Lessons Learned From A Waterslide

It’s summertime and that means it’s time for water-parks. So recently I ventured with my niece, nephew, and sister-in-law to White Water.

Our afternoon of family fun moved along with lots of laughing, splashing, and playing in the sun. That is, until I found myself waiting in a line in which the rides to my left and right looked like pipelines surrounded by heavy concrete. While this type of a waterslide was a favorite as a child, I no longer felt drawn to sliding down a tube in utter darkness. To this recovering control-freak, no thank you.

My sister-in-law seemed to notice at the same time. Would this ride be alright for me she wondered. What could I do? The line crowded in behind me closing off any escape. Plus, I wanted my niece and nephew to know that I am in fact a very cool aunt. So while inside a slow panic started erupting, I responded, “Yeah, sure. Besides it looks like only a small part of the ride is enclosed fully.” And then I started praying.

After my anxiety had ample time to swell in line, we finally reached the top. Armed with a double-tube, my excited nephew claimed me for his partner and we begin “boarding” our tube. The ride felt fun the first few seconds. Then the tunnel appeared.

Before I knew it darkness encompassed me. My heart rate quickened. Panic coursed throughout my body. My breathing all but stopped. How long will this uncertainty last? I felt us moving but had no idea where. Would there be a big drop? Would we curve? Would we be in here forever?

Finally light appeared and my whole body relaxed. Just as I felt pleased that I braved my fears, my niece ran up to me and shouted, “That was awesome! Let’s do it again, and this time I get to ride with you!” People really will do anything for the kids they love because I braved the darkness once again. And the second time wasn’t nearly as bad.

Later as I described my experience to a friend, a light dawned in my heart. I realized how this ride exemplified my walk with God in the midst of my present circumstances.

I don’t know the future. I can’t see the next steps. A current pulls me along that I’m unable to maneuver. I have no control. I feel stressed, worried, anxious. I struggle to trust in God’s provision as Jesus promised (Matt 6:25–34).

Yet I hear God whisper, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you” (Is 43:2). He promises to walk with us through, and not necessarily deliver us from, the raging rivers. His presence then is our hope.

Instead of seeking deliverance from darkness, God invites me to lean into the arms of comfort already present. Think of movie scenes in which people suddenly find themselves in an unlit, creepy house at midnight. They usually step toward, and even grab the arm, of the person with them. Dark places, as such, seem to lend themselves to drawing us closer to those around us.

Perhaps you too find yourself in similar times. You need answers but only have questions. You seek direction but get more turned-around. You look for relief but only feel more grief. You long for love but feel lonely. You crave strength but can barely stand.

In the shadowy moments, God offers Himself. Besides that’s what life is, knowing Jesus and His Father (John 17:3). That’s why the disciples constantly experienced joy in the midst of trials, heartache, persecution. They focused on drawing close to Christ. When He’s our passion, the twists and turns of life offer a new joy.

So in our confusion, pain, doubt we can move toward the Person present with us. To the One of whom David writes, “Even the darkness is not dark to You, and the night is as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to You” (Ps 139:12).

Who is Louie, Matt or Francis?

I love Passion City Church. I have followed Louie Giglio for years and when he started a church in Atlanta, I knew that would be my home church. The music is incredible. The speaking passionate and empowering. The worshippers engaged and sold out for Jesus.

So too I am a huge fan of Matt Chandler. Not only am I drawn to his teaching style, the depth of wisdom and the grace of Christ revealed, but I’m inspired by how he responded to his cancer diagnosis. Though I have never met him, I am often reminded of his humble, God-fearing, God-honoring response. It helps me battle my own bouts of bitterness.

And I was first introduced to Francis Chan when a friend sent me a book of his. After reading it, I heard his preaching for the first time, and I was immediately drawn in. His passion, his humor, his vulnerability all drew me, along with many others, to listen and eagerly seek out more of his talks.

Tim Keller is another well-known pastor and author who strengthens my faith. I am drawn to his gospel-centered approach to, not only his teaching, but all of life. The gospel changes everything; Keller helps me understand how.

And how can I forget Beth Moore? I’ve completed almost all of her Bible studies and read many of her books. I love her speaking style, her devotion to Christ, her down-to-earth way of teaching.

So it’s not uncommon for you to hear me throw these names, along with others, around. I often suggest listening to a Matt or Louie sermon. I recommend Beth’s Bible studies. I encourage New Yorkers to attend Keller’s church. I boast how a Francis Chan talk has started to change my life.

But the other day I began to wonder if I, along with others, have begun to cross a line in our praise for these men and women of God. At times our conversations even seem to turn into a type of competition for who is a better teacher, speaker, author, or overall communicator. It's as if we pit our super-hero (of the faith) against our friend's super-hero and see who is stronger. Thinking of this, I was reminded of Paul’s words to the church at Corinth, “For when one says, ‘I am of Paul,’ and another, ‘I am of Apollos,’ are you not mere men? What then is Apollos? And what is Paul? Servants through whom you believed, even as the Lord gave opportunity to each one” (I Cor 3:4, 5).

The reason I am drawn to Louie, Matt, and Beth ultimately has nothing to do with them. Don’t get me wrong. I think they are talented, gifted, graced individuals. But they are not the end. Jesus is. Jesus saves. Jesus heals. Jesus restores. His Spirit empowers. His Spirit transforms. His Spirit moves in our hearts. So it’s not Francis Chan’s talk that is changing my life; it’s the Spirit of Christ in me who is.

While I know we would not intentionally put these men and women in the place of God, if we aren’t on guard as we sing their praises, I wonder if our hearts could elevate them to idol status. I wonder if it could be possible to adore the servant instead of the Savior.

So as we rejoice in their gifts and gladly receive what the Spirit has given them for the building up of the Church, may we ever be mindful that it is not the one who plants nor the one who waters who is anything but God who moves in grace (I Cor 3:7). As Paul summarizes, “So then let no on boast in men. For all things belong to you, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or things present or things to come; all things belong to you, and you belong to Christ; and Christ belongs to God” (I Cor 3:21-23).

Watching and Waiting

“In the morning, O Lord, You will hear my voice; in the morning I will order my prayer to You and eagerly watch” (Ps 5:3).

Most of us pray. Perhaps not as often as we would like or as eloquently as we would like. But still we pray. We petition God. We ask Him to move. We ask Him to intervene. We long for Him to act on our behalf. So we pray for anything from wisdom in relationships to obtaining a job to healing from cancer. We may pray in the morning, we may pray in the evening, in our bed or in our car, sitting down or on our knees. Whenever, however, we send forth our voice into the heavenly realm.

And many of us leave it at that. We say our prayers and then go on with our day or go to sleep. We tend to think of prayer as only the voicing of our requests. But in Psalm 5 David includes another part in his petitioning— watching.

He says his morning prayers, and then throughout the rest of the day David looks for God’s response. More than mere lip-service, as if he half-heartedly believes something will result from his prayer, he comes to God because he believes God will help. He is fully convinced God cares about his situation and more so, that God will do something about it. In an act of faith, he watches, eagerly anticipating His response.

Sometimes I wrestle with watching. There are circumstances in my life in which I plead with God for His active involvement. Most days He seems silent. I see no movement. I receive no response. There are moments (that sometimes turn into days) in which I struggle to believe He will come to my aid.

But the words and actions of David keep me lifting my eyes upward. God may not always give us what we want or respond the way we want. For many reasons, perhaps unknown to us, God may not answer our request as we desire. But sometimes He will. However He moves we can rest in the truth that He is always with us and in every situation, painful or joyful, working for our good and His glory (Rom 8:28). At minimum then we can watch how he labors for these in the midst of our longings.

So what about you? When you pray, do you think He hears you? Are you convinced He cares? Do you think He is able to and will work in the situation?

David concludes his prayer, "For it is You who blesses the righteous man, O LORD, You surround him with favor as with a shield" (v.12). Let his words of faith encourage us to keep watch, believing and hoping in God’s loyal love. And may the Spirit grant us discernment to note the gentle, sometimes subtle, hand of God weaving through the moments of our day.

When Grief Changes God

“Then I said, “It is my grief, that the right hand of the Most High has changed.’” ~ Ps 77:10

Pain often has a way of skewing how we see God. Like storm clouds hide the warm rays of the sun, suffering can overshadow God’s compassion, mercy, love. Some moments it seems to whisper, “God isn’t good.” At other times, it screams, “God has left you.”

Perhaps you have felt, or are feeling, something similar. Sorrow so great that nothing seems to bring relief. God feels thousands of miles away. Perhaps it’s a break up, a job loss, a car crash. Maybe a loved one died, or it’s an addiction you can’t shake, or loneliness that causes your heart to ache. Whatever the cause of pain, it feels impossible to find comfort. You look to God and find nothing. Friends’ words offer no lasting hope. It appears God has fled the scene.

This is exactly what Asaph, author of Psalm 77, experienced. While we don’t know the specifics of his circumstance, it was powerful enough to rock his world. He could find no escape from his sorrow. He laments, “my soul refused to be comforted” (77:2). He wondered if God had stopped loving him. Had God abandoned His people? Had He spent all His grace? Would God no longer forgive, restore, rebuild? Had His anger sapped all His compassion?

But in the midst of the darkness of questioning God’s character, a light began to shine. Asaph awakened to the reality that God does not change (77:10; cf., James 1:17). Rather, it was his despair that had altered his perspective of God.

With this new understanding Asaph consoles his soul, “I will meditate on all Your work and muse on Your deeds” (77:12). He decides to shift his focus from his sorrow to God’s past dealings with him and the nation of Israel. He hoped in the unchanging nature of God. If He showed love in the past, He will show it in the future. If He delivered before, He will deliver again. If He gave good gifts in the past, He will give good gifts once again.

When the storms of life crash on us, we can cling to God’s works in the past. We must refuse to focus on our circumstances. People, places, and times may change, but God’s goodness remains the same. Tears may fall but God still loves. Hearts may break but God still mends. Panic may overwhelm but God still calms storms. Sinners transgress but God still transforms hearts of stone. A terminal diagnosis may come but God still raises the dead.

So when tragedy rattles our world, let’s remember. Let’s lift our eyes to the Rock of all rocks, the One who is sturdy, strong, unchanging. In so doing our souls find comfort, relief, hope. As Asaph says, “Your way, O God, is holy; what god is great like our God? You are the God who works wonders; You have made known Your strength among the peoples” (77:13, 14).

What's The Point?

Many Christians believe the reason for faith in Christ is to rescue us from hell and secure a place for us in heaven. Take for instance the evangelical question posed by many, “If you died today and God asked you why He should let you in to heaven, what would you say?” If you answer anything other than Jesus you’re not getting in. In other words, Jesus is the key to the door of heaven. But I have a problem with this question. It assumes that the point of the Christian faith is heaven, and I don’t think it is.

While Jesus’ work on the cross does deliver us from hell (rescued from God’s wrath) and set us aside for heaven, when we reduce salvation to our eternal destination we miss the point. So why does He save us? Doesn’t Jesus say He came to bring us eternal life?

The problem arises when we equate everlasting life with heaven. Jesus, instead of focusing on a destination, describes eternal life in terms of a relationship, “This is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent” (John 17:3). Even Peter, Paul and the early missionaries didn’t focus on heaven as they evangelized. They didn’t sell Christianity with the reward of heaven. They didn’t say, “Believe in Jesus so you can get to Paradise,” as if heaven is the point.

Instead, Peter says, “Therefore repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away, in order that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord” (Acts 3:19). Sin doesn’t merely keep us out of heaven; it separates us from God. In fact our transgressions severed our relationship with Him. Our sin ruptured the union between us and our Creator. In Christ, though, God takes sin out of the way, nailing it to the cross (Col 2:14).

And because He has a set a day in the future to judge sinners, He beckons us now to repentance, “that [we] would seek God, if perhaps [we] might grope for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us; for in Him we live and move and exist” (Acts 17:27, 28ff). As Paul writes, “God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them” (2 Cor 5:19; italics mine). Knowing God, not entrance to heaven, was, and is, the hope offered.

But I wonder, do we see Him as our reward? Is He the one we long for? What exactly is our motivation for believing in Christ? Is it to get to heaven, or to get to know God? Are we more excited about the thought of Paradise, of some life-long stay at a resort in Hawaii, laying out by the pool, sipping on non-alcoholic piña coladas? Or do we yearn for God’s nearness, to live in His presence, seeing His eyes, feeling His embrace, smelling His glorious aroma?

In Scripture, when the authors write of heaven, they focus, not on its perfection, but rather who resides there. John writes of the new Jerusalem, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is among men, and He will dwell among them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself will be among them” (Rev 21:3). Is heaven perfect? Yes. Is it free of pain, sin and death? Yes. Is it full of utter joy, complete satisfaction and relentless love? Yes, but as David writes, “In Your presence is fullness of joy; in Your right hand are pleasures forever” (Ps 16:11). Heaven is all these things because heaven is where God is.

So we Christians do hope for a future place, not because of the location itself, but because of who lives there. Jesus says, “I go and prepare a place for you. If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am there you may be also” (John 14:2, 3). Jesus doesn’t save us merely so we can enjoy Paradise. He rescues us for Himself.

If in our longing for heaven then we find ourselves yearning for something or someone more than God we miss the gospel. We fail to grasp how good the good news is. Paul says, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Phil 1:21). Feeling torn between evangelizing and leaving this world he further says, “But I am hard-pressed from both directions, having the desire to depart and be with Christ, for this is very much better; yet to remain on in the flesh is more necessary for your sake” (Phil 1:23). Paul didn’t focus on death as a passage to heaven; he welcomed death as entrance in to the Savior’s presence.

So let us examine our hearts. Do we only or primarily say yes to Christ to get out of hell and get in to heaven? Or do we say yes because we’ve tasted His goodness and feel overcome with awe and joy that He mended what our sin tore, that we can in fact know God once more? If it’s anything less than the latter, may we wrestle with Jesus’ words of warning, “Many will say to Me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophecy in Your name, and in Your name cast out demons, and in Your name perform many miracles?’ And then I will declare to them, “I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness” (Matt 7:22,23).

God saves us from an eternity separate from Him; He rescues us that we may know and enjoy Him. I fear for our eternal destination if we’ve said yes to Jesus solely as access inside the pearly gates. For those, contrarily, who come to Christ to gain Christ Himself, count all things as loss to know Him now (Phil 3:8), while eagerly awaiting His return (Phil 3:20) when we will see Him face to face, knowing Him in full (I Cor 13:12).

Something To Talk About

“I too, having heard of the faith in the Lord Jesus which exists among you and your love for all the saints, do not cease giving thanks for you... (Eph 1:15, 16a)”

Their reputation preceded them. News had spread. Paul had heard. Apparently the Ephesians loved in such a way that others took notice. I wonder what they had done. Did they financially support others? Had they clothed the cold, fed the famished, adopted the abandoned? Did they weep with the grieving and dance with the happy? Had they labored to build faith into each other? Perhaps they had done all of this and more. Regardless, Paul, though living many miles away, had heard of their love.

Reading this has me thinking about my own life. Can anyone say they have heard of my love for all Christians? Or even a few? Does the way I love make people talk? It should. But ashamedly, I don’t think it does.

Many of us know that Jesus commands us to love each other, and to do so in such a way that others notice. In fact He says, “By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another” (Jn 13:35). He couldn’t speak any clearer. The way the world will know we follow Him is by the way we love. That means we cannot love from the confines of our homes and with lip-service. We must learn to love those we encounter daily and to do so in deed.

Christ calls us to His way of loving (Eph 5:1, 2; Phil 2:5-7). It’s a self-sacrificing love. It’s a love that requires us to deny ourselves for the welfare and benefit of another. Jesus denied Himself paradise and unbroken fellowship with the Father in order to come to us and take our sins upon Himself. In this same way we ought to love each other. Sadly, I more often deny others love in order to serve myself, to secure my comfort, safety, and money.

But I want to follow Jesus, so I’m learning to lay down my own desires. I’m learning to look at the needs in my church, neighborhood, work, home, and places of play. And as I see, I’m seeking out how I might meet these needs with the resources God has given me. Christ met our need through His death, and He wants us to do the same for each other.

So maybe we deny ourselves a few meals at a restaurant in order to buy ingredients to bake bread for the elderly and lonely people in our neighborhoods. Or maybe we deny ourselves a relaxing Saturday in order to labor for the fatherless in our church by mowing their yard, building a fence, providing home maintenance help. Or perhaps we deny ourselves relaxing in front of the television in order to write encouraging cards or make phone calls to the hurting. If we aren’t denying ourselves for the welfare of another we aren’t following Christ.

And as we love, people will start talking, and more importantly, see Christ. We are mere disciples. We look to and learn from a Master greater than us. The fact that we can love sacrificially testifies to the work of His Spirit in us.

So in this day where news can spread across the world in seconds, is anyone talking about the way you or I love others, especially our family in Christ? If we look at our lives and see a lack of love then perhaps we need to travel down Calvary’s road and meet our Savior hanging on a cross. As we meditate on God’s great love toward us in Christ, let us emulate that same love to the people we work with, sit in pews with, live at home with. Let’s give them something to talk about. How about love?