rootedness,” or—more simply—love is a feeling of being “at home” with someone.  It’s a way of saying: I belong here. 

JOY AND RELAXATION

If you’re a follower of Jesus you probably have no problem using “love” and “God” in the same sentence.  Chances are you do so every time you participate in a worship service.

But I bet there are many of you who struggle to comprehend what it truly means to experience the love of God, and so you may find yourself wondering if your love for him is real—or perhaps just a bit one-sided.

Yesterday we started looking at portions of Jesus’ farewell address to his followers on the night he was arrested.  He encourages them to “abide” in him—to be saturated in his presence and to allow his character to become their own.

Now he describes the joy that the love of God can produce:

“As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. 10 If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. 11 These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.” (John 15:9-11)

Love comes from God, Jesus tells us.  Jesus’ relationship to his Father serves as a model for our obedience to Christ.

Then Jesus clarifies the reason for these instructions.  In a word: joy.  What is joy?  Joy is not the same as happiness.  Happiness, of course, is utterly dependent on circumstances.  With a single phone call, a single bad day at work, a single negative remark, and our fragile happiness now lies on the ground in a thousand glittering slivers.

Joy is independent of circumstances.  Joy is finding contentment in God alone, knowing that he is enough regardless of what happens around us.

This is why understanding God’s love is so important.  I once heard faith defined as a willingness to relax.  Are there people in your life that you can relax around?  Not your boss; he or she probably makes you nervous.  Maybe not even members of your family.  There’s some people who you feel like you have to impress, or keep calm, or “manage” rather than relax around.

But there’s others—a small handful—around whom we can be completely comfortable, completely vulnerable.  Maybe it’s that close friend that you can pick up the phone at any hour, and resume a conversation as if you’d never hung up.  Maybe it’s your spouse, the one who knows your most intimate flaws and sees only the edges of God’s design in you.  Around these people, you are free to relax, to experience joy.

God knows you through and through.  To abide in Christ, to have faith, means to relax.  I don’t mean we’re free to be lazy; I mean that because we rely on Christ’s righteousness, we have the confidence that we are perfectly and eternally loved and accepted.

Breathe easy, dear Christian.  There’s joy here.

WHAT MORE COULD HE HAVE DONE?

Still, it’s hard to fully wrap our heads around the magnitude of what God has done on our behalf.  Again, turning to Jesus, this is what he says:

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. 13 Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. 14 You are my friends if you do what I command you.15 No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you. 16 You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you. 17 These things I command you, so that you will love one another.” (John 15:12-17)

Jesus speaks of the fact that we did not choose him—he chose us.  And we are joined as one by his blood, a blood poured out on our behalf.

Brennan Manning offers an illustration of this in his book The Importance of Being Foolish.  He tells the story of Casey and Jack—two best friends who served together during the heaviest combat of the Korean War. One dreary night, in the midst of a light snow, a hand grenade landed in the bunker where Casey and Jack were positioned.  Without hesitation, Casey threw himself on the grenade.

When the war ended Jack entered the religious life.  In sympathy for the loss of her son, Jack befriended Casey’s mother.  So strong was their bond that he would often divide his holidays between his family and that of his departed friend.

One summer he visited during a state of profound depression.  Unexpectedly, Jack asked if Casey—the same Casey that had thrown himself on a live grenade—really loved him.  Brennan writes:

She laughed. “Oh, Jack, ya sure got a way with ya.” It was a faint Irish brogue.

“Ya can’t be serious.”

“I am serious,” Robison replied.

There was fear in her eyes. “Now stop funnin’ me, Jack.”

“I’m not funnin, Ma”

She looked at him in disbelief. Then fear turned to fury…this night she stood up and screamed, “…what more could he ha’ done fer ya?”

Then she sank back in the chair, buried her head in her bosom, and began to sob. Over and over again the same phrase was endlessly, unbearably repeated: “What more could he ha’ done fer ya’?” [1]

We all experience seasons in which we may doubt the love of God.  We all have seasons in which we find it hard to “relax” in the love of God, to feel “at home” in his presence.

Then we look at the cross.

We look at the place where Jesus bled and died, we look at the place where love ran red as our sin washed white, where God’s justice was met and our debts were wiped clean.

And as we look, we are lifted out of the shallow narratives of discontent that we insist on playing in our minds, and instead lean into the great story of God’s redemption.

What more could he have done?

 

[1] Brennan Manning, The Importance of Being Foolish, p. 62.

Abide (John 15:1-8)

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“If I were the Devil,” wrote Paul Harvey, “I should set out however necessary to take over the United States.”

Paul Harvey’s 1963 has now echoed with social conservatives for the better part of a century.  What would happen if Satan took control of our city?  According to Paul Harvey, the city would buckle beneath the weight of its social vices:

“I’d peddle narcotics to whom I could, I’d sell alcohol to ladies and gentlemen of distinction, I’d tranquilize the rest with pills. If I were the Devil, I would encourage schools to refine young intellects, but neglect to discipline emotions; let those run wild. I’d designate an atheist to front for me before the highest courts and I’d get preachers to say, ‘She’s right.’ With flattery and promises of power I would get the courts to vote against God and in favor of pornography. Thus I would evict God from the courthouse, then from the schoolhouse, then from the Houses of Congress. Then in his own churches I’d substitute psychology for religion and deify science.”[1]

Harvey, of course, was issuing a cautionary tale, one which connects the dots between moral decline and urban decay.

But what really would happen if Satan took over a city?  In his book Christless Christianity, Michael Horton recalls a sermon from Donald Grey Barnhouse that offered a vision altogether different from Paul Harvey:

“Barnhouse speculated that if Satan took over Philadelphia (the city where Barnhouse pastored), all of the bars would be closed, pornography banished, and pristine streets would be filled with tidy pedestrians who smiled at each other. There would be no swearing. The children would say, ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘No ma’am,’ and the churches would be full every Sunday…where Christ is not preached.’”[2]

There are two kinds of “lost,” two ways to wander away from God.  Harvey envisioned a world of self-indulgence, but Barnhouse envisioned a world of self-righteousness.

And both are forms of disobedience.

BEING IMMERSED IN THE GOSPEL

“Superficiality,” writes Richard Foster, “is the curse of our age.”

In countless churches we’ve grown preoccupied with the perfected surface.  We understand the dance, the social customs.  We sing during worship, we may even scribble a few notes.  We’re doing alright, we tell ourselves. We measure success by our latest spiritual experience, all the while striving for kids who are well-behaved and city streets free of litter and crime.

It’s easy to rely on yourself for superficial things; masks are never that hard to make.  When we go deeper, when suffering or circumstances penetrate our surface defenses and pierce our souls—well, that’s when we need a greater source of reliance.

On the night that he was betrayed, Jesus gathered his closest followers together in the upper room, offering him the equivalent of a “commencement speech,” describing what life was to look like in their new mission:

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. 2 Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. 3 Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. 6 If anyone does not abide in me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. 7 If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. 8 By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples.” (John 15:1-8)

Now, all throughout John’s biography of Jesus we read these brief little “I AM” statements.  Jesus uses everyday words and images to convey something deeper about who he is—and what he came to do.

A vine was ordinary enough.  In many Jewish scriptures Israel was compared to a vine (e.g., Psalm 80:8-16; Isaiah 5:1-7).  An image of a vine was even stamped on some ancient coins.

But Jesus was saying that he was the true vine.  Unlike every other religious teacher—both ancient and modern—Jesus wasn’t saying: “Come connect with my teaching;” he was saying: “Come connect to me.”

The word he uses (seven times in these eight verses alone!) is abide.  “Abide” is a simple enough word, but like the imagery of the vine its meaning runs deep.  The word literally means to “dwell in,” the way we might abide in someone’s home.  But Jesus is saying that we dwell in him.

We actually use similar expressions in English.  For instance, when learning a foreign language we talk about the need to be “immersed” in a language or a culture.  Why?  Because total immersion is the best way to learn a new language or a set of customs.  By inhabiting a place, the place rubs off on us in ways we aren’t always even aware.

Jesus is calling us to be immersed in him—to saturate ourselves in the customs and language and teachings and beauty of his Kingdom, and to lift our eyes from the bleak horizon of our own empires of cobwebs and dust.

“I STAND AND KNOCK”

Later in his life, John would pen the book we know as Revelation.  In the opening chapters, Jesus speaks through John to write letters to a series of ancient churches.

Among them is the Church of Laodicea.  This was the church that Jesus famously called “lukewarm:”

“For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. 18 I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see. 19 Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent.” (Revelation 3:17-19)

This was a church that had “prospered.”  You can imagine their success: worship music blasting, church programs thriving, services multiplying.  If you were new in town, this was the church to be at, that’s for sure.

But Jesus calls them to repent.  In fact, it’s to this church that Jesus writes: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.”

Growing up I heard this verse a thousand times—usually in conjunction with a bad piece of Sunday School art depicting Jesus “knocking on the door of a sinner’s heart.”  The implication, of course, is that to be “saved” you had to “invite Jesus in.”

It was years before I realized that Jesus wasn’t saying this to a group of unbelievers; he was saying this to a group of Christians. 

It’s possible—dangerously, deliriously possible—that our churches could bust at the seams…

…but leave Jesus standing in the parking lot.

For our sake, for our city’s sake, for God’s sake, we need to return to Christ’s call to abide. We need to saturate ourselves in the exquisite richness of his gospel.

And most of all, if we have relied too heavily on our own religious performance, it’s time we invite him back into our lives, asking him to teach us to follow him anew.

 

[1] Paul Harvey, “If I Were the Devil,” October 13, 1963, WND.com, publisher.

[2] Michael Horton, Christless Christianity: The Alternative Gospel of the American Church

The lost art of repentance (Psalm 51)

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Repentance is a heavy word, stretched at the seams with years of assumptions about its meaning.

I must admit, hearing the word “repent” I can’t help but think of those old-timey “fire and brimstone” style preachers, bellowing with holy menace from behind a massive oaken podium, faces slick with sweat.

Maybe for you the word “repent” makes you think of one of those bad TV preachers—the kind with slicked-back hair and a near-predatory grin, speaking winsomely about God so as to distract you from their hands reaching for your wallet.

Or maybe you picture the word “repent” scrawled in sloppy letters on a piece of cardboard, held aloft by a wild-eyed vagrant on a street-corner soapbox.  The end is near, he declares.  Better repent.

Maybe that’s because as Christians we’ve lost the art of repentance—mainly because we’ve lost the true understanding of our own sin.  Today’s world contains no shortage of self-help seminars and gurus and books that are poised to tell you that you are a beautiful snowflake, spectacularly unique in every way.  To say anything negative—such as you’re a sinner—is to “shame” them.  And so we’ve come to a world that finds no use for mercy and no place for repentance.  In their place we’ve enshrined the psychological idols of affirmation and self-acceptance.

So why does shame persist?  Why have we not stamped out all traces of moral condemnation?  Why does a culture of “selfies” only magnify our fragile souls rather than reinforce them?  Perhaps we’re not so self-reliant after all.

Perhaps repentance still has its place.

REPENTANCE—THEN AND NOW

Part of the challenge is that to “repent” doesn’t mean to change one’s behavior.  Ideally, that comes later, as a result of repentance, and woe to us if we confuse the results of the gospel with the gospel itself.

To “repent” means to change one’s mind.  Sin, in one sense, is a mis-directed love.  Rather than loving God, we’ve chosen to love sex (lust), or wealth (greed), or our own leisure (sloth).  To “repent” means to re-order our loves—to make God once more the supreme source of goodness.

Psalm 51—the worship song we began yesterday—tells David’s story of repentance after his affair with Bathsheeba.  Here we’ll see four key aspects of repentance as contained in David’s life with God:

  • A new identity

10 Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me.
11 Cast me not away from your presence,
and take not your Holy Spirit from me.
12 Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and uphold me with a willing spirit. (Psalm 51:10-12)

Pay close attention to David’s prayer.  Repentance isn’t something we do on our own.  David asks God to “create…a clean heart.”  God is the active agent here.  Granted, the process of repentance might include a change in behavior or personal habits (after all, we can hardly separate habits from hearts), but God is the agent of inward change.  As Christ’s followers we have the inward working of the Spirit to help us make progress in conforming to Christ’s good character.

  • A new purpose

13 Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
and sinners will return to you.
14 Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God,
O God of my salvation,
and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness. (Psalm 51:13-14)

In his classic commentary, Matthew Henry said that “penitents should be preachers.”[1]  In other words, repentance should prompt us to go to others and share with them what Jesus has done for us, and what the Spirit is continuing to do in us.

  • A new religion

15 O Lord, open my lips,
and my mouth will declare your praise.
16 For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it;
you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.
17 The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. (Psalm 51:15-17)

In a world full of self-interest and empty gestures, David’s words are nearly soothing.  Our sin is so massive that it can never be covered by religious performance.  Such duties do nothing to satisfy God—if anything they are to his eyes “as filthy rags” (Isaiah 64:6).  Only the death of Jesus can pay for the debt of our sins, and only my grateful obedience can serve as response.

  • A new hope

18 Do good to Zion in your good pleasure;
build up the walls of Jerusalem;
19 then will you delight in right sacrifices,
in burnt offerings and whole burnt offerings;
then bulls will be offered on your altar. (Psalm 51:18-19)

Finally, David speaks of God’s grace extended not just to himself, but to the city over which he presides. As always, we cannot expect God to interact with our city the same as he did with Jerusalem.  The promises God gave Israel were for her ears alone.  What we can expect from God is his future plans to “do good” to all the world, restoring it through the second arrival of Jesus.  Until then we look forward to that day with hopeful expectation, and serve our own city as new members of God’s family.

PREACHING THE GOSPEL TO YOURSELF

I know many people who, having been in Church for years, still struggle with this.  Perhaps you’re one of them.  The words are familiar, but they’ve yet to consistently travel the 12 inches from your brain to your heart.  You might find yourself feeling a persistent feeling of guilt, haunting you like a low-grade fever.

“I know God forgives me,” you might say, “but I can’t forgive myself.”

If this is you, then I have both a challenge and an affirmation.  First, I challenge you that in the moment that you say that, what you’re really saying is that you don’t trust Jesus for your salvation, but your own moral record.  If the God of the universe loves and accepts you in Christ, why do you insist on leaning on your own reputation?

Secondly, I want to affirm that this is not an immediately easy truth to understand.  In the sixteenth century, Martin Luther—the father of what became known as the Protestant Reformation—struggled with his own identity before God.  His advice to the readers of his own day was to learn to “preach the gospel to yourself.”  In his Preface to the Galatians, he wrote that when Christ’s followers feel themselves guilty or inadequate before the demands of the law, we should say something like this:

“O law! You would climb up into the kingdom of my conscience, and there reign and condemn me for sin, and would take from me the joy of my heart which I have by faith in Christ, and drive me to desperation, that I might be without hope. You have overstepped your bounds. Know your place! You are a guide for my behavior, but you are not Savior and Lord of my heart. For I am baptized, and through the gospel am called to receive righteousness and eternal life… So trouble me not! For I will not allow you, so intolerable a tyrant and tormentor, to reign in my heart and conscience—for they are the seat and temple of Christ the Son of God, who is the king of righteousness and peace, and my most sweet savior and mediator. He shall keep my conscience joyful and quiet in the sound and pure doctrine of the gospel, through the knowledge of this passive and heavenly righteousness.”

Repentance should stir within us a radical assurance of our righteousness—or, more specifically, of Christ’s righteousness that we are graciously permitted to call our own.

So repent, dear Christian—not because the end is near, but because God’s mercies are new with every morning.

[1] Matthew Henry, Commentary on the Whole Bible. One volume ed. Edited by Leslie F. Church. (Grand Rapids: Zondervan Publishing Co., 1961), 631.

I am what’s wrong with our city (Psalm 51)

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What started as an art project turned into so much more.

In 2005 Frank Warren got the idea to invite anonymous strangers to write their secrets down on postcards, and send them to his address here in Maryland.

Warren never anticipated the tidal wave of responses he’d receive.

In the decade or so since Warren began PostSecret, he has been inundated with untold numbers of postcards.  They are collected and curated in books, on websites, and even in museum displays.

Confession, as they say, is good for the soul.

For many, the word “sin” must seem an archaic throwback to a religious era fraught with sexual repression and cultural regression. But if this is true, why does shame still linger?

“UNCLEAN”

Moral psychologists such as Paul Rozin have noted that feelings of shame are largely associated with disgust.  When we do something wrong, we often feel the same way as when we touch an insect, or smell something unpleasant.

The classic example of this is the “Hitler sweater” experiment.  The experimenters asked people if they’d be willing to wear a sweater if they knew it had been previously worn by Adolf Hitler.  Naturally, they declined.  But what if the sweater were thoroughly washed?  Still no.  What if the sweater were completely unraveled, re-dyed, then re-knitted into a brand new, completely unique sweater?  The answer, repeatedly and emphatically, was no.  It was if the respondents saw the garment as possessing some sort of moral contamination.  Touch it, and you’ll dirty your hands.

The writers of the Bible understood this implicitly.  Sin was associated with being “unclean.”  If you have a background in Church, you know that King David is remembered for not only slaying Goliath, but also for his affair with his neighbor’s wife, Bathsheeba.

After being confronted with his sin, David repents, and ends up penning one of the Bible’s most famous worship songs:

Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions.
2 Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin!

3 For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me.
4 Against you, you only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you may be justified in your words
and blameless in your judgment.
5 Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity,
and in sin did my mother conceive me.
6 Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being,
and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

7 Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
8 Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones that you have broken rejoice.
9 Hide your face from my sins,
and blot out all my iniquities.

(Psalm 51:1-9)

There’s a lot of rich theology here, to be sure, but what I’d like us to notice something quite particular.  Do you notice the repeated contrast between clean and unclean? His prayer is that God would “blot out…wash…and cleanse” his sin.  His desire is to become “clean…whiter than snow.”

I AM WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE WORLD

What do David’s words have to do with loving our city?

Everything.

See, it’s tempting to look at the problems of our city and either dismiss them or find someone to blame.  We point fingers more than we extend our hands.  And why not?  Surely I’m not the one ruining our city, no sir.

David Brooks, a columnist for The New York Times pointed out the way our moral outrage emerges in response to scandal.  He writes:

“We live in a society oriented around our inner wonderfulness. So when something atrocious happens, people look for some artificial, outside force that must have caused it…

Commentators ruthlessly vilify all involved from the island of their own innocence. Everyone gets to proudly ask: ‘How could they have let this happen?’

The proper question is: How can we ourselves overcome our natural tendency to evade and self-deceive?  But it’s a question this society has a hard time asking because the most seductive evasion is the one that leads us to deny the underside of our own nature.”[1]

Christ’s followers can hardly point toward their “inner wonderfulness,” as Brooks puts it.  We recognize that we, like David, come into the world horrifically broken, and this brokenness does profound damage to our homes, to our relationships, and yes, to our cities.

Some years ago the Catholic writer G.K. Chesterton made headlines with his response to a magazine inquiry which asked: “What’s wrong with the world?”  Chesterton responded with only two words: “I am.”

I am what’s wrong with the world.

I am what’s wrong with our city.

As Christians, our prayers for the city can’t start and stop for praying for problems out there.  We must instead see our problems as flowing from within.  “Out of the abundance of the heart,” Jesus warns, “the mouth speaks” (Luke 6:45).

God help us all.

MADE NEW

The radical good news of the gospel is that God offers his help.  More specifically, he offers himself.

On the cross, Jesus took our uncleanness upon himself.  At the empty tomb, he pronounced God’s victory over death itself.

Forgiveness.

Transformation.

The things that God offers us personally he offers our city corporately.  But it starts by each one of us dropping to our knees in humble recognition of our fallen state, then lifting our eyes to the cross for personal forgiveness and transformation.

He blots our sins; he cleanses our sins.

And only he has the power to make our city new again.

 

[1] David Brooks, “Let’s All Feel Superior,” The New York Times, November 14, 2011.

Praying for our city (Nehemiah 1:1-11)

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“There are some realities that you can only see through eyes that have been cleansed by tears.”  Nehemiah embodies this statement from Pope Francis.  Nehemiah was a man driven by compassion for his city—the city of Jerusalem.

In the opening chapter we learn that Nehemiah was the author.  We read that the book contains “The words of Nehemiah the son of Hacaliah.”  Ezra and Nehemiah were originally one book.  Ezra told the story of the rebuilding of Israel’s temple; Nehemiah tells the story of the rebuilding of the city walls.  They serve as historical memoirs but—if they were alive today—these two books would serve as the first “TED Talks.”  These men were innovators and leaders of their day, and through them we see God’s plan for restoration.

NEHEMIAH 1:1-4

When we first meet Nehemiah, he is living in relative luxury in Persia.  If we jump down to verse 11, we read: “Now I was cupbearer to the king.”  This was more than just a butler.  His primary responsibility was to taste the king’s food and drink in the event that someone tried to poison him.  But this placed him in such close proximity to the king that he became the king’s unofficial political advisor.  He was probably handsome, cultured, sophisticated.  And above all, he occupied a place of power, privilege, and influence rarely seen by any of his fellow Jews.

So it shouldn’t escape our notice that from the very start, we see this man as deeply burdened for his people.  Starting in verse 1 we read:

Now it happened in the month of Chislev [that would be late November or early December, by our calendars], in the twentieth year, as I was in Susa the citadel, 2 that Hanani, one of my brothers, came with certain men from Judah. And I asked them concerning the Jews who escaped, who had survived the exile, and concerning Jerusalem. 3 And they said to me, “The remnant there in the province who had survived the exile is in great trouble and shame. The wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates are destroyed by fire.” (Nehemiah 1:1b-3)

Here we have our first lesson from Nehemiah: change begins only when discontent triumphs over indifference.  Under the decree of Cyrus, some Jews returned; some stayed.  Nehemiah was among those who stayed.  Hanani—who may have been Nehemiah’s biological relation, or simply a Jewish “brother”—was among those who returned.  Prophets such as Jeremiah had commanded God’s people to “flee Babylon,” but many—including Nehemiah—found chose comfort over conviction.  Now, confronted by this news, Nehemiah could only weep over the fate of his people.  In verse 4 he confesses: “As soon as I heard these words I sat down and wept and mourned for days, and I continued fasting and praying before the God of heaven.”

For most of us, it’s far too easy to hear news about our city and respond with either laughter or hostility.  “Only in Hagerstown,” we might say.  More than 20 years ago cultural analyst Neil Postman compared the nightly news to a bad game of “peek-a-boo,” where negative stories flash before our eyes and then quickly disappear.  This “peek-a-boo” world is only magnified in an age where news literally flashes before us through our Facebook and Twitter feeds.  It’s like the scene in the film Hotel Rwanda, where the Rwandan hotel owner thanks the American journalist for courageously covering the recent atrocities.  But the journalist apologetically tells him, “I think if people see this footage they’ll say, ‘oh…that’s horrible,’ and the go on eating their dinners.”

No more.  No more saying “Only in Hagerstown.”  No more shaking our heads rather than bowing them in prayer.  No more clenching our fists in anger than opening them in love.  God never loved his people at a distance.  The gospel is a message of a God who sent his Son into our world, and likewise sends his followers into the world as his representatives, his ambassadors.  The gospel therefore stirs within us a form of “holy discontent,” a discontent that triumphs over our tendency toward silence and our propensity toward indifference.

NEHEMIAH 1:5-10

For Nehemiah, the discontent stirred in his heart led him to his knees.  Most of chapter one is an extended prayer that the God of the universe would intervene, and that he might be used for the good of the city.  When we get to chapter 2, we’ll learn that four months go by.  Most of chapter one is just an extended prayer.  In his commentary on Nehemiah, Raymond Brown helps us see examine this prayer and see that Nehemiah’s prayer life contained several specific features.

  • First, Nehemiah began with praise for God.  In verse 5, we read: “O Lord God of heaven, the great and awesome God who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him and keep his commandments…”  Praise matters because through worship, our hearts are directed away from earthly comforts toward the source of all goodness.  Only then can we truly have our hearts beat in time with the God of the universe.
  •  Second, Nehemiah sought God’s attention.  He says, “6 let your ear be attentive and your eyes open, to hear the prayer of your servant that I now pray before you day and night for the people of Israel your servants…”  We can be thankful that through the finished work of Christ, we can freely approach the throne of grace and bring our needs before the God of the universe.
  •  Third, Nehemiah confessed sin.  He says that he is “confessing the sins of the people of Israel, which we have sinned against you. Even I and my father’s house have sinned. 7 We have acted very corruptly against you and have not kept the commandments, the statutes, and the rules that you commanded your servant Moses.”  Nehemiah didn’t cast blame; he took ownership.  Now, we can’t always say that all human suffering is the result of human wrongdoing.  But we can at least acknowledge that before we move forward we must acknowledge our past failures.
  •  Fourth, Nehemiah appealed to God’s character.  Look in verse 8: “Remember the word that you commanded your servant Moses, saying, ‘If you are unfaithful, I will scatter you among the peoples, 9 but if you return to me and keep my commandments and do them, though your outcasts are in the uttermost parts of heaven, from there I will gather them and bring them to the place that I have chosen, to make my name dwell there.’ 10 They are your servants and your people, whom you have redeemed by your great power and by your strong hand.”  Nehemiah, of course, is referencing the promises laid out through Moses.  The Lord’s promise to Abraham was unconditional: Israel would receive God’s blessing because of his character.  But to fully enjoy God’s blessing Israel was called to conform to God’s character through obedience to the Mosaic Law.  Today, we live by a different covenant, a different set of promises.  We look back not to Moses but to Jesus, whose death promises us forgiveness and transformation.  So like Nehemiah, we look back to God’s activity in the past for confidence in our present and hope for our future.
  • Finally, Nehemiah makes a specific request.  Look at verse 11: “O Lord, let your ear be attentive to the prayer of your servant, and to the prayer of your servants who delight to fear your name, and give success to your servant today, and grant him mercy in the sight of this man.”  I find that bold.  We don’t see him saying, “if it be your will” or any of the clauses that you and I might attach to our prayers, instead choosing to share his request with boldness and honesty.

We need that.  We need that for our nation, we need that for our church, we need that for our city.  But it starts with us, and that’s the second point to be learned from Nehemiah: prayer transforms us from critics to crusaders.  If you follow Jesus, you are said to be united with Christ.  Jesus inhabits our city through you, through me, through the body of Christ, his people, the Church.  Through prayer we re-orient ourselves to this greater, awesome reality, and move away from the tendency to criticize our city’s flaws but to allow the love of Christ to well up inside us and overflow into our homes, into our neighborhoods, and into our streets.  We need that, the world needs that, because now, more than ever, our world isn’t asking whether Christianity is true, but whether Christianity is good.  The actions of the “body of Christ” may well be the only gospel your neighbors ever hear.

Our application, therefore, is that we pray for our city—diligently and compassionately.  God is for our city, and together we proclaim his goodness so that we may lift high the name of Christ, and God would use these actions to draw all men to himself.