You may be familiar with the verse "No weapon that is fashioned against us will succeed" (or stand, or prevail or prosper, depending on your translation). It's used in a line in more than one Christian song, and it often gets quoted or prayed in situations where the church or individuals within the church feel under attack from other people or evil. And it is a Biblical promise. But I came across this verse this morning as I was reading Isaiah, and was struck by how much richer this promise is in its original context (not sure why I was surprised though; this is usually the case with one-liners from the Bible). I've generally thought of this concept of weapons not being able to stand against us as being simply of the "Our God is greater, our God is stronger, God you are higher than any other" kind of assurance. And the element of God being more powerful than any weapon and therefore able to stop any weapon is, of course, true and biblical. But there's more to it than that. God is not just more powerful than any attack against his people.
This little well-quoted portion of a verse comes, first of all, in the larger context of Isaiah 51-55, which is all about God's redemption of his people by means of the "Suffering Servant" of Isaiah 53, the Saviour who was pierced for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquities. In Isaiah 51, in the context of outlining God's redemption of his people, Isaiah speaks for God saying, "My salvation will be forever, and my righteousness will never be dismayed... Fear not the reproach of man, nor be dismayed at their revilings... I, I am he who comforts you; who are you that you are afraid of man who dies?" Paul, looking back at Isaiah from the perspective of Jesus' completed work at the cross, puts it this way in Romans 8: "What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?..."
So God is not just more powerful than evil forces and people, he has also shown his absolute commitment to the salvation and protection of his people at the cross of Jesus, and therefore we need not fear. But there is more. This is the immediate context:
"Behold, I have created the smith
who blows the fire of coals
and produces a weapon for its purpose.
I have also created the ravager to destroy;
no weapon that is fashioned against you shall succeed,
and you shall confute every tongue that rises up against you in judgment.
This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord
and their vindication from me, declares the Lord."
In Isaiah's flow of thought, those weapons don't come out of nowhere, and they don't come from forces that swirl uncontrolled (but less powerful than God) somewhere out there. God says that he is the creator of both the weapon-maker ("the smith" who makes a weapon for a designated purpose) and the weapon-wielder ("the ravager"). And if he creates them both, then as his creations, they are fully subject to his authority and will. It is not the case that God fights on our behalf against less powerful, but fully-autonomous forces of evil out there. He fights on our behalf against less powerful and ultimately subordinate creatures that as Creator, he knows inside and out and controls for his purposes. And if the smith and the ravager are created by the same powerful God who calls us his people and willingly gave up his Son for us, how could their weapons possibly prevail against us?
Monday, May 26, 2014
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Great Expectations
I've noticed over the years that Mother's Day is not always such a happy day for me. It started my first Mother's Day, when I woke up boiling with fever and spent the day in bed with my 8 week old. (Of course, it wasn't completely awful; she had just slept through the night for the first time!) And since then, there haven't been so many Mother's Days when I felt relatively relaxed and well-cared-for, able to enjoy a care-free, (mostly) trial-free day.
But Not-So-Happy Mother's Days are not the fault of my family. I get cards, I get help around the house, I get thoughtful gifts (whatever the wallet can manage, and sometimes beyond!). I'm pretty sure that these Not-So-Happy Mother's Days are actually the fault of me, myself and I. Or rather, of my own expectations. My problem is not that things are any worse on this one day of the year than on the others. My problem is my perspective.
There is something about any "appreciation day" that inspires selfish expectations in us. When there is a day on the calendar that gives honour to my role (or my birth, for that matter), my tendency is to assume that others should give me my due honour, and make the day worthy of me and my fantastic, awe-inspiring abilities and service toward those around me. But beyond the sinfulness of these selfish thoughts (though that were enough to condemn me), what I don't tend to realize is that such expectations are a recipe for disaster. When I set a standard in my own mind for what others should do for me or what a day should look like, anything less than my standard immediately looks like an abysmal failure. It won't really matter if my kids spend time on precious homemade cards with sweet messages in choppy handwriting if they don't also follow my (unspoken!) expectation that they stay quiet as little mice until at least 9 am so I can get a nice sleep-in on "my" special day. If my husband makes me breakfast, but doesn't clean up quite so nicely as I would prefer, breakfast in bed becomes a reason to grumble, not to rejoice. And if my standard is that the day be trial-free, even the smallest of trials (and doesn't every day have some?!) will easily seem to be much larger than it actually is. Take my fever, even. I've been sick plenty of other days that I don't recall the dates of. Why do I remember that one? Because it was supposed to be MY day.
Actually, that first Mother's Day is a good case in point. God gave me the oh-so-gracious gift of a full, unbroken night of sleep which I desperately needed, and which, had I had Facebook at the time, would have inspired an excited all-caps status all about the wonders of 9 straight hours of lost consciousness. But instead, because I was sick, and it was Mother's Day, I got stuck in the doldrums of "poor old sick motherly me". I forgot to keep my mind on what was worthy of gratitude and let it sit on my unmet expectations instead.
Do you have great expectations this year? Are you looking for ways that others can serve and appreciate you, or are you keeping your eyes low to the ground, recognizing that you deserve the worst--not just a noisy morning and a messy kitchen, but hell itself, remembering that despite what you really deserve, you have been shown incomprehensible mercy and grace in the person of Jesus, that you have been given the gift of life and piles of other undeserved gifts. I don't want the happiness of Mother's Day (or any other day) to be dependent on what others do for me, on how few troubles the day has, on how much time I'm able to spend doing what I want to do. Rather, I want to have that mind which is ours in Christ Jesus, who though he was in the form of God, did not consider equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. (No breakfast in bed there!) And it's because of his humility and obedience--not because he clamoured for it or demanded it--that God has exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:2-7)
The day is coming when all our earthly crowns--mothering crowns included--will be laid at the feet of the One who laid aside his crown for us, and there will be no thought for what others should do for our honour, but only what we might do for the honour of our Lord. And in the face of this, even the worst of Mother's Days can be joy-filled ones! How will I live this Mother's Day, and all my other days, with this great expectation?
__________________________________________________________________
Another link on having a happy Mother's Day from GirlTalk
There is something about any "appreciation day" that inspires selfish expectations in us. When there is a day on the calendar that gives honour to my role (or my birth, for that matter), my tendency is to assume that others should give me my due honour, and make the day worthy of me and my fantastic, awe-inspiring abilities and service toward those around me. But beyond the sinfulness of these selfish thoughts (though that were enough to condemn me), what I don't tend to realize is that such expectations are a recipe for disaster. When I set a standard in my own mind for what others should do for me or what a day should look like, anything less than my standard immediately looks like an abysmal failure. It won't really matter if my kids spend time on precious homemade cards with sweet messages in choppy handwriting if they don't also follow my (unspoken!) expectation that they stay quiet as little mice until at least 9 am so I can get a nice sleep-in on "my" special day. If my husband makes me breakfast, but doesn't clean up quite so nicely as I would prefer, breakfast in bed becomes a reason to grumble, not to rejoice. And if my standard is that the day be trial-free, even the smallest of trials (and doesn't every day have some?!) will easily seem to be much larger than it actually is. Take my fever, even. I've been sick plenty of other days that I don't recall the dates of. Why do I remember that one? Because it was supposed to be MY day.
Actually, that first Mother's Day is a good case in point. God gave me the oh-so-gracious gift of a full, unbroken night of sleep which I desperately needed, and which, had I had Facebook at the time, would have inspired an excited all-caps status all about the wonders of 9 straight hours of lost consciousness. But instead, because I was sick, and it was Mother's Day, I got stuck in the doldrums of "poor old sick motherly me". I forgot to keep my mind on what was worthy of gratitude and let it sit on my unmet expectations instead.
Do you have great expectations this year? Are you looking for ways that others can serve and appreciate you, or are you keeping your eyes low to the ground, recognizing that you deserve the worst--not just a noisy morning and a messy kitchen, but hell itself, remembering that despite what you really deserve, you have been shown incomprehensible mercy and grace in the person of Jesus, that you have been given the gift of life and piles of other undeserved gifts. I don't want the happiness of Mother's Day (or any other day) to be dependent on what others do for me, on how few troubles the day has, on how much time I'm able to spend doing what I want to do. Rather, I want to have that mind which is ours in Christ Jesus, who though he was in the form of God, did not consider equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. (No breakfast in bed there!) And it's because of his humility and obedience--not because he clamoured for it or demanded it--that God has exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:2-7)
The day is coming when all our earthly crowns--mothering crowns included--will be laid at the feet of the One who laid aside his crown for us, and there will be no thought for what others should do for our honour, but only what we might do for the honour of our Lord. And in the face of this, even the worst of Mother's Days can be joy-filled ones! How will I live this Mother's Day, and all my other days, with this great expectation?
__________________________________________________________________
Another link on having a happy Mother's Day from GirlTalk
Monday, May 05, 2014
Hearing the Story With New Ears
"A long time ago, there was a very real man named Jesus, who was also really God, but for many years, he lived on this earth with people like you and me, and was a real live person like you and me... except that unlike you and me, he never, ever did anything bad or wrong. All of his life, he was kind and good and caring and faithful and obedient. But there were people who didn't like him and they wanted to kill him."
I'm telling the Easter story to a group of children, some of whom have heard it many times before and others of whom have never heard it at all.
"Have you ever had a friend or someone who said they loved you, but then they did something that hurt you or made you sad?" Most of the heads nod. "Jesus had friends like that, too. One of them, Judas, wanted to get some money, so he went and told the men who wanted to kill Jesus exactly where they could find him. Jesus knows what it's like to have friends who turn their back on you and hurt you.
"Or has anyone ever made fun of you?" More nodding. "Before the people went to have Jesus killed, they mocked him and teased him because he said he was the King. And even though he really was the King, they thought it was ridiculous, so they made him wear a pretend robe and put a crown--only it was made of thorns--on his head and made him march in front of all the townspeople. Jesus knows what it's like to have people laugh at you, even when you're not doing anything wrong."
One little boy, very concerned, pipes up. "But is Jesus dead now?"
"Hold on," I say. "We're not done with the story... So the soldiers took Jesus and they put him up on a cross. Do you know what a cross is?"
The kids who have heard this story before all say, "Yes." Among the kids who haven't, there is some confusion until I describe it a little and one of them says, "Is that like in Pirates of the Caribbean where those guys are hanging in the background?"
Um, possibly. I have yet to be able to sit through that film. But on I go to describe what happens next. The kids who are familiar with Good Friday don't bat an eye. But I am becoming acutely aware, as I briefly and without great detail reference the nails, the spear, the blood, the agony, that this story is hitting the new kids differently. I am beginning to realize just how horrid this story is. There is no G rating on the Easter narrative. When Jesus finally dies, a girl says, "Do I have to keep listening? This story is scary. And sad." Yes, dear, yes it is.
I have heard the story of Easter countless times. I have told it over and over again. But it's not often that I've been so aware of the darkness of the cross. Rarely have I really felt the confusion over this act of violence against God, against a good man, against a man who understands our deepest griefs and carries our sorrows. And never before have I felt such joyful relief as I arrive at the part of the story when I get to tell the kids that the tomb was EMPTY. That this man who died for our sins though he was sinless, this man who really and truly sympathizes with our pain and weakness, is no longer dead. He was dead, but he is not dead now. He is very much alive and his righteousness is very much ours who believe in His name!
Year after year, month after month, day after day, we reference the cross and the empty tomb. We hear it in sermons, we read it in books, we tell it amongst ourselves. And it can become stale. We can be like the kids who've heard this one a thousand times. Oh yes, Easter. When we celebrate how Jesus died on the cross and rose again. Wait. What?!
I don't want to lose the childlike view of the agonizing old rugged cross, nor the childlike wonder at the resurrection. I want more opportunities to see the story of Easter through the lens of a person who has never heard such a story before, through a child who sees the darkness of it and can't help but jump for joy at the ending (which is really a new beginning). And while I can't ever hear it again for the first time in reality, maybe my own ears can hear it in a fresh way if I keep telling it to those who haven't yet heard.
I'm telling the Easter story to a group of children, some of whom have heard it many times before and others of whom have never heard it at all.
"Have you ever had a friend or someone who said they loved you, but then they did something that hurt you or made you sad?" Most of the heads nod. "Jesus had friends like that, too. One of them, Judas, wanted to get some money, so he went and told the men who wanted to kill Jesus exactly where they could find him. Jesus knows what it's like to have friends who turn their back on you and hurt you.
"Or has anyone ever made fun of you?" More nodding. "Before the people went to have Jesus killed, they mocked him and teased him because he said he was the King. And even though he really was the King, they thought it was ridiculous, so they made him wear a pretend robe and put a crown--only it was made of thorns--on his head and made him march in front of all the townspeople. Jesus knows what it's like to have people laugh at you, even when you're not doing anything wrong."
One little boy, very concerned, pipes up. "But is Jesus dead now?"
"Hold on," I say. "We're not done with the story... So the soldiers took Jesus and they put him up on a cross. Do you know what a cross is?"
The kids who have heard this story before all say, "Yes." Among the kids who haven't, there is some confusion until I describe it a little and one of them says, "Is that like in Pirates of the Caribbean where those guys are hanging in the background?"
Um, possibly. I have yet to be able to sit through that film. But on I go to describe what happens next. The kids who are familiar with Good Friday don't bat an eye. But I am becoming acutely aware, as I briefly and without great detail reference the nails, the spear, the blood, the agony, that this story is hitting the new kids differently. I am beginning to realize just how horrid this story is. There is no G rating on the Easter narrative. When Jesus finally dies, a girl says, "Do I have to keep listening? This story is scary. And sad." Yes, dear, yes it is.
I have heard the story of Easter countless times. I have told it over and over again. But it's not often that I've been so aware of the darkness of the cross. Rarely have I really felt the confusion over this act of violence against God, against a good man, against a man who understands our deepest griefs and carries our sorrows. And never before have I felt such joyful relief as I arrive at the part of the story when I get to tell the kids that the tomb was EMPTY. That this man who died for our sins though he was sinless, this man who really and truly sympathizes with our pain and weakness, is no longer dead. He was dead, but he is not dead now. He is very much alive and his righteousness is very much ours who believe in His name!
Year after year, month after month, day after day, we reference the cross and the empty tomb. We hear it in sermons, we read it in books, we tell it amongst ourselves. And it can become stale. We can be like the kids who've heard this one a thousand times. Oh yes, Easter. When we celebrate how Jesus died on the cross and rose again. Wait. What?!
I don't want to lose the childlike view of the agonizing old rugged cross, nor the childlike wonder at the resurrection. I want more opportunities to see the story of Easter through the lens of a person who has never heard such a story before, through a child who sees the darkness of it and can't help but jump for joy at the ending (which is really a new beginning). And while I can't ever hear it again for the first time in reality, maybe my own ears can hear it in a fresh way if I keep telling it to those who haven't yet heard.
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