The Lion's Roar, the Prophet's Word

"The lion has roared; who will not fear? 

The Lord God has spoken; who can but prophesy?" 

-Amos 3:8

When I was 10, there was a lady who was killed by a mountain lion while she was out jogging just a couple of miles from our house.

It was already common knowledge that there were mountain lions in the area--there still are, in fact--and within a week of Barbara Schoener's fatal attack, our dog had been killed, along with several of our neighbors' goats, pigs, etc.

The game changed in an instant, though, when the reality that a jogger could be attacked and killed by one of those cats on a paved jogging trail struck our family and our community in all its undeniable certainty.

In the following days and weeks, our parents told us what we could do if we were to encounter a mountain lion, which consisted of standing up as high as you could, yelling and throwing rocks to try and scare it away. With that knowledge filed away, however, we entertained no false illusions of our invincibility in the face of God's majestic, territorial, predatory cat.

What I don't remember, however is my mom or dad sitting us boys down and telling us to be afraid of the lions. Who needed to be told that? Fear in that sense is the natural reaction to the light of reality.

In the years that followed, the nearby attack was always in the back of our minds. Whenever a wiffleball game went into extra innings and required a twilight walk up the long, gravel driveway, or a moonlit trip to take the out the garbage was interrupted by an unaccounted for rustling in the bushes, the thought of a lurking mountain lion rightly haunted us and reminded us to keep on the alert.

That fear wasn't paranoia, but a right reaction to the light of reality.

So it is when God speaks. The shepherd-turned-prophet Amos plays upon the universally understood lion-o-phobia in each of our hearts when he relates that fearful reaction to a person--in this case, a prophet--hearing the God of heaven speak.

The point is this: When a lion roars, we fear. And when God speaks, a Christian not only hears it, but we in turn speak it.

We Christians need a constant reminder of our innate duty to speak God's word to those around us. As natural as fearing a lion when he roars, that's how knee-jerky God's people should be when it comes to communicating his truth, his self-revelation in his Word.

It's not on us to decide whether or not a message will be well-received, it's on us to deliver the message.

It means when God speaks in his Word about issues pertaining to his glory, his Son, his authority, his creation, marriage, sexuality, sin, holiness, grace and wrath, we not only listen, but we prepare ourselves to then deliver his message to the world he has saved us out of and unto.

Friends, if you are a Christian, you are one of God's spokespersons. He has entrusted us--the church and all who dwell therein--with the ministry of reconciliation through the shed blood of Christ.

He has called us the ambassadors of heaven who beg others to be reconciled to God and taste of God's undeserved grace even as we have (2 Corinthians 5:16-21).

What hinders our witness, more often than not, is an off-kilter version of reality. That is, we fear man's opinion of us more than we fear the Lord of Glory. The lion roars and we don't fear. That's a foolish, deadly reaction to reality.

It's what happens when we blush and apologize at the time to speak for the King of Heaven, and it's deadly. Jesus says it is in Matthew 10:32-33 and Paul says it again in 2 Timothy 2:12.

Let's take God at his word and own up to the reality of his authority, expressed clearly through the pages of Scripture. It's there we find our marching orders, there alone we look reality in the face.

There alone, in the fear of the Lord, we find freedom from the fear of man.

The lion has roared, who will not fear? The Lord God has spoken; who can but prophesy?

The Tale of Two Temples

In all of life and human history, there are only two temples. 

There's the temple where Man Meets God and the temple where God Meets Man. There's Babel and there's Bethel.

They may sound similar, and it may seem like hair-splitting to say there’s a difference, but these two temples could not be further apart.

The first temple, the one where Man Meets God, is constructed at a place called “Babel”, and you can read about that in Genesis 11. 

At Babel, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men gather together to build themselves an enormous tower, with the top of it “reaching to the heavens”. There were a couple of stated goals in the building of this “stairway to heaven”:

• “let us make a name for ourselves”
• “lest we be dispersed over the face of the whole earth”

While these may not seem to be that bad of goals on the surface level, in reality, they are both wicked, awful goals.

Why?

Because they are both declarations of war against God.

God had created man, along with every other thing that exists. He says in Isaiah that he will not “share his glory with another”.

To work so as to make a name for yourself—that is, to build up and accrue your own glory, reputation, honor or fame—is adamantly opposed to the God of Heaven.

And what about that second goal? “Lest we be dispersed over the face of the earth.”

That one seems pretty benign when you first look at it, to be honest with you.

But the fact is that God—both in creation and again after the Flood—had commanded and even blessed man with the words, “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth”.

So, when the workers went to work with their blueprints and their bricks and their mortar, they were openly rebelling against God as their king.

That tower, which God immediately destroyed, is a perfect picture of the temple of Man-Meets-God. But even though the tower at Babel was destroyed, the Man-Meets-God temple is still alive and well.

There’s all kinds of flavors and variations to choose from at the Man-Meets-God temple, and they range from mere religion, which can be summed up as strict adherence to a set of man-made rules, to irreligion, which is a complete absence of rules and morals, and to be fair, is much more common than its ugly step-sister.

But the tricky thing is that, whichever camp you may belong to—whichever end of the spectrum you find yourself on—either way, the Man-Meets-God temple is a mirage, an utter failure. 

The Man-Meets-God temple fails because it refuses to receive God on his own terms, to let him reign as king, to let him define and declare what is most valuable.

The Man-Meets-God temple fails because it tries to back God into a corner or force his hand or, just as bad, to simply cut him out of the picture altogether. 

So, what about the God-Meets-Man temple? 

We get a good picture of what this temple looks like in Genesis 28, at a place called “Bethel”.

The story goes like this: 

Jacob has been a lying, cheating snake-in-the-grass, and he’s stolen both Esau’s birthright and his first-born blessing. As a result of his bamboozling, Jacob finds himself on the lamb from his brother, escaping the land that was promised to his granddaddy, Abraham and his father, Isaac.

But, just as he’s lying down to sleep on the first night of his journey, Jacob has a dream.

“And he dreamed, and behold, a there was a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven. And behold, the angels of God were ascending and descending on it! And behold, the Lord stood above it…”

As the story unfolds, God promises that Jacob will inherit the birthright—even though he stole it. Jacob will have the land, a people, God’s blessing and God’s presence.

When Jacob wakes up, he’s afraid, and he says, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven!”

God comes down at Bethel. It’s where he makes his dwelling place with man and promises to bless and rescue sinners.

Babel is the place where good people go to get better, but Bethel is the place where God interrupts, redeems and changes godless cheaters into God-fearing worshipers.

In the end, Babel was destroyed--quite unceremoniously, I might add--but Bethel only gets better.

In the end, Bethel moves from a place to a person, as Jesus--the Word Taken on Flesh--completes and fulfills what started as Jacob's ladder, the stairway to heaven. It's Jesus who tells the first of his disciples in John 1:51 that they will see heaven opened up and the angels ascending and descending on him. That means access, full and unhindered access between heaven and earth.

In Jesus, those of us who trust him as Savior, obey him as King and treasure him above all else have union with our Creator and access to the very throne of God. 

If you're a card-carrying member of Babel--where Man Meets God--lay down your arms, lay down your bricks and lay down your mortar. Look to the true Temple, Bethel--where God Meets Man--look to him and worship.

Look to him and you'll see God himself.

An Open Letter to Generation Y

Brothers and Sisters of Generation Y,

I'm writing as one Millennial to another. More specifically, though, I have a message for myself and for my brothers and sisters in the Evangelical Church.

I have an old message to convey, but it seems particularly timely as 2012 prepares to close out its first full month. The message is this: Let's not be afraid to pursue holiness.

Right now, authenticity, brokenness, and "just being yourself" are all the craze. We're the generation that is embracing a haphazardly watered-down version of Dietrich Bonhoeffer's "religionless Christianity"--a version which basically amounts to the Outback Steakhouse slogan of "No Rules, Just Right"--but in reality, we are in danger of missing Bonhoeffer's essential distinction between "cheap grace" and "costly grace".

Costly grace, Bonhoeffer said, is what happens when Jesus calls a man "to come and die". Cheap grace, on the other hand, doesn't make any requirements on its recipients to deny themselves, take up their cross and follow Christ, but simply removes sin's consequences and allows a person to continue in the same direction they were headed.

We Generation Y-ers need a constant reminder that Jesus never calls us to be simply authentic, but rather, to freely admit our sin while we turn from it and put it to death.


We of the great Generation Y are quick to criticize institutions--including governments, banking sectors and the church--and we love to lambaste anyone who urges us to live within any set of rules, dismissing them immediately as hypocrites and--our favorite--legalists.

True, many of the legalistic tenancies that many of us grew up with in the church rightly deserve our criticism  and repentance from, such as equating mere Sunday School attendance with genuine piety and substitute cuss words with self-control.

True, the bare trappings of Christianity mustn't be confused with the core of the Christian message--the Good News that Christ came to reconcile sinners to himself by his death and resurrection.

But let's be careful that we don't forget what God in Christ has saved us to. Let's be careful to remember that work that we are called to as God's adopted sons and daughters in Christ.

Let's be careful to take into full consideration the writer to Hebrews' command to "strive for ... a holiness without which no one will see the Lord" (Heb. 12:14). Let's not neglect Paul's command to "work out (our) salvation with fear and trembling", remembering that "God is at work within us, to will and to work for his good pleasure" (Philippians 2:12-13).

Dear brothers and sisters of my generation, myself included, Jesus came not to abolish the Law, but to fulfill it (Matt. 5:17). And shockingly, what Jesus did in the Sermon on the Mount was not to say that we need to obey less of the Law of Moses, but more of it.

The righteousness that is to "exceed that of the Pharisees" (Matt 5:20) consists in an obedience from our hearts to the heart of God. That's why conversion is necessary. That's why we need born again. Not so that we can live unto ourselves, but so that we can "belong--body and soul, in life and in death--to (our) faithful Savior, Jesus Christ", as the Heidelberg Catechism puts it.

Brothers and sisters of Generation Y, let's put aside our battle with institutions, regulations and rituals, and let's begin to do battle with the sin that dwells in our hearts. Let's be a generation of believers who are faithful to "put off" sin and "put on" righteousness, even if those around us deride us as hypocrites and puritans.

Let's accept the world's denouncement as a blessing, remembering that "no servant is above his master" (John 15:20), and let's get about the business of fighting our sin and openly proclaiming the Gospel of the life-changing, life-owning, life-satisfying Savior that calls us his friends.

Let's be a generation of believers who take up the mantle of the eighteenth-century missionary, David Brainerd, who said, "Oh! That I may never loiter on my heavenly journey!"

Let's not be a generation of loiterers and chameleons. Let's be a generation who embraces the costly grace that changes, sanctifies and turns cowards into fearless ambassadors for the King of Heaven.

Yours in the fight,

Jay

Anticipation and Christmas Eve

It's here, my favorite day of the year! And I'm not posting this a day early, either.

No, I'm convinced that December 24th is my favorite all-time date. Today, Christmas Eve, contains all that is right and good about the entire Christmas season. Christmas Eve is all about waiting, expectation and hope.

And unlike the day that follows, Christmas Eve never ends on a down note. Let's face it, even the very best Christmas Day, filled with joy, laughter, movies, games, the best of presents (in both wrapping paper and the kind that come from the oven), ends with a twinge of despair because at the end of the day, Christmas is over.

But not today. Today is Christmas Eve, and it's here in all its hope-filled glory. When tomorrow is over, it's Monday, December 26, as far is it can get from Christmas, but when today is over, it's Christmas.

Today, I'll be waiting (along with Anabelle) for my parents to fly in from Northern California and for Janelle to get off work, then it's back to the house to watch and see the annual fall and redemption of one George Bailey. And who knows, maybe we'll get some card-playing in as a fitting follow-up.

I wish my brothers, sister-in-law and niece could be here too, but as the song says, "one day soon we all will be together..."

As a kid, Christmas Eve was always a stellar day. We'd get going in the early afternoon to visit our aunt and uncle for the evening, and--it seemed like always--on the way home we'd listen to Nat King Cole (or Nat King Smith, as he was affectionately known) bid us a Merry Christmas in song.

Sometimes on Christmas Eve, we'd go see the lights at Dovewood Court, which was a neighborhood almost certainly sponsored by PG&E power company, but we invariably would end up back at home reading the familiar Christmas story out of Luke and making sure Santa and Rudolf had a nice spread when they paid us a visit later on.

Then it was to bed with the three of us, which on Christmas Eve meant that it was to an all-nighter of Monopoly that was consistently--shall we say--monopolized by my older brother, Dusty.

Meanwhile, our dad would be out in the living room, building a presentation fit for Christmas morning, and we'd try and sneak a peak from the hallway every couple of hours. We couldn't wait for the sun to come up, and that time in between first light and 8 o'clock--when we were allowed to wake my parents up--seemed like it would never end.

The hope of Christmas morning, the anticipation, is what kept us up all night, and that's what always made Christmas Eve so special.

All of this hope and expectation is nothing but a glimmer of what must've been coursing through the veins of an old man named Simeon back in Jesus' day. We get introduced to Simeon in Luke 2, when Mary and Joseph take Jesus to the Temple to have him dedicated at eight days old.

Simeon, we're told, is a man who is righteous, devout and he's filled with the Holy Spirit--that is, he's a prophet. But maybe the biggest thing that defines Simeon is that it's said he's "waiting for the consolation of Israel."

In Simeon, we meet a man who embodies the history of Israel in miniature. It's as if we're introduced to the very poster boy of Israel's waiting and longing for a Savior, a Redeemer, a Prophet, a Priest, a King.

Now here's a man who has lived an entire lifetime of Christmas Eve.

But, unlike probably anybody else on the face of the earth, Simeon had lived for ages with the God-revealed promise that, before he went six feet under, he himself would see the Lord's Christ. This old man, filled with God's Spirit, knew that he would one day meet God's Anointed One.

Can you imagine what he must have been feeling when he not only saw, but cradled the Consolation of Israel?  I can still remember the unbridled joy that my brothers and I felt as we discovered our first Nintendo one fateful Christmas morning, and that joy was trumped a hundredfold on Janelle and I's wedding day, then a thousandfold when I first cradled our daughter a year ago.

And he rejoices. With the Christ-child held close to his chest, ol' Simeon blesses God for keeping His promise, not merely to himself, and not even just to Israel, but to the world. At last, Christmas morning has come and Simeon's eyes see the salvation of God, "prepared in the presence of all peoples".

Think about that this Christmas Eve. As you experience even a twinge of anticipation for what's to come, think of ol' Simeon, holding God-With-Us in his withered hands.

Think of ol' Simeon and rejoice, because Immanuel has come to Israel.

Merry Christmas Eve!

Caroling, Caroling

As we darkened the doors at the Schiller Park Rec Center for Sunday worship, twenty minutes late and fighting a collective bad attitude, Janelle, Anabelle and I were greeted by the familiar words of an old carol that at the time seemed more fit to mock us than to draw us to worship.

Thankfully, that song didn't include the first-hand account of a fictitious gift-less child percussionist, nor did it make mention of another child whose lack of financial planning and hazy idea of the resurrection had left him just shy of the price tag for a new pair of kicks to get for his fading mother.

No flame-bearing request was made of a mysteriously unknown French maiden, and Thistle Hair the Christmas Bear was mercifully left unmentioned in the Alabama backwoods.

But it was something entirely un-mockworthy in the song we were singing that really rubbed me the wrong way, as we sang out the words: O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant! O come ye, o come ye, to Bethlehem!

If you don't catch where I'm going with this yet, let me clue you in: When you're so hopelessly late for church that you have to put a Sunday morning spat on the back-burner, the last three words that come to mind when you take stock of yourself are, in no particular order: faithful, joyful, triumphant.

Taken at face value, it's almost as if we, the meager-faithed strugglers and stragglers, were being asked to sing a summons to another kind of person: you know, the faithful, joyful and triumphant. It seems like it'd be hypocritical at best, and self-cruelty at worst, to join in a happy chorus seemingly meant for other people--happier people--and yet, I'm never one to leave a carol un-sung.

So, what do we do with those words? Faithful. Joyful. Triumphant.

It seems like we'd be braggarts to call ourselves any of those three words when we're feeling our best, performing at top-notch spirituality and springing out of bed before the rooster crows to cry aloud with David, "I was glad when they said to me, 'Let us go up to the house of the Lord'!"

But these words seem even more out of place on a day like this Sunday. Would joining in the happy chorus just be lip-flapping hypocrisy? Maybe.

The more I've thought about it this week, though, the more I'm convinced that what my heart needed--and needs at this very moment--is a stout reminder that as I stand and trust in the Jesus I'm summoning myself to adore, I claim His faithfulness, His joy, His victorious triumph.

You see, Christmas isn't a time where we celebrate our own faithfulness, joy and victory, mainly because there is no such thing.

Apart from Christ, we're separated from God, alienated from His presence, strangers to the covenants of His promise, hopeless, godless, powerless rebels who have taken up arms against the King of Heaven, the same King who created us in His glorious image and for His glorious name.

Apart from Christ I have no faithfulness, no cause for joy, and in the end, nothing but crushing defeat. (One great picture of this defeat is found in Revelation 20, where an army led by Satan--an army to which we all belong apart from Christ--gathers and marches to Jerusalem with a full head of steam, only to be immediately destroyed by fire coming down out of heaven).

But because the Word took on flesh and dwelt among us, because of Christmas, and because in dwelling with us, Christ lived the life we should have lived and died the death we should have died, I who am faithless and miserable on my own am declared righteous and faithful by the very righteousness and faithfulness of Christ.

This is cause for joy in every circumstance, because I know that whether I stand or fall, win or lose, succeed or fail, that God in Christ is for me, and that there is nothing--nothing--that can separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus my Lord.

That is my reality today and it is my hope for every future tomorrow. No matter what happens, God stands before me and calls me His child, welcomes me into His embrace and into His family.

And there's no better time than Christmas to remember that we are triumphant--more than conquerors through Him who loved us. Because the baby Jesus grew up, died, defeated death in His resurrection and now intercedes for us before the Father, you and I are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.

He who knew no sin became sin so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him. That means that in Christ, you and I are faithful, joyful, and yes, overwhelmingly triumphant.

So come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.

Many Thanks

Four months into our great Ohio adventure and on Thanksgiving weekend, I figure there's not a more opportune time to get some of the things I'm thankful for out on e-paper. 

So, in no particular order, here's 15 things I'm thankful for...

1. I'm thankful that God has faithfully provided both jobs and great friendships during our first four months in a new city.

2. I'm thankful that, in the shuffle to find gainful employment and means to pay the bills, that we've needed minimal baby-sitting for Anabelle.

3. I'm thankful that, when we have needed baby-sitting, the body of Christ--particularly the Flower and Burns families--have gladly stepped in to fill the need.

4. I'm thankful for Skype, and for the connection Janelle and I are able to have with our families and friends back home.

5. I'm thankful for Rich Mullins, and for words that he wrote to the Lord, such as, "I'm home anywhere, if you are where I am."

6. I'm thankful that, as a great and desperate sinner who has been rescued by faith in the shed blood of Christ,  the accusation of "Hypocrite" can never stick to me.

7. I'm thankful that grace is a free gift resulting in glad obedience, and not a subsidy doled out to nearly deserving hard-workers.

8. I'm thankful for God's gift of mentors and models of His manifold grace.

9. I'm thankful for the quiet and tireless humility that I've watched in a man named Mo.

10. I'm thankful for the intentional, relentless pursuit of souls that I've watched in my friends, Ken and Miss Beverly.

11. I'm thankful for the frighteningly fearless joy I see in my Hawkeye State brothers.

12. I'm thankful that Pastor Bob went door-to-door, inviting the neighborhood kids to Vacation Bible School, and that God blessed his diligence by shedding the light of the Gospel in the hearts of my brothers, my parents and I.

13. I'm thankful that God did a similar work in Janelle's family just a few years later.

14. I'm thankful for my dad and Scott Burns for showing what the Gospel looks like in blue jeans.

15. I'm thankful that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Cowardice, Courage and Pure Religion

All the evidence that I needed to be convinced about man's depravity, my own depravity, was to listen to the news for five minutes this week.

In one week, there's been the Herman Cain allegations and press conferences while entire European economies falling apart. There was a local news report in the last 10 minutes about a dad who repeatedly beat his little girl on the head because she was having a hard time recognizing letters in the alphabet.

But, of course, the dominant story has been the Penn State child sex abuse cover-up scandal.

I honestly haven't been able to stop thinking about the implications that this story brings along to it. You know there's an overwhelming amount to think about when a grown man raping young boys is only the tip of the iceberg to a story.

The incredible, widespread cover-up and enablement afforded to a child rapist--ranging well beyond the university coaches and president, all the way into the local police department and public school district--is staggering, repulsive and literally sickening.

As far back as 1995, police knew that Jerry Sandusky showered with little boys and made physical contact with them, but when he apologized to one of the boy's parents during a police-organized sting operation, the case was closed.

"Sorry I raped and molested your son." Oh, okay, as long as you're sorry... If you weren't sorry, I was really going to be upset... Case closed.

And, when a 28-year-old man walked in on Sandusky raping another boy in 2002, he not only failed to immediately intervene and protect the child, his reaction was to call his dad and wait for the next morning to tell Coach Paterno about the scene.

Lest we give a hall-pass to Mike McQueary, may I remind you that Meriwether Lewis was 28 when he was commissioned to lead the journey to discover the Northwest Passage. Twenty-eight years ought to be enough time to figure out what you're going to do when you walk into that kind of situation.

When I was a kid, my dad told us about a startling, reoccurring dream that he had had. There was a home invasion, and there he was, a man defending his family. What would he do? His response in the dream was to vomit and--in a girly motion--to launch a coffee cup with his left hand toward his attacker.

Now that I have a little family, I understand that scary feeling of being put into my dad's situation and thinking through his scenario. How will I act? Will I wimp out and flail, unleashing the unbridled fury of my Care Bears coffee cup toward my assailant? I don't know.

For that matter, I honestly can't say what I would do if I were in McQuery's shoes. What I can say for certain, though, is that vomiting and throwing a coffee cup like a girl would've been an utterly courageous act in comparison with how he did handle the situation.

I'm being completely serious here. If he had thrown up and dropped whatever he was holding, then took the matter directly to the police, I guarantee this situation would've been over and done with back in 2002. That would've been an utterly courageous feat, and Mike McQueary would've been a hero.

Courage takes different forms in different situations. If all we can muster in the most surprising, terrifying moment of our lives is a pathetic, girly scream, then let's at least belt out the scream and fling our coffee.

We'll be heroes if we do.

And what's more--much more--is that if we don't, we'll be judged, not only by our peers or 12 angry men. We'll be judged by he who keeps watch over our souls.

Proverbs 24:10-12 says all we need to know about this subject. It starts off by making a declaration that I think we can all assent to and identify with:

If you faint in the day of adversity,

your strength is small.

As someone who has a tenancy to literally faint from time-to-time, I can own this passage. It can be my life verse. It's not exactly the most flattering thing I have to say about myself, but, as brother Joel says, "This is my Bible, I am what it says I am."

The next couple of verses give us two commands, which are really one command, and two warnings, which are really one warning:

Rescue those who are being taken away to death;

hold back those who are stumbling to the slaughter.

If you say, "Behold, we did not know this,"

does not he who weighs the heart perceive it?

Does not he who keeps watch over your soul know it,

and will he not repay man according to his work?

As people created in God's image, we bear the responsibility to protect others, who are also made in God's image. We don't get to make up excuses either, because God knows what is in our hearts, and He swears to avenge our unspeakable sin of nonchalance and apathy.

As a person redeemed by my Creator, restored to the Giver of Life through faith in Christ Jesus, I am doubly accountable to the Watcher of my soul. 

Lord, let me never, never excuse myself from obedience to your Word, which involves--at bare minimum--speaking out against evil and abuse around me. Lay my soul bare before the light of your Word, so that I may see where I am abusing your blood-bought grace and forsaking my Savior.

And give me courage to at least do something, anything, everything to protect the helpless around me.

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this:

to visit orphans and widows in their affliction,

and to keep oneself unstained from the world.