Strength out of Weakness

I’ve always had difficulty in dealing with folk whose theology says that if we are spiritual enough, if our faith is strong enough, then either God will keep us from experiencing “bad things,” or, if we have to deal with difficulties, He will respond to our prayers and make things right.

Just recently, after sharing my story with a group, someone reminded me that if my faith was strong, God would answer my prayers. I replied that I, too, believe that God listens and responds to my prayers, but not always in ways I can understand or would choose. I cited the example of Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane when He prayed for the “cup” to be removed. But His prayer was not answered in the way He prayed.

I imagine that some of the Apostle Paul’s opponents in Corinth had the same theology. They valued strength and power and eschewed human weakness. But Paul was aware of his humanity and marveled at how God used his weakness to accomplish His purpose for Paul. In fact, in 2 Corinthians 11:23-29, Paul catalogues his weaknesses and suffering.

He reminds the Corinthians that we live in a broken world and only in heaven will we trade in this vulnerable body for the perfect, pain-free body. In the meantime, God uses the pains of this fallen world as a conduit for the empowering comfort of God. And through this comfort, we are able to comfort and minister to others.

Paul implied that the most difficult of circumstances teach us the most profound lesson of life—that we must learn to depend on God alone, not on ourselves. Paul talks about his “thorn in the flesh” and prayed for its removal. But, at the end of the day, God used Paul’s pain as a channel of His grace and empowerment and to teach him invaluable lessons about life.

So, I’m not ashamed to show my humanity. God knows I’ve demonstrated it over and over throughout life. But, like Paul, I have discovered that my sufferings, my imperfect humanity, have put me in a position to receive divine power. Out of death, I will receive life; out of my weakness comes God’s empowerment.

The temptation for most of us is to hide our weaknesses and boast in our strengths. Yet, Paul would testify that against the backdrop of our weaknesses God’s grace and power shine the brightest.

I am not divine. My weaknesses and lack of faith are all too evident. I am, at times, all too human. But as I embrace my humanity, God is able to bring strength from my weakness. “My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

How can you pray for me? Pray that I will acknowledge my weakness (not as a way of boasting, but a way of being honest) and that I will allow God to use my weaknesses as a medium of His grace and power.

Along the Journey

Easter 2007
The One Who Goes Ahead

In preparing for Easter this year, I have been especially drawn to Mark’s account of the Resurrection. Upon reflection, I was reminded that in the Easter message that I sent out last year, I used the message of the angel in Mark’s gospel: “Now go and give this message to his disciples, including Peter: Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you before he died!” (Luke 16:7, New Living Translation). Though that word spoke powerfully to me last year, I realize it speaks even more loudly to where I find myself this year than it did then.

These past three months have been characterized by enormous changes and uncertainty for Anita and me. Last Easter, we had been through a year of change as we had moved from Singapore and assumed new responsibilities. But that upheaval in our lives pales in comparison to what we face this Easter. In light of these realities, I am struck again with the message of the angel. And that word has been Gospel (good news) for me this Easter.

The prospect of going first into some unknown territory often causes us to hesitate and procrastinate, to hold back, and to wait for someone else to take the plunge. The angel at the empty tomb explained that the risen Christ had served this role: He had gone ahead of the disciples and would meet them in Galilee.

I need that message this year as never before: Jesus still goes ahead of us to prepare the way and to meet us in whatever future, whatever “Galilee”, we find ourselves. Someone asked me recently if I was afraid as I face the future. To be honest, my answer is “Yes.” There is always a measure of fear as one faces the unknown, the uncertainty of what lies beyond death. I know what I believe in my heart, the promise of life everlasting in the very presence of God. And I believe that with all my being and have shaped my life around its assurance. But, at the end of the day, it is an unknown venture, one that I have accepted by faith.

Nobody has been there and then come back to tell us that heaven is a reality, that there is life beyond death. No, that’s not true. Easter tells us that Jesus died, and then was resurrected. He has “gone before us” and awaits us there. That does more than I can possibly articulate to allay my fears and to give me hope.

Listen again to the great promises of the Resurrection:
-- “I go to prepare a place for you, that where I am there you may be also.”
-- “because I live you shall live also.”
-- “those who believe in me though they are dead, yet shall they live. . .”
-- “lo, I am with you always.”
These are the promises that enable me to look beyond the present suffering and sorrow and uncertainty and give me strength to make it through each new day with His companionship.

Easter is all about new life. It is about the one who has defeated the forces of death and in His great love invites us to new life here and now and forever. Be attentive to His call to you in this Easter Season. If you need more proof about the resurrection, the only way you will find it is to take a risk and start looking for signs of the resurrection in your own life.

Jesus will come to you, to your future, and say to you the same thing He has said to so many down through the ages, “Follow me.” Christ is risen and He calls you and me to journey with Him into ministry and abundant living today and forever. Let’s head out to Galilee. He awaits us there. Wherever He bids us come, remember that He has gone there before us and has prepared the way for us. That's the message of Easter. And I can’t tell you how much comfort and hope that gives me.

Jack

Along the Journey 04-05-07

“Gethsemane…from Fear to Hope”

I confess that this year I’ve walked through Holy Week with a different outlook. As I read the events of the week, I find myself on Maundy Thursday in Gethsemane. Several years ago, a group from our church in Jacksonville shared communion in Gethsemane, then sat there quietly, deeply moved by the knowledge that this was where the Savior Himself once knelt, prior to His crucifixion. It’s a beautiful and awesome spot, an oasis of calm. But, figuratively speaking, Gethsemane is a place where no one wants to be. It’s the place where we prepare to die.

But we all have our Gethsemane. It’s not our Galilee, the place of preparation where we learn and grow, and one day return in triumph. It’s not our Golgotha, the place of ending and death. Gethsemane is somewhere in between. For Jesus, for His followers, and for us, Gethsemane is that place in life where you finally know that you are mortal, that death is inescapable, and is on its way.

Gethsemane is that one place in your life from which you can’t go forward, and you can’t go back. All you can do is cry out, “Father, if there’s any way, don’t make me drink it.” For me, on this Maundy Thursday, Gethsemane is that place where I know the end is coming, and I wish, so much like Jesus, that there was some other way.

On that first Maundy Thursday, I find myself with Him on that hillside; in the night, among the olive trees, with a handful of terrified and sleepy disciples. Like the disciples, I have little clue about what’s going on. I don’t know what will happen next, and, quite frankly, I’m afraid to know.

The strangest thing about being afraid is that you can only fear what hasn’t happened yet. When one of my friends from Newnan was told that his biopsy indicated the possibility of a malignancy, but that the final results wouldn’t be in until the next week, he nearly fell apart. He told me later, “I was overwhelmed by the fear of not knowing. After I was told I did have cancer, I was able to handle that much better than the fear of the unknown.” That’s the fear with every Gethsemane: that the worst has not yet arrived, but you suspicion that it’s on its way. And the longer you wait there, the worse it gets.

Three times Jesus cries out in agony to His Father: “Father, isn’t there some other way?” Gethsemane is that place where something in you dies. Your confidence in your own obedience. You finally know how inadequate you are to face life in your own strength. You finally face the fact that you cannot save yourself, let alone anyone else. Only grace will do.

Somewhere on the road from Galilee to Golgotha lies our Gethsemane. No one wants to be there. We pray for this cup to pass, for this trial to be over, this burden to be lifted, this sorrow to be gone. One day this will happen, but in the meantime, our path lies through the olive grove, not around it. Yet if Gethsemane represents our greatest fear, it also represents our greatest hope.

We know that somewhere on the other side of Gethsemane, God raised Jesus from a terrible death. At Gethsemane Jesus confronts the enormity of what lies ahead; there He finds the strength He needs in order to follow through. “Not my will,” He eventually says, “but yours be done.” In much the same way, those who follow Him to this place find that Gethsemane is where God takes the suffering, the failure, the broken fragments of our lives, and chooses to anoint them.

I confess that I’m in Gethsemane right now, gripped by fear, but holding on to hope. And some of you are also there. Wherever you find your Gethsemane, I pray it would be more than a place of darkness and dread. I pray it would also be a place of anointing, a place of discovery, and of yielding to God’s gracious will. May it be for you a place of knowing Christ in His sufferings in order to share with Him the life and resurrection only God can bring. Easter won’t come unless we’ve spent time in Gethsemane. So, no matter what our struggles are, no matter what seems about to crucify us, let us look to the resurrected and living Christ. It may be Thursday night, but Sunday’s coming. We may feel like we’re hanging on a cross, but the resurrection is on its way.

Jack

This I Know - March 26

My personality is such that I like to know, even need to know. I’m not content to live in the dark. I want to know why things happen the way they do. It may be a reflection of low self-esteem or a need to prove my worth, but I have a desire to understand things, to know things, to reason out things. I have even struggled with faith in this regards. I know that faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1), but I like to have empirical evidence. The most honest prayer in Scripture, for me, is “I believe; help my unbelief.”

But through the years, I have discovered that there are things I can’t know, will never know, until I am face-to-face with God.

I have had three different friends, over the past few weeks, to say, “I am troubled by the fact that bad things happen to good people.” Since they voiced this frustration as it related to my cancer, I am honored that they should put me in the category of “good people”! But that is a question that I can’t pretend to answer. God didn’t tell Job His reasons why bad things happen to good people. And He doesn’t seem to be telling us either. There is so much I don’t know.

But during these past few weeks, I have focused on some things that we do know. I want to mention several truths that I have discovered from Paul in the eighth chapter of his letter to the Romans. These are things I know.

This I know: we live in a fallen world: “All creation anticipates the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay. For we know that all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to this present time” (Romans 8:21-22).

God has not promised that we would be spared the brokenness of a fallen world. In fact, it is this common brokenness that binds us together as part of humanity and gives us the hope of wholeness “as a foretaste of future glory…released from pain and suffering” (8:23). I have no right to expect to be spared from the consequences of this brokenness.

This I know: we have a glorious destiny awaiting us: “…what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will give us later” (Romans 8:18). This is the hope that enables me to live in this vale of tears. We are destined for a place of peace and wholeness, a place where the joy will more than compensate for the suffering and unfairness of our current life. This is the grace-note of hope that keeps me going.

This I know: nothing can ultimately separate us from the love of God. Paul says in verses 38-39: “I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels can’t, and the demons can’t. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, and even the powers of hell can’t keep God’s love away. Whether we are high above the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Through these past weeks of uncertainty, fear, anger, and questions, I have never had the slightest question of God’s love for me.

God has not stopped loving me anymore than He stopped loving His Son as He died an agonizing death. Cancer may ultimately separate me from this earthly life, but it cannot separate me from God’s love.

This I know: God uses everything that happens to us, things that He wills, and things that He allows to happen as part of our free will and as a result of the brokenness of our world, to construct His perfect future: “And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them” (8:28).

Do I really believe, even in the midst of cancer that is robbing my very life, that God can bring good, that He can and will use this experience to bring meaning and purpose to my life and to the lives of others?

Yes, I do!

In fact, in so many ways it has already happened. In ways that I don’t fully understand, God is at work.

Do I wish I understood more? Yes. But God has told me enough and I intend to focus on what I know, not on what I don’t know! And I trust that will be sufficient for the journey that lies ahead.

Balancing reality and hope: March 15 - ATJ 3

What’s it like to be told that you have one of the worst types of cancer, most likely terminal, with the possibility of only a few months of life, and with the prospect of intense pain? And to get this word in the midst of life that was moving forward in a wonderful way: family embracing health and success, a love for our work, and excitement for the future?

It’s like being kicked in the stomach, wrestled to the ground, robbed of hopes and dreams.


One of the struggles of the past few weeks for Anita and me has been an effort to balance the reality of what we are facing with hope for the future. We have been fortunate to have friends in the medical professional who have helped us interpret the reality of the severity of pancreatic cancer.

Time and again, over the years, I have seen people confront tragic news with outright denial. Denial has its temporary place in helping us deal with current circumstances, but persistent denial is unhealthy, it blocks the path to dealing in a redemptive way with the situation at hand.

But, from the beginning of my diagnosis, we have talked with medical professionals, researched legitimate websites, and read reams of material about what we are facing. We have looked reality in the face, and it is ugly! At times this has left us devastated and depressed, with little hope.


“As long as there’s life, there’s hope.” That’s the old adage that we’ve heard all our lives.

But the opposite is also true: “As long as there’s hope, there’s life.” Our faith is a hope-filled faith, hope that shines in the darkness of reality, hope that transcends the brokenness of life.

This hope is not a naïve kind of hope, not the Alice in Wonderland--close your eyes--believe anything you want--and it will come to pass kind of hope. Nor is it the kind of hope described by Nietzsche as “the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.”



What is hope? For people of faith, it involves facing the reality of the current situation with honesty and openness, knowing that God is still in charge, that His plans for us are wise and good, and that He will not abandon us in the midst of our struggles.

So, Anita and I have also tried, with God’s help and yours, to balance reality with hope. When I first shared the news with our staff in the CBF office and our field personnel around the world, I told them that I continue to hold on to the prospect of a miracle. My God is a miracle worker--but my faith is not dependent on Him performing a miracle. So many of you have responded that while you agree with my theology, you are praying for a miracle! And so am I!

And that’s part of the hope that has helped balance the reality of what I’m facing. But the other part of the equation has to do with hope that is not temporal, but eternal. I am confident, with the Apostle Paul, that “the one who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ” (Philippians 1:6).

I’m also convinced, with Paul, that if our hope is for this life only, we are among all people most miserable. And so, my definition of hope has moved beyond my being healed today to a more eternal dimension.


So, here I am: acknowledging the severity of the medical challenges I face, but with my hand tightly in the hand of God, holding on to and being held by the hope He instills. Hope has become “the anchor of [my] soul, both sure and steadfast” (Hebrews 6:19).

Is it easy? Not at all. But, for me, today, it is enough!




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Thursday, March 8, 2007

Along the Journey (2)—03-08-07

Maltbie Davenport Babcock was a Presbyterian clergyman and moralistic writer from the latter half of the 19th century (1858-1901). He wrote the lyrics to a hymn that became one of my favorites as a boy: This Is My Father’s World. I recently came across a profound thought from Babcock that spoke to me in the midst of my journey. He wrote:

“Life is what we are alive to. It is not length, but breadth. To be alive only to appetite, pleasure, pride, money-making, and not to goodness and kindness, purity and love, history, poetry, music, flowers, stars, God and eternal hopes, it is to be all but dead.”

And so the question for each of us is, “To what are you alive?”

The world would convince us that we need to be alive to the appetites of the flesh—possessions, fame, fortune, pleasure. But Jesus reminds us that these are temporal and ultimately not satisfying, that one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.

In the words of Babcock, the things that really bring life to our living are “…goodness and kindness, purity and love, history, poetry, music, flowers, stars, God and eternal life.”

I’ve asked myself, during these past few weeks, “To what am I alive?” I should have been asking this question throughout the years, and in some ways, I suppose I have. The Scripture tells us that we were dead in our old life of sin, but God, through His Son, has made us alive! Alive to what? To the life of the Spirit, to love and kindness, to gentleness and peace, to the beauty of “My Father’s world,” to joy and hope, to grace and forgiveness, to all that is good and gracious, to trust and relationships. In short, we are made alive to the very life of God.

So many of us sleep-walk through life, unaware of the richness of God’s world, of the gifts given to us by God, of the transforming power of relationships. I’m claiming afresh my desire to embrace the breadth of life, not just its length, to be alive to each moment, each gift, each relationship, and to the eternal hope instilled by God.

Join me in this quest to be alive!

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Thursday, March 1 2007

My usual routine early each morning involves walking from our townhouse to the small shopping center a half-mile away, buying a copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and consuming it along with a cup of coffee in a little sitting area. A bit of graffiti on a wall along the route has caught my attention several times: “There is but one question in life: What is real?”

On more than one occasion I have pondered that question. Over these past few weeks I have rediscovered an answer to that question—one that I had learned long ago. One of the things that are real is relationships. From the beginning God told us that “it is not good for human-kind to be alone.” God created us to live in relationship to others, and when relationships are absent, life is not complete.

We are family, community. At least, that’s the way we were created to live.Over these past few weeks, I have rediscovered afresh this truth in significant ways. As I look back over my life, the thing that stands out is not who I am or what I have accomplished; the most significant thing to me is the relationships that have shaped who I am and have enabled me to do what I have done.


The premier relationship is my life is my relationship with God. God has become more than some celestial being, far removed. God has become Friend, Companion, the One whose presence has shaped my life, provided meaning, and given me the strength for living. And that relationship has been strengthened as I have walked through the current dark chapter in my life.


Second only to my relationship with God is my relationship with my family. I have often said that aside from the transforming and redeeming relationship with God, my relationship with Anita, Stephanie, Charley, and the others members of my nuclear family has been God’s greatest gift to me. We are a family flawed like other families, but there has been, and is, a bond of love that has shaped who I am, has encouraged me, and has taught me the deepest meaning of life. And that bond has been strengthened over these past few weeks. I grieve at the pain my illness has brought to their lives, but without them I couldn’t exist.


Finally, I have been overwhelmed by the relationships I enjoy with a wide circle of friends, friends who are more like family than anything else. I have always valued the friendships developed over the years. But I have been humbled at the number of friends who have been in touch over the past few weeks. I have heard from friends old and new, friends with whom I stay in touch and friends from whom I have been separated by time and distance.

I have heard from people whom I served as youth minister nearly forty years ago, as well as numerous others who were members of congregations I served, colleagues in ministry, and people from community and civic life. Their comments about our relationships have brought tears to my eyes and a song to my heart. Over and over I have said to Anita, “I had no idea he/she felt this way about me.” And I have been reminded that, too often, I have failed to share my feelings of love and appreciation with them.


Tom Rath points out in his book Vital Friends: “Friendships add significant value to our marriages, families, work, and lives. At some level, everything we see and feel is the product of a personal relationship. Look around you and see if you can identify anything created in true isolation. After pondering this for a few moments, you might notice how dependent we are on connections with other people. Remove relationships from the equation, and everything disappears." (p.16)

If friendship and personal relationships are so vital to our well being and our humanity, we would be wise to invest time to intentionally cultivate and nurture friendship in our families, churches and offices and in our other social networks.


What is real? For me, relationships! I give thanks to God for each one of you, the rich relationships we share, and for your willingness to stand with us in this time of need.I want you to know that I love you and give thanks to God for our relationship. And that’s real!





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