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Failed!

Be gifted of God, even to the highest degree, even with the most excellent of gifts, yet a man will fail, must fail.

Noah, obedient in the most outrageous of commands, indulged in too much wine – and failed. Abraham, a man of extraordinary faith saw the beauty of his wife and the lust of men. He feared – and failed. David, endowed with a heart capable of great love for God, looked elsewhere – and failed. Solomon, in all his wisdom, knowledge, and wealth saw the logical end of all things and despaired – and failed. Elijah, who could call down fire from heaven, who could race across a desert faster than horses and chariots, who could cut off rain from the skies, heard a woman’s threat and feared – and failed.

The list goes on. Name after name of men and women upon whom the Spirit of God rested, who moved in power, yet who fell short or overstepped the bounds.

Jesus came. But men still failed. John the Baptist who saw heaven open and heard the voice of God, in prison, doubted – and failed.

Jesus died. The disciples his. They feared. They failed.

Jesus rose. Still the disciples hid and feared and failed.

Jesus ascended. The Holy Spirit came in power and indwelt the spirits of all the men and women who called upon the name of Christ. Ananias and Sapphira, tempted by greed and an easy path to a good name, lied and died. Peter, who endured scorn and beatings, whose very shadow could bring healing yet at the disapproval of a few withdrew fellowship from his Gentile brothers in the Lord – and failed. John Mark, who stood with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, became discouraged by the rigors of the journey, turned back – and failed.

If the records were opened to human eyes, not one of the great men or women of God, from Peter to this very day, was perfect. The all have, they all will fail.

Why? Why all this failute? Why is there not even one who has stayed true? The Guinness Bok of Records is a compilation of human success. The Bible is a compilation of human failure. Again, why?

So that God may be glorified and no man may boast.

When Satan rebelled, was it not within God’s power to utterly annihilate him and his followers with one word? It was. So why didn’t He? Why not destroy Lucifer before He created Adam and Eve? With no evil one to tempt them would they not have engendered a race of perfect servants and worshipers? Or would one of that race eventually have walked in the footsteps of Lucifer and would such a fall have been an even greater catastrophe?

God will prevail. Satan will be defeated. But the evil one will not merely be destroyed; he will be humiliated. For, it seems, God has chosen to use creatures that in comparison to the devil are pitifully frail and in comparison to God’s righteousness, hopelessly broken, to defeat His enemy.

By this strategy, God’s righteousness, power, majesty, justice, lovingkindness, grace, and mercy will be glorified beyond all measure. The Creator will use the foolish and powerless to vanquish the clever and powerful, to the eternal praise of His name.

So, born-again, Spirit-filled, baptized and anointed child of God, take heart! You are going to fail! How? Take pride in the gifts the Father has given you. Make a name for yourself before the world. Stride confidently in the direction you have chosen for yourself. Your failure, like the collapse of a mighty tower will shake the earth. The anguish and humiliation will be almost greater than you can bear. Reconciliation is still possible, but restoration will be long and slow.

Stay close to God. Seek wisdom. Remain humble before Him. You will still fail. And each failure will pierce and burn like a fiery arrow, even if none but those closest to you ever see the lapse. The closer you are to God the more even the smallest fault will hurt. But He is a God who is quick to heal. Confess, repent, and He will make the broken places stronger. In your weakness, will Christ’s victory over Saten be even more glorious.

Shall we seek out failure, then to advance the glory of God? As Paul says, “may it never be!” Only in the failures that are certain to come, rejoice and take comfort, not despair. Do not lose hope. Do not turn from the discipline of the Father of communion with Christ or the fellowship of His saints. Christ will overcome and your victory will be in Him.

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93 Million Miles

Ninety-three million miles. So distant is the sun from the earth, from me. On a brilliant winter day, the sun streams in bright benediction inviting you to forget the chill outside and enjoy its presence. This day, this moment, nothing presses, at least not with unrelenting urgency, and so you do. Basking in the light, its radiant heat soaks through your skin to your very bones in a relaxing and gentle massage.

Time seems to stop as you daydream or even doze, content and at peace. Suddenly a chill startles you. Even though the room was comfortably warm just moments ago, now an unpleasant coolness creeps over you. The window is no longer filled with the sun’s light and the shadow of its absence is shockingly cold. The sun has moved on and no longer shines fully on you even though the light of day still illumines the room.

But wait! The sun does not move! At least not around the earth. It is the world itself that is hurtling through space, carrying you with it, carrying you away from the beneficent light.

A day comes, a moment comes when you shut the door on the unrelenting, urgent demands on your time. Perhaps it is a Sunday morning at church. Perhaps it’s a weekday as one load is in the washer and the other in the dryer still tumbling damply. Or it’s noon and you’re eating your lunch in the parking lot. You hear in the sudden pause the invitation to sit while in the presence of the Father. And you do.

The time of prayer is sweet and you are rewarded by the knowledge of His presence. For once, you lose yourself in worship and enter the timeless place before the throne of grace. How long? A moment; half an eternity; who knows? But suddenly a shadow strikes a chill that reaches deep into your heart. He is gone!  No. He is not gone. His mercy, grace and lovingkindness still illumine your life. But time and the world have carried you out of that timeless moment of communion and earth reasserts its clammy presence.

The world will do that – sit idle upon the face of the world and it will carry you, first out of the radiance of His presence and eventually even out of the general illumination of His daily grace into darkness. So to abide in God’s presence we must be moving, moving against the rotation of the world – like walking upwards on a down escalator. Pause in our walk and the world sweeps us away.

It is an impossible task, this abiding in the presence of God. Impossible, that is, in our own strength. For we grow weary and sink to the earth in search of rest. But we are not alone. The Holy Spirit lives within the child of God. He gives us power and endurance to follow our Shepherd and King. And He is faithful to lead us to that day when we, once for all, enter into His rest, gazing with adoration, fully, into the eyes and glorious countenance of our God for all eternity.

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Monday Morning Musings

Monday Morning Musings

With the coming of the false dawn, the sky over Jerusalem fades from midnight to cobalt blue. Not a cloud to be seen and the dome overhead is spangled with stars. Along the eastern horizon the true dawn announces its pending arrival with streaks of pink and orange. Just above the city structures glows a pure white dot – the morning star. On any other morning, the rays of the rising sun would wash the out that spot of white. But not this morning.

This morning as the first golden arc crests the ancient city walls, the white dot expands, looming ever larger. Together Sol and the white planet rise together. Is it Venus? No. Instead of the sun overwhelming the dawn herald, the growing white light fades the sunlight until it is no more than a glowing ember, flooding Jerusalem in a light so pure, every living thing falls before it. Continuing to expand, the light moves westward, crossing the Mediterranean Sea, then the Atlantic Ocean, the western continents, the Pacific, Asia, until it connects again with its genesis over the holy city. This illumination is like none other, none since the beginning of time when a voice echoed through all the realms of galaxies and nebulae, “Let there be light!”

The illumination penetrates every room, attic, cellar and cave and all bow before it – some in mortal terror and others in awed anticipation. Unseen, for mortal eye cannot bear it, a Rider comes astride the beam. His mount is white from mane to tail and the Rider? Oh the Rider clothed in iridescence bound in a sash and girdle of red gold, his hair is white, his flesh like polished bronze, his eyes like lightning. And in his upraised arm he holds a gleaming sword. Behind him streams an innumerable army of beings clothed like their leader and armed with swords of power. And behind them host upon host of jubilant souls.

The Rider looks upon Jerusalem. Compared to Him, the golden Dome of the Rock seems tarnished and tawdry. At a glance, it folds in on itself, collapsing until nought but dust remains. The Rider waves his sword and his army surges forward to encounter the writhing forms that spring out of the dust. The battle is brief and the Rider’s foes are soon bound and helpless.

Then he calls out with a voice louder than the roaring falls of Niagara, More musical than chorus of songbirds, sweeter than the sound of flutes and violins – “Let My bride arise!” From every corner of the planet, those who have yearned for this day find themselves lifted, transformed, soaring to join the countless host of souls who followed the Rider.

Then another voice booms forth, “Let the books be opened!” A great rift in space and time tears open. Into it, first the captive spirits the heavenly army has defeated, are thrust. Then every soul, from Adam until this very moment is judged, separated to the left and to the right. With great wailing and fear, those on the left are herded into the rift. When the last of them has entered, it snaps shut. A great tremor shakes the planet. Mountains sink low; valleys rise up. All is covered in green with springs forming crystal rivers and pools. Where once the golden dome stood is a vast and verdant plain. From the glowing sky a city descends, walls of transparent gold, gates of enormous pearls. As it settles gently upon the renewed earth, the angel army surrounds it and the Rider descends and dismounts. “Come!” he calls. “Come, my bride! Come to the marriage feast of the Lamb!”Monday Morning Musings

With the coming of the false dawn, the sky over Jerusalem fades from midnight to cobalt blue. Not a cloud to be seen and the dome overhead is spangled with stars. Along the eastern horizon the true dawn announces its pending arrival with streaks of pink and orange. Just above the city structures glows a pure white dot – the morning star. On any other morning, the rays of the rising sun would wash the out that spot of white. But not this morning.

This morning as the first golden arc crests the ancient city walls, the white dot expands, looming ever larger. Together Sol and the white planet rise together. Is it Venus? No. Instead of the sun overwhelming the dawn herald, the growing white light fades the sunlight until it is no more than a glowing ember, flooding Jerusalem in a light so pure, every living thing falls before it. Continuing to expand, the light moves westward, crossing the Mediterranean Sea, then the Atlantic Ocean, the western continents, the Pacific, Asia, until it connects again with its genesis over the holy city. This illumination is like none other, none since the beginning of time when a voice echoed through all the realms of galaxies and nebulae, “Let there be light!”

The illumination penetrates every room, attic, cellar and cave and all bow before it – some in mortal terror and others in awed anticipation. Unseen, for mortal eye cannot bear it, a Rider comes astride the beam. His mount is white from mane to tail and the Rider? Oh the Rider clothed in iridescence bound in a sash and girdle of red gold, his hair is white, his flesh like polished bronze, his eyes like lightning. And in his upraised arm he holds a gleaming sword. Behind him streams an innumerable army of beings clothed like their leader and armed with swords of power. And behind them host upon host of jubilant souls.

The Rider looks upon Jerusalem. Compared to Him, the golden Dome of the Rock seems tarnished and tawdry. At a glance, it folds in on itself, collapsing until nought but dust remains. The Rider waves his sword and his army surges forward to encounter the writhing forms that spring out of the dust. The battle is brief and the Rider’s foes are soon bound and helpless.

Then he calls out with a voice louder than the roaring falls of Niagara, More musical than chorus of songbirds, sweeter than the sound of flutes and violins – “Let My bride arise!” From every corner of the planet, those who have yearned for this day find themselves lifted, transformed, soaring to join the countless host of souls who followed the Rider.

Then another voice booms forth, “Let the books be opened!” A great rift in space and time tears open. Into it, first the captive spirits the heavenly army has defeated, are thrust. Then every soul, from Adam until this very moment is judged, separated to the left and to the right. With great wailing and fear, those on the left are herded into the rift. When the last of them has entered, it snaps shut. A great tremor shakes the planet. Mountains sink low; valleys rise up. All is covered in green with springs forming crystal rivers and pools. Where once the golden dome stood is a vast and verdant plain. From the glowing sky a city descends, walls of transparent gold, gates of enormous pearls. As it settles gently upon the renewed earth, the angel army surrounds it and the Rider descends and dismounts. “Come!” he calls. “Come, my bride! Come to the marriage feast of the Lamb!”

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Playing God?

Playing God?

I will be among the first to say that modern medicine is wonderful. Without it, I would have been a cripple at age five and dead by age eleven. Thanks to modern medicine, my mother enjoyed an extra 30 years of life and both my elder brothers received several “bonus” years.

But.

Along with the amazing pharmacology and technology of this age’s healing arts comes the responsibility of making decisions. Hard decisions.

I had to make one of those today, and although I know it was necessary, the false guilt lies heavy upon me.

I am guardian of the person for my mother’s youngest brother, my Uncle Robert. I have held this position since 2001, or 23 years. Uncle Robert, who is now 90, was born with Fragile X Syndrome, a genetic disorder that causes developmental disability. Robert grew up a farm boy, loving both his cows and his tractors. Even though he is unable to read or do math, he could take one of those old Ford tractors apart and put it back together again, ready for another season of plowing and harvesting. He now lives in an ideal situation, a community based residential facility (CBRF) that is the family home of his nephews who also are developmentally disabled. There is a caring staff who come in every day to see that he is bathed, clothed, and fed and able to enjoy his favorite activity of driving his golf cart around the property. Although he does miss his cows.  

Robert’s health has been on the decline for the past decade or so, something not unexpected at his age. Two weeks ago my cousin Anne, who sees to Robert’s every day care, called to let me know he was having difficulty breathing. She took him in to his primary care physician and his medications were adjusted. This morning, he fell out of bed and was too weak to stand. He was transported to the nearest critical care hospital in Duluth, Minnesota. There, he was diagnosed with COVID and pneumonia. I have spent my day fielding phone calls from my cousin, Robert’s care workers, and the hospital doctors. I approved a treatment plan, but…

There’s always a but. Uncle Robert may bounce back from this latest health challenge. But he may not. So there were decisions to be made; decisions to not intubate him should his oxygen levels drop and not resuscitate should his heart stop. Decisions that I had to make. A decision to “play God.”

I’ve had to make that decision in the past, for my mother. The hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life was to sit with her for a week in hospice as her body gradually shut down. Sixteen years later I still wonder if I should have fought harder. Some day, I may have to make a similar decision for my younger brother, as I am also his guardian.

I don’t like playing God. For one thing, I am terrible at it. I don’t like the responsibility of holding another person’s life in my hands. That is the reason I never went into the field of nursing, although my mother kept pushing me in that direction.

And yet, ultimately, whether my Uncle pulls through or dies, the final decision is not in my hands. We all will die. And this situation is temporal, one limited to this time and space. Of one thing I am certain. Uncle Robert epitomizes the child-like faith Jesus commends. Though his time on earth may be coming to an end, his time in eternity never will.

So that’s what being responsible for another person’s earthly life is like. But what about being responsible for a person’s eternal life? There is a Scripture passage in the book of Ezekiel, chapter three that is one of the most frightening I’ve ever read. God tells the prophet that a person who is sinning will die for his sins. But if Ezekiel, if you, if I, know that person is sinning as do not warn the person of the consequences of that sin, God will hold us responsible for that person’s blood. If we do warn him and he repents, we will be credited with his salvation. If we warn him and he ignores us, he will suffer the consequences but God will not hold us responsible. Scary, isn’t it?

I am praying Uncle Robert recovers. I am praying that when his time comes God will take him gently without the need for the lifesaving apparatus that fills a hospital room. I am praying that my decisions for his medical care will not be a factor in his entrance into eternity. I do not want to play God. As I said, I am terrible at it.