The Hope of Nations

A little more than a year ago, a plurality of the voting American people selected the promise of Hope and Change over its competitor.  To a majority of these voters, a developing recession and seven years of war led to a desire for something better.  Along came a smooth-talking orator promising exactly what they were looking for.  Specifics proved to be elusive, but the promises piled up.  Our enemies would like us.  Racism would cease.  The economy would recover.  Unemployment would never reach 10%.  Even the oceans would slow their rise, and our very planet would heal if we would just trust the one who promised Hope and Change.

And so America did.

Judging from plunging approval numbers that reflect harsh economic realities, soaring deficits, and a dithering war policy, Americans are beginning to express disillusionment.  But, really, should we be surprised that Hope and Change have failed to live up to their promise?

Despite our current situation, this really isn’t about any particular politician or political party.  Political leaders have been crowing Messianic-like promises for decades.  To one degree or another, both parties have promised us that we can fix our weight problems by eating more candy.  The responsible message simply doesn’t sell.

The real tragedy lies in the American people putting their faith in these self-serving, promise peddlers.  We routinely suspend our rational thinking to blindly believe the impossible.  We buy the snake oil from whichever salesman offers the most compelling pitch.  Then we suffer from disappointment as the financial, security, and moral consequences take hold – as they always will.

Even in this terrible death cycle, there is good news.  History has shown us time and again that when things get bad enough, God’s people begin to recognize that there is only One person who can truly bring Hope and Change.

In ancient times, God’s chosen nation of Israel consistently vacillated in its commitment to God.  One season, they would trust Him for everything and commit their lives to seeking His face and obeying His commands.  Victories and blessing inevitably followed.  Then, drunk with prosperity, they would forsake God and His ways, assimilate into the godless cultures around them, and begin a downward spiral.  The result was oppression, economic collapse, famine, military failures, or a combination of all.

Like the Hebrew nation of old, America shares the same experience.  Ancient Israel thought that a king would bring them the Hope and Change that they desired.  God rightly saw it as a rejection of Himself by His people.  He sees it the same way today when we put our faith and trust in any politician over Him.  Since God’s laws never change, the consequences of such a decision always have the same result.

It is easy to see this season of America as the onset of complete desolation.  Yet I believe that it may simply be the dark winter before our brightest spring if we will return our faith to the One that rightly deserves it.  Let us repent of seeking salvation from smooth-talking politicians that promise the world.  May we choose only leaders that reflect the will of the only One that can bring real Hope and lasting Change.  There is a Hope of Nations.  His name is Jesus.

The Barber’s Chair

Sometimes you hear a story that is so powerful that you wonder if it could possibly be true.  I am the first one to hit www.snopes.com when I think I’ve been told a whopper.  Truth be told, I even checked it for the story that I am about to share.  But after some research, I believe it to be true.  I spoke with the retired Reverend Jerome Hamm recently to verify its veracity.  Reverend Hamm heard it around the spring of 1962 in a sermon preached by the very student that had been involved.  He heard the firsthand account.

Around 1960, a young seminary student was attending Emory University.  One of his regular routines was to get his haircut at a hotel barbershop in the Druid Hills area.  The barber that cut his hair was a short man with thick, dark hair and a strong Jewish accent.  Like most barbers of the day, he wore a long-sleeve, smock-like garment.

One day, their casual friendship took on an entirely new meaning.

The Georgia heat and a blown air conditioner had taken their toll on the barbershop that day.  Gone was the familiar long-sleeve smock that the student had come to know.  On this day, the young man saw his barber sporting a short-sleeve shirt.  As he sat down, the young man noticed something that he had never seen before.

The old, Jewish barber had a tattoo.  He bore a crudely etched number in his forearm.  The realization of its meaning landed squarely in the mind of the student.  He couldn’t help but ask about this mark of a Holocaust survivor.

The old barber put his scissors down and sat next to his young friend to tell the story.  The barber was more than just a Holocaust survivor – so much more.

He told of how he had lived in a Nazi concentration camp with many other Jews bearing marks like his own.  The unimaginable horrors of that experience began anew each day.  Every morning, the soldiers would line up the Jews, open a large book, and call out ten random numbers.  If the called number was written on your arm, you had to step forward.  The soldiers would then put a bullet into the head of each of those ten Jews.

Every prisoner lived in grave fear that his number would be called and felt all hope drain away.  One morning, the barber said that he heard his number called.  He couldn’t breathe, let alone move.  His legs failed to work.  The number was called again.  Before he could bring himself to face his fate, he saw from the corner of his eye another man stepping forward.  What could this mean?

Just as they did every morning, the Nazis executed the man that came forward.  And like every other morning, they crossed out the numbers that they had called from their book.

The barber broke down in tears as he remembered the sacrifice.  He knew that no matter how bad things would get, his number would never be called again.  It had been struck from the book.  He didn’t know the mystery man that took his place.  But as he wept, he said, “That man died for me.  I wouldn’t be alive without him.”

As the student would later share, this story mirrored the story of the Christian faith.  We, too, had been living in an enemy’s camp.  Our eventual fate would be death and eternal separation from God due to our sin.  But when the debt of sin was to be collected, God sent His own Son as our substitute to bear the consequence for us.  He gave us assurance that no matter how bad things got on this earth, we would never be separated from Him again.  Our sins were blotted out of the book to be forgotten and recalled no more.

By His sacrifice, He has broken the power of sin and death.  He has set us free.  “And if the Son has set you free, then you are free indeed.”

Preferential Treatment

I recently began shopping for a new cell phone provider.  One site allowed me to build my own plan, customized for my personal needs.  Pandora, an online radio station, allowed me to build a series of my own radio stations featuring only artists that I like.  Even a trip to the grocery store shows my own preferences.  My shopping cart varies wildly from the next person in line.  In the very clothing on my back, my choices reflect my own tastes and sense of fashion (or lack thereof).

We live in a world that is completely customizable.  Think about the scores of choices that identify you just within your home.  Your wall coverings reflect your style.  Your furniture meets your own needs and tastes and is likely different than your neighbors’ furniture.  The music playing on your stereo, the programs broadcasting through your television, and the food cooking in your oven all reflect something about you.  They reflect your choices and preferences.

When we think about which political candidates will get our vote, we pick the ones that most closely reflect our values.  Even in our seasons of romance, we tend to project onto the other person qualities that we want them to have, whether they have them or not.  Everything fits neatly into our personalized world.

But what about God?  What do we believe about Him?  Do we all hold the same view, or do we each have a customized God?  The famous French philosopher Voltaire once said, “If God created us in his own image, we have more than reciprocated.”  Unfortunately, Voltaire nailed it.

If you polled your friends about God, you would likely hear a lot of different and contradictory ideas.  Comments like, “The God I believe in would never do that!” or “My God isn’t like that at all” would be commonplace.  And why not?  We customize everything else in our world.  Relativism comes easily.  We like to pick and choose the things about God that we want to believe and create our own personal God.

Yet on this question, the only question with eternal consequence, we must ask – what is the truth?  Who is God, really?  Can we know?  The answer brings both good and bad news.

The good news is that God can be known and wants to be known.  He has revealed Himself to us through His Son, Jesus.  He has shown us His nature and character in the Bible.  The bad news is that accepting this truth will likely disrupt our views and destroy the personalized God that we have created.

The God of the Bible is far bigger, greater, and more awesome than we realize.  He is love – but He is also holy.  He is forgiving – but He is also righteous.  He holds the universe in His hands, yet knows the very number of hairs on your head.  His laws and His character do not turn with culture or the changing of the times.  They are fixed and cannot be customized to fit our own situation.

Christian musical artist Wayne Watson once penned the lyrics that describe our struggle to break free from making God in our own image.

“I wonder if I’d know you now.
Or have the images I’ve painted so distorted who You are
That even if the world was looking, they could not see You, the real You?
Have I changed the true reflection, to fulfill my own design
Making you what I want , not showing You forth divine, divine?”

Accepting Him for who He is rather than who we would like Him to be requires a difficult, yet liberating decision.  It is a decision of submission, yet a choice of freedom.  It will turn your world upside down and inside out – and it’s the only choice worth making.

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Land of the Lost

I recently bought one of the greatest gadgets ever made.  It’s a snazzy little GPS unit that sticks to your windshield.  Roadmaps are so last century.  You can find almost any point of interest just by asking.  It will even show you where the cheapest places are for gas.  Best of all, you don’t even have to look at the display, though it can be hard not to.  You simply listen to the soothing sounds of the narrator giving directions.  The voice in the box can speak multiple languages.  Even celebrity voices are available for an extra charge.  Imagine hearing Homer Simpson congratulate you on arriving at your destination!  How cool is that?

I’m not sure why, but the first thing I did when I opened the box was to plot routes that I already knew.  Why am I asking my GPS to tell me how to get to work?  I think I’ve got that one covered.  Directions to the local Kroger?  That was a bit much.  I decided to call it a “quality check.”

Next, I started plotting routes that I never intended to drive.  “Hey, how do I get to the St. Louis arch from here?”  “How do I get to Mount Rushmore WITHOUT taking any freeways?”

Probably my favorite feature is the self-correction.  Sometimes I experience difficulty staying focused on where I’m going.  Call it the “Dorie” syndrome.  I’ll completely miss a turn because I am trying to read a funny bumper sticker or get distracted by the site of a good restaurant.  Other times, I remain convinced that I know a faster way than the GPS and wind up way off the proven path.

In either case, this gizmo immediately begins re-calculating a new route to my destination from where I presently am.  I could wander so far off of the path that surrounding license plates look foreign.  No worries.  The GPS will figure out a way to get me back on track.  It can even tell me where to stop for a soda along the way.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a “life GPS”?  I would love to hear that confident voice after I have gotten lost with some of my decisions.  “You missed a great job opportunity.  Now submit a resume to company xyz.”  “Wrong turn with your wife.  Flower shop in 1.2 miles.”  “You forgot to set the timer on the oven.  Call for pizza delivery at 555-1212.”

It would be even better if we had a “national GPS” that could re-calculate our country’s route on the fly.  At a time when our suffocating debt and loss of freedoms increase by the hour, it would be so reassuring to hear words that turn us back to the right path.

Come to think of it, there is such as thing as a “life” and a “national” GPS.  It is our Heavenly Father.  His voice speaks directly to the person or the country that has lost its way.  He says things like, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  To the nation, He says, “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 will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.”

God is the ultimate GPS.  We can start out on a road with the best of intentions.  But the bright lights of the highways and the shortcuts of compromise can entice us away from the only path that will lead us home.  Still, time and again, His voice is there to answer us when we cry out after losing our way.  He re-calculates our route from right where He finds us.  He’s been doing it since the dawn of time.  He knows the way.

What will trigger our heavenly GPS to steer us back to safety?  It begins with the realization that we are lost.  Only then are we ready to be led home.

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The Pool Boy

A few weeks ago, our multi-year drought ended with an exclamation point.  Day after day of pounding, relentless rain saturated the ground and filled the lake.  Arks were prepared.  Animals paraded through the streets, two by two.  In some dire situations, houses became house boats.  Car roofs became stepping stones to cross flooded streets.

We fared better than many, but were not exempt from the floods.  We watched from our back window as our pool lost its battle to stave away the run-off.  By the end of the day, I was seeing Oompa-Loompas as our oasis turned into something resembling the chocolate river in Willy Wonka’s famed candy factory.  I still can’t get the song “Pure Imagination” out of my head.

Over the following weeks, we learned a great deal about the process for cleaning a mud-filled swimming pool.  Draining and refilling was only an option if we wanted to see the pool float out of the ground.  We were forced to do the long, hard slog of cleaning the water.  I refer to the primary method as “shock and flock” since we had to repeatedly shock the pool and douse it with flocculant to force small particles to the bottom.

By the end of the first weekend, I began to fear what might be in there.  Frogs, rats, and even the Loch Ness Monster had all made an appearance.  The only thing missing was the fat kid Augustus Gloop that got stuck in the chocolate river tube in Willy Wonka’s factory.  For all I could see, he might have been lurking in the bottom.

The cycle of cleaning muddy filters, applying chemicals, vacuuming, and repeating was slow going and expensive.  But since we’re rather heavily invested in the concrete pond in our backyard, we were committed to the time, energy, and treasure to make it beautiful once again.  It amazes me that a pool full of muddy water can be make crystal clear again just by filtering, adding chemicals, and vacuuming out the filth.

While a costly insight, I learned something about God in the process.  You see, He’s in the cleaning business, too.  It really doesn’t matter to Him how much mud, filth, critters, or stench has made its way into our hearts.  Whatever the rains of life have carried into our souls need not stay there.  I know firsthand just how mucky those spiritual waters can be.

But one day, in the midst of our terrible and hopeless plight, God sent His Son Jesus into the world.  Jesus would not only claim ownership of our dirty pools, but promised to help us clean them.  Like a dirty pool, the purification process of our soul can take time.  He exposes the dirt in us, cleans the filters of our mind, and is constantly adding more and more of His boundless spirit to make us clean.  It’s a lifelong process, but our Heavenly Pool Boy will never give up on it.  He has invested everything in us and has promised to commit His time, energy, and treasure to make us beautiful once again.

For those of us that have given our ownership over to Jesus, we can get frustrated by an apparent lack of progress in turning our dirty water into something clean.  But we can take heart that while we may not yet be Caribbean clear, we’re not the mud pit that we once were.

Jesus called His followers to be “fishers of men.”  By the grace of God, He not only catches the fish, but He cleans them, too.

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Busted, 70’s Style

My father had a unique way of disciplining his children.  With three sons, things were often broken, missing, or giving off an unnatural aroma.  Since complete transparency was not in our nature, he had two options to identify the culprit.

First, he could investigate.  Sometimes he searched for the son that broke the lamp (probably me).  Sometimes he had to identify which of us was trying to pee in the toilet from across the bathroom and missing the target (all of us).  There was always a riddle to be solved.  He could play detective, gather the evidence, and use his best judgment in determining which of his boys had earned the whippin’.  Sometimes we made it easy for him.  The boy holding the bat probably had something to do with the one crying his eyes out.

His second option was to line up all three of us and commence the whippin’ until somebody cracked and confessed.  For the most part, he chose the latter.  At least he knew that he would get the true offender, even if there was some collateral damage.

The Rod of Discipline

The administering of justice always began with the phrase, “Go get my belt!”  Our world was over.  It meant that my dad would break out the wide, white leather belt with the metal rivets that ran around the length of it.  You can’t really fault his sense of style.  It was the 70’s, after all.

I never appreciated the difficulties that my dad faced in disciplining his boys until I became a father.  When one of my daughters was no more than 4 years old, she was unable to release her seat belt and repeated a curse word learned from her grandmother.  It was a difficult moment.  My wife covered her mouth and ran away to laugh in obscurity, leaving me to be the straight-laced parent.  I was left to ponder the age old question – laugh or spank?  The eyes of my daughter were as big as saucers, knowing that she was busted.  How was I supposed to handle this one?

The most important thing I learned from my parent’s discipline as I became a father was the purpose behind it.  More than anything, my parents loved me and wanted me to become a good man with integrity and values.  The challenges in how to make that happen were as difficult for them as they are for me.  They weren’t perfect, but the accomplished what they set out to do.

It’s why I still remember my father making his 6 year old son put 3 pennies on a counter and apologize to a bewildered K-Mart clerk for stealing a gum ball.  He said I’d thank him for it someday.  Well, dad, thank you.  You made me a better man and taught me a lesson about integrity.

I believe that there is a fraternity of fatherhood that extends beyond me and my father, or even him and his father.  It extends to our Heavenly Father.  It is difficult to comprehend and appreciate the discipline of our God until we have crossed over into parenthood ourselves.  In the Bible, the writer of Hebrews reminds us that God’s discipline is evidence that we are His children.  Even though it’s painful at the time, it will produce a harvest of righteousness and peace.  None of us likes to be disciplined, but what comfort we should take that He cares enough to do it!

When I think about all of the disciplining opportunities that I have given God, I am amazed that He has never thrown up His hands and quit.  I often feel like a walking object lesson in what not-to-do.   But it gives me great peace to know that He loves me enough to keep me close despite my short-term pain.  I never have to question His fairness or His detective work since He knows even the intentions of my heart.

After each well-earned spanking, my dad would hug his crying boy and say, “I still love you.”  I believe God speaks the same words in our lives.  If you’re experiencing His discipline today, give thanks – for it means that you are truly His.

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The Man Behind The Melody

I love a great song.  More than a great song, I love a great song with a great story about how that great song came to be.  I call them “Paul Harvey” songs.  They’re the ones where “The Rest of the Story” provides such insight that you can never hear it the same way again.  The melodies that amaze me the most make me feel closer to God, yet find their origins in suffering.  How can something so uplifting come from so terrible an experience?

John Mack McMillan’s best friend was a youth leader that had a fervent desire to reach young people for God.  In one of his passionate prayers for the youth, this friend offered his life to God if it would reach them.  He was killed in a car accident that night.  Though devastated by the loss of his best friend, John responded by writing a song the very next day called “How He Loves Us”.  The song born of that tragedy has made such an impact that it has been recorded by Eddie Kirkland, David Crowder, and many others.

One of the greatest hymns ever penned came from unimaginable tragedy.  Horatio Spafford was a devoted Christian and Chicago attorney in the 1800’s.  His family frequently hosted evangelist D.L. Moody in their home, along with feeding and clothing the needy of their community.  No stranger to suffering, Horatio had lost a son to scarlet fever and most of his wealth to the Great Fire of Chicago before the greatest test of his faith would come.  His family planned a visit to Europe, during which they hoped to be of assistance to D.L. Moody in his ministry there.  A last minute business emergency kept Horatio from joining his wife and four daughters on their steamship, though he pledged to leave just a few days later.  Their steamship crashed into a British iron vessel in the Atlantic Ocean.  As Anna Spafford tried to cling to her baby in the waters of the wreckage, a violent collision with debris would tear away Baby Tanetta from her arms.  All four Spafford daughters perished.

On his immediate trip to meet his grieving wife, Horatio was summoned to the bridge by the captain.  The captain informed him that by the best reckoning of their bearings, they were sitting directly over the 3 mile deep waters that covered his children.  That night, Horatio wrote the hymn “It Is Well”.  To this day, even many unchurched people know the following words:

“When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot Thou hast taught me to say
Even so, it is well with my soul.”

In the Bible, there is a phrase in the book of Hebrews that seems strange.  The writer tells us to offer a “sacrifice of praise” to God.  How can praise be a sacrifice?  Sacrifice implies a loss of some sort.  But praise is easy – when times are good.  What about when tragedy strikes?  I have prayed for loved ones to find healing that didn’t.  I have beaten my fists in the air when it seemed as if God had abandoned me or was no longer taking my calls.  I have wondered how a loving God could stand idly by as relationships fell apart.  I have sought His intervention in my own life only to hear silence.  During these times, praise has never been my first thought.

And yet, I believe that is exactly when God wants us to bring the “sacrifice of praise”.  It is in the times of devastation and brokenness that He truly learns what we believe about Him.  Do we love Him and honor Him only when things go our way?  Or will we praise and honor Him when the world seems to be spinning out of control?  How we respond says everything about how much we trust and love Him.

My prayer is that we will respond in the same way as Ginny Owens.  Born a healthy baby girl in Jackson, Mississippi, she would develop a degenerative eye condition at the age of three that would leave her permanently blind.  In her song, “If You Want Me To”, she captures the words that I hope all of us could sing.

“So when the whole world turns against me
And I’m all by myself
And I can’t hear You answer my cries for help
I’ll remember the suffering that Your love put You through
And I will walk through the darkness
If You want me to.”

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Buggin’ Out

A friend of mine asked me a strange question recently.  We were talking about guns, hunting, and other manly stuff.  He asked, “Do you have a Go Bag?”  Given that we had just had this testosterone-laden conversation, I was afraid to admit that I had no idea what he was talking about.  Such an admission would be embarrassing.

My mind quickly ran through the possible answers that I could give.  “Oh, yeah, sure!  I’ve got half a dozen Go Bags.”  “Go Bag?  Are you kidding me?  I invented the Go Bag!”  “Dude, my Go Bag is so ready, it’s already Gone.  In fact, I just call it the Gone Bag.”  I felt like Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom -  “220, 221.  Whatever it takes.”

Since I didn’t know if any of those responses would make me look masculine or just stupid, I opted for the one that was honest.  “Uh, what’s a Go Bag?”

He went on to explain that a Go Bag (aka, Bug Out Bag) was a bag that contained all that you would need for a quick escape.  Guns, ammo, food, flashlight, change of clothes, cash, and things of that sort.  It’s a bag that is strategically located in your home should civil unrest or other threatening circumstances arise requiring you to immediately seek safety elsewhere.  I thought that it sounded like a survivalist version of the “Man Bag” that Joey carried in an episode of Friends.  However, it didn’t seem like an appropriate time to share that comparison.  He’s talking Man Vs. Wild, and I’m thinking Friends.  I salvaged my ignorance with a reference to 24 and said, “Oh, like Jack Bauer’s bag.”

He went on to explain that he had several Go Bags throughout his house.  Talk about being ready for anything.  I suspect he sleeps with one eye open and a gun in his hand.  Given the way things are going today, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.

In any event, this idea of a Go Bag has a spiritual application as well.  We never know when God will come calling.  In the Old Testament, God called Abram to go to a land that He would show him.  In terms of possessions, Abram’s Go Bag was quite massive.  He packed up everything he owned and took all of his servants.  Conversely, in Luke’s gospel Jesus sent out His disciples with no material possessions in their Go Bags at all.  He specifically told them to take nothing for their journey and to depend on their hosts for their needs.

Spiritually speaking, we need to have fully-equipped Go Bags at the ready.  First, we need a flashlight for our soul.  An agent of God needs to see well so that he can know His Master’s wishes.  God’s desires are written in His word.  When written in our minds and hearts, this flashlight will keep us on track.  King David said it well in Psalms.  “Your word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.”  Second, we need a spiritual weather radio.  The circumstances surrounding us may change quickly.  If our spirit is not tuned to God’s Spirit, we could miss out on important instructions that His frequency is broadcasting.  Finally, no Go Bag would be complete without a holy first aid kit.  God calls us to serve Him by serving others.  Jesus Himself said that it’s not the healthy people that need a doctor, but the sick.  When God calls, it’s almost always on a mission to serve the spiritually sick and dying.

Yet before we can reach for our Go Bag, we must first be ready to “Go.”  We never know what time of day or night God will call us for a mission.  Let us sleep with one eye open and keep our Go Bag near.

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Simply Irresistible

It must be our nature.  We are never satisfied with the simple.  We have to complicate things.  Once they become too complicated, we try to come up with ways to simplify them.  Then the simplified ways become complicated, and the cycle repeats.

When I was young, this simple device came along that rocked our world – the remote control.  Today, we have remote controls to run all of our remote controls, which further require PC software and hundred page manuals.

Just a decade ago, this amazing gadget called a “cell phone” became commonplace.  You could actually call your spouse at WalMart to find out where they were instead of running up and down every aisle.  Now we have email, internet, and even TV on our phones.  Once again, software and a PC are required to “sync” and “simplify” our devices.

It’s not just electronics.  The simplest of things have become complex.  I recently bought two items at the department store and was given a twelve inch long receipt!  Not to be outdone, the restaurant we visited afterwards gave me two receipts with a page worth of instructions on how visit a website and enter a contest.  Even the grocery story prints a marketing booklet instead of the once ordinary receipt – along with a ream of coupons that I will never use.  With a few more trips to the store, I will be able to wallpaper the spare bathroom.

Picking a doctor?  Try choosing between the HMO, PPO, or HSA.  Filing your taxes?  Even the government doesn’t know how to interpret its own library of rules.  Building a bridge?  Better get the environmental impact study, the re-zonings, public hearings, and blood pressure medication to keep you sane as you wade through red tape.  Retirement savings?  Roth, 401(k), rollover, or mutual funds?

In ancient Israel, a few hundred years and a few hundred religious leaders had turned the Ten Commandments into a complex web of laws and requirements that made the already impossible even more unbearable.  Against this human tendency to turn the simple into the complex, a person once asked Jesus a brilliant question.  “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the law?”  He was essentially saying, “Jesus, net this out for us.  What is the simple answer?”

At that moment, Jesus made the complex very simple.  “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.”  Then He added, “And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself.  All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Every now and then, I get lost in the “tall grass” when struggling through some complex issue.  Then someone will come along and utter the simplest phrase or insight that immediately blows away all of the fog.  When that happens, there is such a peace that follows – as if I can exhale and unclench my jaw.  I’ll realize that the wrestling match in which I found myself entangled was of my own creation.

Perhaps Jesus’ audience felt this same release when He spoke these words.  The complexities had been stripped away to reveal the always present simple truth.  Love God.  Love your neighbor.  Five words that summed it all up.

Maybe finding God isn’t so complex.  Maybe it’s not about following all of the rules, filling out the right forms, picking the right plan, or learning Greek and Hebrew.  Maybe it’s simpler than that.  Maybe, just maybe, crossing the bridge to God doesn’t require an environmental study.  Maybe it really is all about a Man dying on a cross, saving the world.  That would be …. simply wonderful.

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Coming Into Focus

It’s no secret that I am a big fan of cruises – just look at the name of this blog.  At first, just the activities aboard the ship were enough to keep us occupied.  But after a few cruises there are only so many Newlywed Games and hairy chest competitions that you can see.  The trivia games start to run together, and you come to realize that no matter how many classes you attend, you will just never learn to be good at the Mamba.

One thing that never seems to grow stale is the photography.  Gauntlets of ship photographers click away and capture your picture every few steps.  It becomes a reality show of sorts.  You begin to feel like you carry your very own paparazzi.  Now that we’re cruising veterans, we tend to ham it up for photos that we know we’ll never buy.

All of these photos find a home for display in the ship’s photo gallery.  Hundreds of photographs cry out for attention like puppies at a rescue shelter, all wanting to be taken home with you.  For the entire week, people will hunt through the displays to find the pictures of themselves and their traveling party.  You hear things like, “I look so fat!”, “Henry, why don’t you ever smile?”, “You look like a lobster!”, or even the occasional “Why did you let me dance in the conga line after I had that much to drink?!  And to let them take a picture!”  Of course, when you hear comments like that, you try discreetly to see the picture for yourself.  I wonder if anyone ever buys a picture of a complete stranger.

It was during one of my quests to find fresh photos of my bride and I that I felt God speaking to me.  Sometimes I marvel at the times, places, and situations that He chooses to convey a truth.  As I scanned row after row of pictures, my eyes began to slow their frantic pace.  Instead of glazing over the nameless faces looking only for my own, everything slid into slow motion.  Each photograph stopped me in my tracks.  I saw the photo of the middle-aged couple where neither was smiling, despite the tropical surroundings.  “They’re trying to save their marriage,” was the thought that entered my mind.  Another snapshot captured an elderly couple in the midst of a belly laugh.  “This is the first vacation they’ve taken alone in 35 years,” I thought.  There were pictures of inebriated guests waving theirs drinks.  “They’re searching for something more.”  So many pictures with so many stories.

I don’t know how long this went on, and I really don’t know if my thoughts were remotely close to the real circumstances of the people in the pictures.  But what settled on me as each face passed before my eyes was a thunderous truth.  I heard God telling my spirit, “These are not just nameless faces.  I know every name, every story, every hurt, and every longing.  I love them, just as I love you.”  A flood of emotion swept over me as I realized that I had not seen them as God did.  I saw them as obstacles in my quest to find only myself and my friends.  The guy I saw as a drunk, God saw as a lost child trying to drown his pain.  The couple that I saw as obnoxious, God saw as celebrating His gift of reconciliation to a once broken relationship.

I wondered what God saw when He looked at the photos of me on these racks.  What was my real story?  What secret hurts and longings were not in focus?  But as quickly as I asked myself the question, I knew what He saw.  He saw me as His dearly loved child with all of my flaws, failures, successes, and talents.  Then the words of Jesus burned in my ears, “My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.”

I’ve heard it said that if God carried a wallet, your picture would be in it.  In truth, His wallet would bulge at the seams with the pictures of all His children.  May God help us to see others through the same lens that He sees us.

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