Of Whom The World Was Not Worthy

Standing with the persecuted church

"Others were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection. Still others had trial of mockings and scourgings, yes, and of chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were tempted, were slain with the sword. They wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented - of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains, in dens and caves of the earth." 

- Hebrews 11:35-38, NKJV

   

   Over the last week beginning November 4th with the International Day of Prayer [1], Willingdon Church participated in a week of prayer for persecuted Christians worldwide. At the culmination of this last week, we had the privilege of hearing Reverend Paul Johnson, Executive Director of Open Doors Canada [2] preach at Willingdon's sunday service today. I was fortunate to have the chance to have a long personal conversation with him after everyone had gone home.

    Much of what we talked about that was close to our own hearts - missions, evangelism, theology, truth, suffering, life, faith, practice, sacrifice, purpose - reminded me of my own convictions in post I had written a week or two ago, "To The Last Drop of Blood." In the process, I was also reminded of the verses of Hebrews 11:35-38 that I've quoted above.

   All of these challenge me once more as I examine my own life and conscience. I am reminded of my priorities and "first things", as one life among many others that have been called, more than an organization - a family. I am reminded that as much as my life and purpose are precious to God, so are those of others that form His church, of whom it is said, "a great multitude which no one could number, of all all nations, tribes, peoples and tongues." Where then, are my thoughts and concern for them, in the midst of all that crowds into my life clamouring for my attention? I was convicted by Rev. Johnson's observation during his sermon, that he found his own prayer life in want of fervor and discipline in comparison to those fellow believers whom he has encountered of the persecuted church around the globe. Is too much comfort and too little devotion slowly asphyxiating me? 

   I was also reminded by my Bible that while I am often found living my life in silent contemplation of my own "bubble world", a great cry has been heard in heaven. Blood cries out from the ground and voices have not been silent in heaven, of those whose blood has been spilt on account of the Christ they have followed, because they " did not love their lives, even unto death" :

"...I saw under the altar, the souls of those who had been slain for the word of God and for the testimony which they held. And they cried with a loud voice, saying 'How long, O Lord, holy and true, until You judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?" - Revelation 6:9-10, NKJV

While the blood and voices of the slain cry out on their own behalf,

why is mine not heard on behalf of the church that is being dragged to the slaughter?

And when asked of me, am I willing to join them?

     "Watch and pray," Jesus said, "lest you enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." Just as I am in desperate need of the good news of the Gospel preached to me everyday while struggling along the path of sanctification, so too do I need a daily reminder of what that entails in my life as part of the larger family in which I find myself:

"Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnared us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." - Hebrews 12:1-2, NKJV

- The Wisdom Seeker

REFERENCES:

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[1] International Day of Prayer

[2] Open Doors Canada

Seeing The Crucifixion Again - For The First Time

  Holy Week is coming to an end. As I reached Good Friday and the events of the crucifixion, I wanted to understand it better. I wanted not to be caught up with the familiarity of routine, and lose the impact of the grim reality of what happened on Calvary more than 2000 years ago. I came across the following excerpt from "When God Weeps" by Steven Estes and Joni Eareckson Tada. Their little description is all I want to share today, keeping in mind what one author said - "As we draw close, don't assume that you already know or understand what happened there. Come to the Cross as if for the first time....as you read, refuse to let the scene be familiar. Let its reality shock you and break your heart." Here we go:

   "The face that Moses had begged to see - was forbidden to see - was slapped bloody (Exodus 33:19-20). The thorns that God had sent to curse the earth's rebellion now twisted around his own brow...

   'On your back with you!' One raises a mallet to sink in the spike. But the soldier's heart must continue pumping as he readies the prisoner's wrist. Someone must sustain the soldier's life minute by minute, for no man has this power on his own. Who supplies breath to his lungs? Who gives energy to his cells? Who holds his molecules together? Only by the Son do "all things hold together" (Colossians 1:17). The victim wills that the soldier live on - he grants the warriors continued existence. The man swings.

   As the man swings, the Son recalls how he and the Father first designed the medial nerve of the human forearm - the sensations that it would be capable of. The design proves flawless - the nerves perform exquisitely. 'Up you go!' They lift the Cross. God is on display in his underwear and can scarcely breathe.

   But these pains are a mere warm-up to his other and growing dread. He beings to feel a foreign sensation. Somewhere during this day an unearthly foul odor began to waft, not around his nose, but his heart. He feels dirty. Human wickedness starts to crawl upon his spotless being - the living excrement from our souls. The apple of his Father's eye turns brown with rot.

   His Father! He must face His Father like this!

   From heaven the Father now rouses himself like a lion disturbed, shakes his mane, and roars against the shriveling remnant of a man hanging on a cross. Never has the Son seen the Father looking at him so, never felt even the least of his hot breath. But the roar shakes the unseen world and darkens the visible sky. The Son does not recognize these eyes.

   'Son of Man! Why have you behaved so? You have cheated, lusted, stolen, gossiped - murdered, envied, hated, lied. You have cursed, robbed, overspent, overeaten - fornicated, disobeyed, embezzled, and blasphemed. Oh the duties you have shirked, the children you have abandoned! Who has ever so ignored the poor, so played the coward, so belittled my name? Have you ever held your razor tongue? What a self-righteous, pitiful drink - you, who molest young boys, peddle killer drugs, travel in cliques, and mock your parents. Who gave you the boldness to rig elections, foment revolutions, torture animals, and worship demons? Does the list never end! Splitting families, raping virgins, acting smugly, playing the pimp - buying politicians, practicing exhortation, filming pornography, accepting bribes. You have burned down buildings, perfected terrorist tactics, founded false religions, traded in slaves - relishing each morsel and bragging about it all. I hate, loathe these things in you! Disgust for everything about you consumes me! Can you not feel my wrath?'

   Of course the Son is innocent. He is blamelessness itself. The Father knows this. But the divine pair have and agreement, and the unthinkable must now take place. Jesus will be treated as if personally responsible for every sin ever committed.

   The Father watches as his heart's treasure, the mirror-image of himself, sinks drowning into raw, liquid sin. Jehovah's stored rage against humankind from every century explodes in a single direction.

   'Father! Father! Why have you forsaken me?!'

   But heaven stops its ears. The Son stares up at the One who cannot, who will not reach down or reply.

   The Trinity had planned it. The Son endured it The Spirit enabled him. The Father rejected the Son whom he loved. Jesus, the God-man from Nazareth, perished. The Father accepted his sacrifice for sin and was satisfied. The Rescue was accomplished." [1]

   I hope this little excerpt will help you see the Cross with new eyes, as it has helped me. I did this to Jesus; my sins sent Him there. My sins put the nails in his wrists and feet. My sins drove the crown of thorns into His skull, and the spear into His side. But Jesus took this punishment for me, because He passionately loved me. And because of His perfect sacrifice, I'm free. Praise God.

- The Wisdom Seeker

REFERENCES:

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[1] "When God Weeps" - Steve Estes and Joni Eareckson Tada

Humbled By Humility

"...before honour is humility." - Pr. 15:33b, NKJV

   I've just settled down for the evening with my ESV study Bible and some devotional books as I try to keep tracking and immersing myself in the events of Holy Week. Yesterday's readings in the Gospels gave me much to contemplate regarding God's meticulous planning and sovereignty over the events of history, as I thought about the gathering of actors and the setting of the stage for the events leading up to Christ's passion [1]. 

   According to the timeline of the events that have been put together of Christ's final week [2], people in Jerusalem (including Jesus' disciples) have been busy during the day making preparations for the Passover, which begins at sunset. The temple has been extremely busy during the day as lamb after lamb has been sacrificed - some historical estimates place the number around a quarter of a million animals sacrificed for Passover during Christ's time. The disciples have roasted the lamb, and prepared various side dishes for the meal (including bread). They have also prepared the room for celebrating this important meal in their yearly calendar. All Israel is gathering to remember the night of God's deliverance of their ancestors from the land of Egypt thousands of years ago, with the slaying of Egypt's firstborn and his "passing over" of their houses that had been marked and sprinkled with the blood of slain lambs.

Bread. Wine. Body. Blood.

   It is now evening, and Christ has begun the Passover meal with His disciples. During the meal, He has taken bread, broken it and instituted the future memorial of His body, with the words, "This is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me." Passing the cup of wine, He has pronounced its significance: "This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood" [3]. It is also during the meal that He has identified Judas as his betrayer, though none of the others understand. The Passover meal is almost over; the food is almost over, the dishes almost empty. And now, the incarnate Word of God, in whom, through whom and for whom all things exist, once again shows Himself to be a Man like no other:

"Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into His hands, and that He had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside His outer garments and, and taking a towel, tied it around His waist. Then He poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around His waist...When He had washed their feet and put on His outer garments and resumed His place, He said to them, 'Do you understand what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right for so I am . If then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also out to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. Truly, truly I say to you, a servant is not greater than His master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent Him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them." - John 13:3-5, 12-17, ESV

   I can only imagine the shock on the disciples' faces; washing people's feet was considered to be a task reserved for non-Jewish slaves. In that time and culture where people walked long distances on dusty roads What a Man, and yet God! What a Servant, and yet the King of kings! There is no one else like the Lord of glory. Human imagination cannot concoct such a God, who works miracles beyond comprehension, and then stoops to wash the dirty feet of His followers! This righteous and holy God, who walked the dusty roads of Palestine for thirty three years, assumed the posture of a servant and washed the dust that He Himself had created off the feet of His creation. In the gesture of utmost love for His enemies, He even washed the feet of the one who had already agreed to betray Him.

   Attempting to follow in Christ's footsteps, I once tenderly washed someone's feet and dried them with a towel, in an act of love and servanthood. It was an intensely humbling lesson and experience; it made me feel very small and insignificant, a nobody washing the feet of a somebody. I understood through that one small act the attitude and posture that my heart should adopt as a follow and servant of my Lord and Master, and have tried to keep that in mind ever since. The Apostle Paul, thinking about the servant heart and mind of Christ, wrote the following words to the Philippian church:

"Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself. Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others. Let this mind be in your which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a slave, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross." - Philippians 2:3-8, NKJV

   That's the God my heart follows and obeys; Christ is the Man who leads from the front by example, not from a safe place at the rear. That's the kind of man I want to be, because I'm no greater than my Master. He humbled himself to obedience and death; so must I. I'm going to think about this as I keep pace with the events of the Passion tonight. Jesus and His disciples have left for the Garden of Gethsemane. The pace of the story is ramping up to its inevitable conclusion in another fifteen hours. Time for me to follow them. I have to run. See you in the next post. Until then, here's a great music video featuring the scenes of The Last Supper enacted in "The Passion of The Christ", featuring the song "Remembrance" by Matt Maher:

- The Wisdom Seeker

REFERENCES:
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[1] The Approaching Cross
[2] "Harmony of The Events of Holy Week", ESV Study Bible, pg. 1866
[3] Luke 22:19-20, ESV

Following Jesus Into The Downtown Eastside

"Whoever closes his ear to the cry of the poor will himself call out and not be answered."  

- Proverbs 21:13, ESV

"By this we know love, that He laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers...Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth." 

- 1 John 3:16, 18, ESV

    Since the experience of my last post, I have found myself spending a lot of time over the last two days in prayer and meditation, trying to understand what is happening to me. I feel as if several significant things are slowly but surely stirring in my heart, accompanied by a great contemplative silence in the presence of God with a longing for sanctification and holiness. In the midst of this time of prayer that I'm still pursuing, I felt the prompting and leading of the Holy Spirit to go into the one area of Vancouver that I have heard much about since first arriving here, but never dared to traverse thus far - the Downtown Eastside.

   Vancouver's Downtown Eastside (DTES), titled "Canada's poorest postal code" by The Dominion Newspaper [1] is an area spanning a few blocks, and one of it's oldest neighbourhoods. In addition to being a victim of urban decay, it is also one of its most destitute, inflicted with a high incidence of poverty, alcoholism, drug usage, the sex trade, violent crime, and the highest HIV infection rate in North America. Till today, my encounters with it had only been from an insulated, sanitized distance - newspaper reports, and the secure, air conditioned interior of the #135 transit bus that I'd taken numerous times from SFU to downtown, passing along Hastings street in the middle of the neighbourhood. 

   And so it happened following God's prompting through His Spirit, that today afternoon I drove downtown after running some errands, parked some distance away from the DTES and walked the several city blocks that led straight into it. I felt nervous, never having been into a neighbourhood like this in all the time that I've been in Canada so far. But trusting God's call, I followed Him all the way to the heart of the DTES -  East Hastings and Main streets, which has acquired a reputation for being an "open-air market" for drugs.

   It was early afternoon and although the sunshine and warmth of spring has begun to move into the Lower Mainland over the last few days, the air was still cool when I got there. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking or avoiding the stale smell that hung in the air - unwashed bodies and clothing, alchohol, cigarette smoke and the telltale occasional whiff of smoked marajuana that I have learned to identify after moving to BC. But it wasn't so much the smell that caught my attention as I walked along the blocks towards Hastings and Main streets - it was the people - multitudes of them, lining the sidewalks.

     I was struck by how many of them were using walking aids - wheelchairs, crutches and braces, both the reasonably young as well as the old. A number of others limped by with difficulty, including one native Indian man with a vacant expression expression in his eyes, clutching an almost empty Cocoa-Cola bottle. Many others stood aimlessly against the walls or in front of entrances to buildings, with their only possessions in suitcases, garbage bags or shopping carts. I passed a rather skimpily clad lady who seemed to be trying to pour some liquid into what looked like a whiskey bottle. There were several small groups of people along the sidewalk, huddled together trying to buy, sell, trade or exchange random things - appliances, clothes, odds and ends. Others slept in makeshift shelters or on the sidewalk in sleeping bags or blankets. Most of the storefronts had a look of dank decrepitude, and almost all of them without exception had barred windows and doors. I passed by elderly chinese man, bent over and holding on to a walking stick, receiving in his open palm what looked like white pills being shaken out of  an unlabelled prescription bottle by another man. I didn't stop to take a closer look, just kept walking along at as steady a pace as I could.

   After arriving at the intersection of Hastings and Main streets, I was surveying the sight of the neighbourhood when a short middle-aged woman passed, carrying her possessions in two black garbage bags and trying to cross at the traffic lights. "Careful what you're looking at or doing around here, baby", she said. "Somebody gets upset, and they might kill you. Heck, I've felt like doing it myself to other people a few times." I nodded silently. She kept going and crossed the pedestrian crossing, talking to herself. Crossing the adjacent sidewalk to the opposite side of the street, I started heading back in the opposite direction. 

   The scene didn't look too different on that side of the road. I hadn't gone to far when I happened to pass by a young boy and girl heading in the opposite direction along the sidewalk. Seeing me, the boy stepped in my direction, waved his palm towards my face and said "hey, good-looking Chindian!", and then carried on walking up the street. "Chindian" is a slang expression for someone of mixed Indian and Chinese descent. I was startled for a bit, wondering what made him think that I possessed Chinese heritage, but kept walking. Looking across the street, I saw a building with "Potter's Place Mission" written on the board at its front. I remembered two friends of mine during my time at SFU - Steve and Kitty (who are now engaged) serving at a soup kitchen and homeless shelter on Hastings by that name, run by Korean missionaries. I concluded that it must have been the same place, and made a mental note of it for later.

     Having roamed around the DTES and on my way headed back out, Ifelt my heart beginning to break for the broken lives, mental, physical, emotional and spiritual lostness that I was seeing around me. I suddenly remembered the words of a passage from the Old Testament book of Isaiah that had been the topic of a bible study session in a small group that I used to attend last year. In His indictment and proclamation of judgement against the hypocrisy, injustice and indifference that was rampant in ancient Israel, God had this to say:

"Is not this the fast that I choose:

  to loose the bonds of wickedness,

  to undo the straps of the yoke,

  to let the oppressed go free,

  and to break every yoke?

  Is it not to share your bread with the hungry

   and to bring the homeless poor into your house;

   when you see the naked, to cover him,

   and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?

  Then shall your light break forth like the dawn,

  and your healing shall spring up speedily;

   your righteousness shall go before you;

  the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.

   Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;

    you shall cry, and He will say, 'Here I am.'

   If you take away the yoke from your midst,

    the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness,

   If you pour yourself out for the hungry

   and satisfy the desire of the afflicted,

   Then shall your light rise in the darkness

    and your gloom be as the noonday."

- Isaiah 58:6-10, ESV

   In the opening chapters of Isaiah, the prophet sees a vision of the glory of God, and after seeing his own wretchedness in the light of the majesty of God and being cleansed of it, hears God ask:

   "And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?' Then I said, 'Here am I! Send me.'" 

- Isaiah 6:8-9, ESV

   Isaiah encountered the vision of the holiness and the person of God, and was ready to take the word of God to the people of his nation. Having followed Jesus into the Downtown Eastside today, I have to ask myself - what am I doing to declare and demonstrate the healing message of the Gospel to the destitute of this city? Guide my mind, mouth and hands to think, speak and work for you, Lord Jesus.

- The Wisdom Seeker

REFERENCES:

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[1] The Poorest Postal Code

"I Will Show Him How Much He Must Suffer..."

  I've been trying to meditate today on a verse that I came across in my tracing the origins of the Apostle Paul in my last post [1]. It struck me when I first read it some months ago, and it seems so apt for me to think about it now.

  It appears in the context of Christ's instructions to Ananias, one of his early disciples, regarding Saul of Tarsus after Saul had been struck blind while meeting Christ enroute to Damascus to persecute Christians there:

"But the Lord said to him, 'Go, for he is a chosen instrument of mine to carry my name before the Gentiles and kings and the children of Israel. For I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name." - Acts 26:9-11, ESV

   I have read the book of Acts a number of times over the years, but that tiny verse has escaped my attention till now. It's strange how these little things in the Bible just jump out at me in the middle of my personal circumstances, when my own heart is wrestling with God and asking the question: "Why, Lord?"

   I feel a certain twitch in my heart as I read this verse. Maybe it's because verses in the Bible on pain, suffering and hardship seem alright to read from a distance and nod the head in agreement with, until they're actually being applied to us. As a colleague at work thinking about his own experiences remarked yesterday, "It's alright as long as it's happening to someone else and not to you". Suddenly, I know what he's talking about.

   Looking back at the verse suddenly makes me feel sorry for the Apostle Paul, having found out something about the rest of his life. It's not fun when God allows pain and suffering for a purpose in someone's life, especially those who want to follow and obey Him. I suppose it must have been even less appealing for the persecutor of the church who thought he was doing God a favour, only to discover that he was in the wrong and now being recruited by Christ into the ranks of His persecuted.

   But those verses aren't really about Paul, or the disciple named Ananaias. I want to ask myself the question which is probably more important for me to think about at the moment - what do they say about God, and what can I learn from it?

   I was struck by God's mentioning of Paul as His "chosen instrument". It meant that God deliberately and purposefully picked and chose Saul of Tarsus, the terrorist, the religious zealot and Pharisee. Saul didn't chose God. God chose him, even when he was persecuting Christ and His church. God chose to meet someone who was an enemy of His gospel, and Saul had no say in the matter. He couldn't even raise a single line of protest. It says something about the overwhelming, unstoppable power and authority of God to do as He wishes in mine and everyone else's life. God has His say, and His way, all the time. He has the power and authority to pick and choose who He wants, to do what He wants, when He wants. As much as we like to think and talk about ourselves as being "captains of our ship", "masters of our fate", "in control", "self-actualization", "self-made man/woman", "confident", "assertive", "secure", "achiever",  the reality is that we delude ourselves in subscribing to that kind of thinking. It is an illusion, because it does not describe the reality of God, and the reality of the world that we live in.

   Thought I'm a firm and committed Christian believer, part of me feels uneasy thinking about that reality of God. I suppose it's because at the bottom of our sinful hearts, we want a "safe" God - a God who will leave us alone except when we need Him, not intrude into our lives, answer when we call Him, deliver what we ask of Him, when we ask Him and in the way that we tell Him to get things done. We want a God who will not protest, object, rebuke, get angry, discipline, judge what we do, and why we do it. We want a God who can only see into the areas of our lives that we want to show and share with Him, and doesn't know what we don't want Him to know or ask about. What we want, then is a "tame" God, a God in shackles, so that we can order and structure our world in the way that we want.

What we want, then, is not God, but "god". A servant.

We don't really want God, we want to be the God of god.

And that is called sin, and why we are called sinners.

   But God won't have any of that; He cannot be tamed. And so He picks Saul of Tarsus, to the shock of everyone else. He doesn't pick a pious, mild saint; He picks a terrorist. And then He goes on to pronounce what He intends to do with him: "I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name." (Acts 26:9-11, ESV).

    Chills run down my spine when I read this verse, for a number of reasons. The New Testament is replete with the story, suffering, sorrow and magnificent writings of Paul the Apostle. His is a great story to read about. But then the thought suddenly occurs - "What if God does that with me?" 

   As much as we admire and praise those who have suffered and experienced loss for Christ and lived lives of obedience and surrender, it doesn't feel that appealing when God brings it to our door, and demands obedience, promising us true joy in the process. Life isn't as rosy when God asks us to give up something we cherish and trust Him with our precious hopes and dreams for the future, when a spouse or child dies, when we experience financial loss, crippling health problems, and all the other myriad trials of life. 

   But yet there is hope, because Paul's suffering was not without purpose. It was for the sake of God's name, for the sake of God's glory. Paul's life, suffering and witness for Christ as an apostle took the Gospel into the heart of the Gentile world, and because of that we who are gentiles have heard the good news and been saved. Because God places the utmost worth on the glory and splendor of His name and His Gospel. In them I and everyone else who calls on His name has hope, for God's name and reputation are worth putting our trust in, and His Gospel is only good news. God has proven Himself to be good, true and faithful time and again in the lives of those who trust and hope in Him.

And I trust and hope in Him too.

- The Wisdom Seeker

To Follow Jesus All The Way

     Have you ever had one of those moments when you experience a partial flashback of an event, person or memory from long ago, that suddenly hits you without warning? It's amazing how the sudden recollection of two lines from a long-forgotten song from the teenage years can suddenly emerge at an unexpected moment to give strength, encouragement and fill the heart with renewed happiness and determination.

    That's what happened last night at the end of a draining day's work, while in the shower. I have recently been wrestling with some difficult issues that have been close to my heart, related to examining my experiences in churches over the last several years, and discerning right doctrine. It has not been easy, scrutinizing and questioning my own assumptions of teachings that I have absorbed over the years, and in some cases having to face the reality that they might be wrong. It has also been difficult as I have had to think about the possible consequences of what my conclusions might have on my relationships with people in my life who hold views that are differing, or even diametrically opposed to the convictions that I feel moved towards.

    And then last night, two lines came to mind from a little song that I had learned in a Christian youth group during my high-school years in Dubai. "Youth In Action" was founded by an elderly couple by the name of Mr. and Mrs. M. C. Ambrose, who were also directly responsible for bringing my own parents (and many other families that we would come to know), to saving faith in Christ. While meeting in weekly small groups in different cities in the UAE, we would all meet once a month for a youth rally. It was during one of those rallies during my first years in YIA that I heard the words of the song "I've Got My Mind Made Up". Some of the people singing that song that day - Ronnie Thomas, Nibin and Nisha Oomen, Anjali Vase - would go on to become very dear friends of mine.

     It was their voices and two lines from the chorus that I suddenly heard in my head in the shower yesterday. I am very grateful to the Internet for being the archive of even the most obscure things, and for Google in helping us find them. Here is a verse and the chorus of that song, written by Norman Hutchins:

I've Got My Mind Made Up

  Chorus:
    I've got my mind made up,
    my heart is fixed to follow Jesus all the way.
    I've got my mind made up,
    my heart is fixed to follow Jesus all the way.

  Verse:
    On this journey, there'll be many ups and downs,
    but I know the Lord will see you through.
    There has never been a time when He has let me down,
    that's why I'll follow Jesus all the way.

     I've been thinking about these words since last night and all of today, and asking myself the question - What does it mean to follow Jesus "all the way"? There are several thoughts that have come to mind as I've contemplated the implications of these words.

    Implicit in the phrase "to follow Jesus all the way" is the assumption that He is going somewhere, and that I know Him well enough to have confidence that the "somewhere" good and worthwhile for me to follow Him to. This raises the question of His character and trustworthiness. What do I know of Jesus? Is what I know about Him accurate? Is He trustworthy and truthful? Do His words make sense to me, in what He has to say about my origin, search for meaning, the condition in which I find myself, the deepest questions of my heart, my destiny? How has He proven Himself? Jesus had a lot to say about these things:

    “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and take you to myself that where I am you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going.” Thomas said to him, 'Lord, kwe do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?' Jesus said to him, 'I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you had known me, you would have known my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.' Philip said to him, 'Lord, show us the Father, and it is enough for us.' Jesus said to him, 'Have I been with you so long, and you still do not know me, Philip? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own authority, but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, or else believe on account of the works themselves."

- John 14: 1-3, ESV

    Following Jesus all the way also implies that it involves a choice, not a compulsion. I must make up my mind and set my heart on going with Him, and count the cost of this journey. And this cost might be great; He might ask of me everything that I have and hold dear and valuable. Jesus talked about this as well:

    "Now great crowds accompanied him, and he turned and said to them, 'If anyone comes to me and odoes not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not sfirst sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, ‘This man began to build and was not able to finish.’ Or what king, going out to encounter another king in war, will not sit down first and deliberate whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace. So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple." 

- Luke 14:25-33, ESV

    "As they were going ralong the road, someone said to him, 'I will follow you wherever you go.' And Jesus said to him, 'Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.' To another he said, 'Follow me.' But he said, 'Lord, let me first go and bury my father.' And Jesus said to him, 'Leave the dead to bury their own dead. But as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.' Yet another said, 'I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.' Jesus said to him, 'No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.'" 

- Luke 9:57-62, ESV

     These are not easy words for any of us to hear, including myself. What will I give up for Jesus, to follow Him all the way? I might not like what I am asked to let go of. For some of us, it might be a relationship that is dear to us - parent, lover, husband, wife, children, relative, friend. It might be a dream that we have longed earnestly and worked hard for. It might be things that we have built our identity on - our ethnicity, culture, religion, organization. Those of us who are parents might have to surrender their wishes or preconceptions of what they perceive to be ideal futures for their children, so that Jesus can do something greater with them. And there is the ultimate surrender of one's own life, trusting that Jesus has a purpose even in the midst of terrible personal suffering and death, and that the glory of His cause and name is greater than any personal glory that I can gain for myself.

     Ultimately, what I am willing to let go of and the extent to which I am willing to go says a lot about the value that I place on Jesus among everything else in my life. I am reminded of the words of the missionary Jim Elliott, who wrote: "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose." As I bring tonight's post to a close and head to bed, I feel my conviction solidified by the following words composed by the martyred missionary William McChesney:

    If He be God, and died for me,
    No sacrifice too great can be
    For me; a mortal man, to make;
    I'll do it all for Jesus' sake.

    Yes, I will tread the path He trod,
    No other way will please my God,
    So, henceforth, this my choice shall be,
    My choice for all eternity.

- William McChesney, from the poem "My Choice"

     My mind is made up. My heart is fixed. I'm following Jesus all the way home.

- The Wisdom Seeker

     This post is dedicated to Uncle and Aunty Ambrose, my brothers and sisters at Youth In Action whom God used to sow the seeds of the Gospel in my heart many years ago, and to Nibin Oomen and Nisha Susan Philip who have followed Jesus all the way these many years at great personal cost and suffering for the sake of His name and glory.

Precious Life, Precious Death

"Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the death of His saints." (Ps. 116:15 , ESV)

    The few weeks since my last post have been eventful with a number of 'firsts' - I bought car insurance for my first car for the first time, drove it for the first time with my first full tank of gas, failed my first driving test in Canada, ordered flowers for one special woman for the first time and gave a rose to another (also the first time), had my laptop battery fail after two-and-a-half years of operation. But in the midst of all that, I have still been contemplating the train of thought that I began in 'One Life Blossoms, Another Departs'. I guess this is becoming a year where God is having me contemplate life, death, mortality, meaning and teaching me important lessons through all of it.

    Recollecting the above verse in the process of thinking, I went back to a sermon that I had listened to on the morning of the memorial service for Jamie's grandmother. Delivered at Willingdon in 2004 by John Neufeld, it was titled 'The Precious Event of A Believer's Death' and covered the death of Abraham's wife Sarah in Genesis 23, and his mourning for her. It was riveting right from the beginning, with these sentences among those of its opening paragraph:

"Whenever I do a marriage ceremony I always make sure the married couple understands the words 'until death do us part'. See, I want every married couple here to understand that if Jesus delays His coming, one of you will go on ahead of the other, and the other will be left behind. That is the way of this world...What should we do when a loved one dies?...Death is the great certainty of life."

    "Do you know, that the day of your death is a very precious day to God?" Pastor John's question stopped me in my tracks. I had never thought of it like that before. He continued: "The hour of your dying is precious to the Lord, because in that hour He will call you home for that which you have been created. The great inheritance for which God made you, is not on this earth, it's in glory, that great inheritance will be yours in the final day."

    At this point I have to stop and deal with the question that grows ever louder in my mind:

Why is it so important that the day of my passing matters to someone?

    Last year, during the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics, I had attended an art exhibition showcasing representative BC art at the Vancouver Art Gallery. A parallel exhibition occurring there at the same time used the human body as its subject. Among the displays were ones that used a complete skeleton, skulls of various sizes and x-ray images of the body's skeletal structure. I remember thinking about my own body as I looked at those exhibits, reflecting on how  one day it too would be placed in the ground, and reduced to what I saw in front of me.

    The thought that one's own family and friends will miss and think about us is sometimes of small consolation, for we are ever cognizant that they too will inevitably go down the same road we ourselves must take. As we contemplate mortality in such moments, there is an aching want that steals up upon the human heart, an insatiable plea that our life would be valued and the memory of our days would be known and preserved, in some manner that is not hamstrung by forgetfulness, inaccuracy, imprecision, confusion, corruption all the other failings of memory that plague the human cerebral cortex.

    We want someone to never forget us, in whose memory our image is indelibly and permanently etched. We long to be seen even after we have gone.

   

    In the light of this cry of the soul, I am reminded of the following unshakable promises of the Word of God, reflecting on the overarching presence of the self-existent, everlasting God who stands unfettered by age, and death and decay:

    "Nevertheless, I am continually with you;

      you hold my right hand.

    You guide me with your counsel,

      and afterward you will receive me to glory.

    Whom have I in heaven but you?

      And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.

    My flesh and my heart may fail,

      but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."

- Psalm 73:23-26, ESV

   

    It is inexpressable comfort to know that this great God calls Himself my Father, my friend, my Saviour; that He walks with me on my short sojourn through this life, sighing with me through the times when it seems wearisome to put one foot in front of the other, laughing at the moments of joy and wonder; that He does it all knowing that He will be waiting with open arms to welcome me home at the end of the sprint through the valley called Death, and that He has planned not only every day of my life with Him here, but also of every day of the eternity that we will spend together. But most of all there is security in knowing that in the same manner He said of His people, the memory of all that I am, of all my being, my image and all my days are permanently etched into His hands, His being:

    "Can a woman forget her nursing child,

      that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?

    Even these may forget,

      yet I will not forget you.

    Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;

      your walls are continaully before me."

- Isaiah 49:15-17, ESV

    God remembers the day of my passing long after I have faded from this world, for it is the day He welcomes me home. My life, my essence, my being is preserved even on the other side of death because of the sheer force of His will and power. See you in the next post after I've done some processing on what I've just written. And if you have lost hope, please take some of mine.

- The Wisdom Seeker

One Life Blossoms, Another Departs

    The three weeks since my last post have been quite eventful. As much as I have wanted to write, it seems there has been even more to think over. Just as the four-part series of posts last year on my childhood hurts and wounds that began with "Infliction: Childhood Wounds" forced me to wade into some of the painful memories of the past, the past three weeks have brought me once again to a point of facing some painful realities about life and myself. I think I'll start with the most recent, which was while attending a memorial service for Jamie's grandmother on Saturday.

    Jamie's grandmother had passed away last month, just a week or so short of Easter [1]. Although I've been to funerals before, this was the first time in my life I was attending a memorial service, so I didn't quite know what to expect. Nonetheless, it turned out to be quite a day for reflection, beginning with the trip there to the time I returned home.

    Dressed in a black suit and tie and clutching a boquet of flowers, I was headed out on the Skytrain (Vancouver's elevated rail transit system) to Commercial Drive station when a fellow passenger commented on the flowers and appreciated them. Asking if I was going to a special event, he expressed his sympathy when I mentioned that I was attending a memorial service. "We all have to face our mortality one day", I said with a sigh, voicing some of the thoughts in my head. He agreed, and I asked him if he had given it much thought. "Oh, yes", he replied. "I've been thinking about it for many years, and I'm comfortable with the idea of my mortality." Curious to hear more, I asked him what conclusion he had come to. "Well, we only go through this world once, so you've gotta value and take care of those around us, y'know? 'cos each time you see someone might be the last time you ever get to be with them." Somehow, this didn't seem terribly satisfactory to me, so I asked if he'd ever thought of life after death. "Well, I think there's a certain spirituality out there, kind of like this great circle of life, and we're all part of it. I could come back in another life, eh, maybe be return as a mosquito or something, y'know?"

    "That's it?", I thought to myself. That's it? After all the years of thiking he's devoted to it in contemplating his mortality, that's all he could come to? Take care of those around you. Be a "good" person to them, because you may not ever see them again. You're on a great circle of life, and there's no real way to tell, but there might be a possibility that you could come back as something else, though there's no way to tell what that "something" might be.

I hate listening to vague answers like that. I simply hate them.

    I suppose this revulsion stems in part from the kind of person that I am - I dislike vague directions and imprecise answers; I dislike half-sentences that hang in mid-air like a broken limb, with the assumption that I will somehow decrypt the message and put it all back together. I loathe being surprised with information at the last minute. I dislike them even more when they're camouflaged with bombastic words that have the appearance of intellectual sophistry. I hate them because they make me tense and leave people hanging. And I hate being left hanging.

There must be a better answer. There HAS TO BE. I refuse to accept anything less. I CAN'T.

    Catching a bus on the final leg of my journey to to the memorial home where the service was to be held, I saw a young Chinese couple tending to their little baby in a stroller. As the mother chatted with the child and the father tucked her in, I took in their shopping - a box of diapers, a watermelon stowed in the undercarriage of the stroller, and other things for a new family. The irony was not lost on me as I took it all in - watching the care and effort being poured into the blossoming of one life that had newly entered the world, while on my way to an event to remember another that had recently departed.

    I found myself thinking about parents and their children, and the transience of life. Looking at the little girl in the stroller, or any other infant for that matter, the last thing one usually thinks about is picturing that child at the end of its life - aged and dying, awaiting the inevitable coffin. But Jamie's grandmother was once a toddler like the one in front of me, just as my own parents and grandparents were. I looked at my hand and thought about myself and those of my own generation - what would happen when the time came for our own passing on? Would someone one day think the same thoughts on their way to my own funeral? Did it really matter if someone thought about me? Maybe not. I'm still processing these thoughts as I write this. The memorial service itself only gave me more to think about. As I sat down and looking around at everyone gathered there, I wondered who they were and what was going on in their heads. What were they thinking about? Were they contemplating the same things I was?

    At such times, eloquent discourses and the intellectual sophistry of philosophical postulation don't really offer much in terms of comfort. The acclaimed posits of the learned minds that dotted the textbook of the philosopical and political electives that I took during my undergraduate degree aren't very convincing. Deontologicalism, Teleologicalism, Utilitarianism, Kantianism, Epicurianism, Stoicism, Marxism, Capitalism, Communism - the 'isms' and schisms of the solemn supermen and self-styled imperial diplomatists offer very little to reflect upon. If anything, the questions only mushroom like the tell-tale aftermath of a nuclear detonation.

    I'm going to stop here for now and sort out some of the thoughts in my head. Before I go, I'd like to end with two sets verses from the Old Testament that have suddenly popped into my head. One is from the book of Job, the other from the book of Ecclesiastes:

    "Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshipped. And he said, 'Naked I came from my mother's womb,m and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord'...Shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive evil?' In all this Job did not sin with his lips." (Job 1:20-21, 2:10, ESV)

    "Deliver my soul from the wicked by your sword, from my by your hand, O Lord, from men of the world whose portion is this life. You fill their womb with treasure; they are satisfied with children, and they leave their abundance to their infants. As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness; when I awake, I shall be satisfied with your likeness." (Psalm 16:13-15, ESV)

    See you in the next post, after I've done some processing.

- The Wisdom Seeker

REFERENCES:
[1] Phan Wai Sun - http://www.legacy.com/can-vancouver/Obituaries.asp?Page=Notice&PersonID=150780145

Men Are Not Beautiful

   Last Wednesday, I got to lead a Willingdon young adult's small group for the first time. Although I had led small groups at SFU while I was doing graduate school, they were always mostly filled with friends that I had known for some time. This was the first time that I was leading a small group where almost everyone was new, as well as hosting it at my house. As things went (quite well ^^), we were doing a study of John 19:1-16 on which the sermon of last week was based, titled "Behold Your King!". One of the initial questions asked in the study notes was: "If you were to describe the perfect man (or woman) by our culture’s standards, what characteristics would you use to describe them?"

    After the Bible study got over, I recalled a poem that I had seen on a Vancouver bus last December, as part of a series commemorating poets of British Columbia. Written by a poet named Kate Braid and titled "The Beauty of Men", the poem went as follows:

"The Beauty of Men" (Taken on a Vancouver Bus)

"It is not violence, but muscle-the force to do-

curling and bent and burning

 inside.

They deny it. Hide it. Rip it out
With hammers and knives and guns, even crosses
if they have to.

These are the signs of the beauty of men:

set jaw, the shimmer of muscle

eager to lift beyond any limit, lost

in the wild pleasure of motion. They will move the world
with their own two hands, force it if they have to, doing
what mere thought didn't know had to be done."

    As I reflected on this poem and all that our culture uses to talk of, describe and envision men that they admire or perceive to be ideal - whether the mythological Achilles and Hector of Homer's Illiad, or the icons of our present time. The parameters are as vast as they are superficial, and as demanding as they are elusive - physique, fame, wealth, power, prestige, enemies killed, drive, ambition, success, looks, athletic ability, property, lineage, social status, glamour, sexual conquest, capacity for alcohol, toys, clothing, vehicle that they drive...

    And in the midst of the posers and self-styled sophisticates, my mind's eye falls on Jesus, as He emerges from the pages of John 19:1-16 - having not slept for 30 hours, tried, beaten, mocked, spat on, and finally put through the Roman 'verberatio' with every indignity and shame possible heaped upon Him. I thought I'd quote John Neufeld from the detailed description that he provided during his sermon:

   "In Roman law, there were in fact, three described, one more severe than another, whippings that were to be given for numerous offenses. The most severe whippings, the one that Matthew and Mark speak about, that happened at the end, was called by the Romans, the Latin word is the 'verberatio'.

   The verberatio was a whipping that was terrible beyond belief. During the verberatio, the victim was stripped naked, and he was tied to a post, and then he was beaten not by one, but at least two soldiers with whips so that they would beat one after the other as drumstrokes would come down...I've also pointed out in the past that the whip that would have been used was a leather whip made of numerous strands and each strand would have found, in that strand, braided bits of bone, and braided bits of metal, perhaps braided bits of lead with hooks in them so that when the whip goes down and its pulled up it tears out the flesh from the victim. In normal cases the verberatio would have gone on until the soldiers, who were battle-hardened men in physical condition would then have become so weary that they simply couldn't lift their arms to go on. From the eyewitness accounts that we have in our day, from the verberatio, that whipping, we find that a number of them describe that large sections of the bone would have been exposed in the victim, and in some cases, intestines would have been left hanging out of the back. Many died of this treatment. 

   That is why, when Jesus received the second whipping, recorded in Matthew and Mark, He could not even carry his own cross, his body was simply beginning to fail Him, and go into shock...and because Ceasar would sometimes wear what was called the 'radian corona', that is the olive leaf around his head...they make His radian corona, and they made it out of thorns. Many bible teachers believe that the kind of thorns that would have likely to have been used come from the date palm, which is abundant in that area. The date palm, interestingy enough, has thorns that are up to 12 inches long. They are huge, they are like spikes. And if this is right, they would have taken this and it would not have been just prickly things, but would have been spikes that would have driven into His skull. The response would have been an instant result in heavy bleeding, and would as many commentators have pointed out, would have distorted His facial features...His appearance in the end, by the time He was on the Cross was then so marred that He was unrecognizable."

    When I first heard this delivery, I was left in silence. I am still rendered silent as I listen to it now. In the midst of the political/cultural/academic/musical/mythical personalities that we put on pedestals and ascribe titles such as "icon", "visionary", "revolutionary", "guru", "trailblazer", "figurehead", "iconoclast" "powerhouse", "maestro", the person of Jesus seems ludicrous. The idea of giving Him any recognition is laughable to those who would would point to 'common sense'. Yet as one approaches the indistinct silhouette of this figure, He swells to towering proportions over all who aspire to be given titles and remembered. Long after the Shakespeares and Ceasars have vanished off the historical landscape, the Christ and His cross still overpower the imagination of all who come to know Him - including me.

    The more I come know to Jesus, the more I am forced to ask the proverbial question: "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of us all?" And the image that appears is not me. Or any other human being I know.

And the more I know my Christ, I don't want it to be me. It must never be me. Ever.

    Psalm 147:10 says of God that: "His delight is not in the strength of the horse, nor his pleasure in the legs of a man, but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him, in those who delight in his steadfast love." Romans 3:11-12 quotes Ps. 14:1-3 and 53:1-3 in saying: "None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God. All have turned aside, together they have become worthless; no one does good, not even one." And in a scathing indictment against us, John 3:19 says of Jesus: "And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil."

    There is nothing beautiful about men who do not want Jesus. But there is everything beautiful to be found in the Christ, the only perfect Lamb of God. Even as His suffering is just beginning, as He stands in the horror of all that has been done to Him and awaits His crucifixion, my Master is beautiful.

May I not be ashamed of His beauty; May I not turn my face away from Him.

- The Wisdom Seeker

Trustworthy And True

My yellowed and tattered old Bible - the Word of the only true and trustworthy God I know

    While I was writing my last post on the pain of loss, a phrase in one of the verses that I referenced caught my eye: "...these words are trustworthy and true" (Revelation 21:5). They've been in my head for the last three days, even as I've been trying to keep up with change as my life undergoes major transition.

    It has occurred to me that anything that is presented to me in the form of a statement, fact or person, also carries with it an associated appeal to believe in those things or people. In essence, I'm being asked to trust that what is being presented to me is true. Relationships, conversation, family, friendships, advertising, buying/selling, work...in the kind of world in which we live, this happens incessantly in every aspect of life - "Great dollar value! Save up to 50% off!"; "Satisfaction guaranteed!"; "We'll do what's best for you!"; "Trust us to take care of your money!"; "Good job! You're awesome!"; "I'll get the job done";  "You're incredibly beautiful"; "You mean everything to me"; "I love you with all my heart"; and perhaps that most used and abused sentence of appeal for trust in one's trustworthiness:

    "I, so-and-so, take you, so-and-so, to be my my lawfully-wedded husband/wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part."

    With the cacophony of voices that call out to me every day, from every side, it becomes increasingly difficult to figure out who to believe, in what they say. I believe that this is the case for the rest of society too. Isn't it interesting that the more we desire trustworthiness and truthfulness in people, the more we find that it becomes nearly impossible to enforce? Our laws become longer and more complex. Giving one's word is useless now, we must sign reams of paper. It isn't enough to state things simply either - the fine print of clauses and conditions at the bottom of agreements grows ever larger. We can't trust anyone to keep their mouth shut, so we create non-disclosure and confidentiality agreements. It's not enough to keep doors closed; they have to be locked, bolted and security systems with cameras installed to keep people out. Even the hallowed wedding vows aren't spared, for pre-nuptial agreements must become a necessity in case people decide to jump ship. Evidently, 'until death do us part' doesn't mean much anymore.

    Truth is that which best describes things as they really are. The credibility or truthfulness of anything said to me is only as good as the trustworthiness of the person uttering it. And the trustworthiness of the person is only as good as their fundamental strength of character.

    And that is why I can and will believe in Jesus so much, with all the issues of the heart that I've been writing about on this blog, especially that which I've been thinking about in the last month. What He says is credible because He is trustworthy, and He is trustworthy because He has more than strong character; He is truth itself. That is why John, His beloved Apostle, describes Christ as "...glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth." (John 1:14, ESV) in the opening verses of his Gospel. That is also why John, in the book of Revelation, introduces Him as "...Jesus Christ the faithful witness" (Revelation 1:5, ESV). He is faithful because He is trustworthy, and He is trustworthy because He is truth. That is why Christ can say of Himself, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father, except through me" (John 14:6, ESV). The evil behind a lie isn't some damage done against some person, society or nation's laws. It is the violation of the person of God, because He is truth and a lie is everything that He is not. Evil is more than an abstract term for hypothetical discussion around tables or fireplaces; it is that which rises up from within the human heart with the desire to be the God of God, and in the process turns a person into everything that God is not.

    The words of John 3:16 say that "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life." Christ did more than say "I love you." He proved the truthfulness of His Words with action - by dying on His Cross for the curse of my sin and resurrecting from His grave three days later, to break the curse of death that would have been my fate. My dear friend, may you find His forgiveness for your sin, His companionship in your loneliness, His fellowship in your suffering, His joy in your sorrow, His strength in your weakness, His transformation of your character and His promise of new and eternal life by the power of His Word and Spirit.

    I love my Christ because of who He is. Matthew Henry expressed it brilliantly when he said: "The greatest and best man in the world must say, By the grace of God I am what I am, but God says absolutely....I AM THAT I AM." God bless. See you soon.

- The Wisdom Seeker

Help, God. It Hurts.

"The heart knows its own bitterness, and no stranger shares its joy." (Proverbs 14:10)

    It's been a week since my last post, after searching for the reassurance of God's presence and comfort in "Is He There? Does He Care?". In the midst of significant changes in my own life, I learned some personal information about my friend Yeswanth's death that shook me. It profoundly altered my perspective on the grief of someone he has left behind, who is trying to come to terms with the fact that he is gone. It also brought my writing on this blog to a standstill as I tried to digest the implications of what I had heard and reflected on the crushing weight of this person's sorrow. I cannot even begin to comprehend what this individual has been feeling. It's been one of those bittersweet weeks where the words of Proverbs 14:13 became very much a reality: "Even in laughter the heart may ache, and the end of joy may be grief."

    There is something about the devastation of hopes and dreams that hits the heart unlike any other. That crushing sense of shock, tightness in the chest and accompanying dizziness in the head that feels as if everything is spinning. Or that sickening sensation in the stomach that feels like being in an elevator in free fall. Gone. Over. No Hope. Irreparable. Incurable. Terminal. Destroyed. Shattered. Finished. None of us want to face words like that when it comes to the deep desires and dreams that reside in our hearts - love, relationships, marriage, children, career, education, family, finances, projects, even ministry.

    Unrequited love. A relationship ended. A child that must be buried. A spouse betrayed and marriage devastated. Love's labour lost. Or perhaps a promising career or venture brought to a sudden end. The feeling always seems to be the same - something missing or permanently lost. A vacuum or hole in the heart and mind, and the accompanying grief in realizing that it is gone. Perhaps even regret at all the effort that went into the dream that is now reduced to ruins, being signed away on divorce papers, lying on a hospital bed, being lowered into a grave or burned on a funeral pyre. It all comes with very tangible sense of despair and inability to hope in the light of all that is happening at the moment. At times when that which we have loved and desired is being burned to the ground, it's not just that we can't grope for some measure of hope; it seems as if we don't even want to. As inevitable defeat seems to stare us in the face, the instinct is to crawl under the covers, lie down and die.

    As much as we like to think and pretend otherwise, the truth of the matter is that the human heart is extremely fragile and sensitive.

    Like those who hurt over his passing, I find myself deluged with questions on the matter. Why did this happen, God? I know that You have a purpose in everything You do, but situations like this are so hard to explain. Why did his time come when circumstances in his life were so promising? How will his family find hope? How will the person who longs for him pick up the pieces and keep moving on with life? Can You do something about their pain, God? Help, God. It hurts. Please heal their broken hearts. Please console and comfort them. Please save them. Please.

       It is in the midst of all these questions that I find my own heart turning to the Word of the only wise and true God, Who has carried me through my own moments of personal hurt and sorrow. I was reminded of chapter 25 in the book of Isaiah, titled "God Will Swallow Up Death Forever." Verses 6 to 9 read as follows:

    "On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well aged wine, of rich food full of marrow, of aged wine well refined. And He will swallow up on this mountain the covering that is cast over all peoples, the veil that is spread over all nations. He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of His people He will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken. It will be said on that day, 'Behold this is our God; we have waited for Him, that He might save us. This is the Lord; we have waited for Him; let us be glad and rejoice in His salvation.'" (Isaiah 25:6-8, ESV)

    This prophesied defeat of the curse of death that hangs as a covering and veil over all people and nations was fulfilled 740-odd years after the life of Isaiah, in the crucified body of the Son of God that hung on His blood-drenched cross, and His resurrection three days later. In the final book of the Bible known as 'Revelation', John the Apostle is given a vision of the resurrected Christ such as He has never seen - hair white like wool or snow, eyes burning like fire, feet gleaming like polished bronze, a voice with a roar louder than an angry ocean, and a face "like the sun shining in full strength." (Revelation 1:13-16, ESV). Yet of all the opening lines that this terrifying persona could have chosen, I find it deeply moving that Christ speaks words of comfort to His beloved Apostle, of life on the other side of death: "Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades."

    Time and again throughout the Bible, God promises an appointed time to come when death will be no more, when this fallen and dying world will pass away and the creation of a "new heaven and a new earth" (Revelation 21:1). I find it interesting that in the entire Bible, there are only two places where life is recorded to be perfect. The opening two chapters of Genesis, the first book, record the beginning of time with creation and life with God before mankind sins through disobedience and is separated from Him; the final two chapters of Revelation, the last book, record the end of time with the 're-creation' of a new heaven and earth, and the words of God Himself in His promise of new life:

    "And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, no pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.' And He who was seated on the throne said, 'Behold, I am making all things new.' Also He said, 'Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.'" (Revelation 21:3-5, ESV).

    It is no gamble to put my trust in the only God who promises life and light on the other side of darkness. If you are sorrowing today, may you experience His powerful and comforting presence and put your faith in His promise of new life for you. See you in the next post.

- The Wisdom Seeker

    "For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who looks on the Son and believes in Him should have eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day." (John 6:40, ESV)

    "I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?" (John 11:25. ESV)

    "Because I live, you also will live." (John 14:19, ESV)

Is He There? Does He Care?

    There hasn't been a day that's gone by since I wrote "He's Dead. What Does That Mean?" that I don't think about my friend and what has become of him. I have thought about his family and the emotional devastation that follows when one's hopes and dreams die in fiery flames and one is powerless to intervene. I remembered the funeral of a little boy I had attended in India 6 years ago, and the sight of his mother sobbing her heart out in uncontained grief. And as I write this, I feel the twinge in my own heart as well.

    I had ended the last post contemplating the thread that ran through all the expressions of condolence, grief and sorrow - the implicit cry to God for answers, hope and comfort in all that people say and feel at such times. That's who I've turned to in the pages of my Bible, believing that He will answer. And it's been strange how events have come together over the last few days to help me write this post.

    I've thought a lot about Jesus during this time. The more I learn about this shattering personality that emerges from the pages of the Bible, of the God that walked among us clothed in humanity, the more I realize how little I have really known Him. One of the most frequent phrases used of Jesus is that of His compassion on the shattered lives that come pleading for help. Time and again, stories are recorded of Jesus' encounter with the blind, lame, deaf, mute, lonely, opressed, diseased and even the dead. And each time, there is a phrase along the lines "Jesus had compassion" (Matt. 9:36, 14:14, 15:32, Mark 1:41, 6:34, 8:2, Luke 7:13). In the English translation of the Bible, the word 'compassion' originates from the Latin stem 'compati', meaning 'to suffer with, to feel pity'. In the sense in which it is used of Jesus, it  means so much more than just supercharged sympathy that accompanies the tearful melodrama of tragedy, or maudlin emotion. It refers to a pity born of deep love that compels one to do something about the situation. In essence, the compassion of the Christ is the kind that says: "This is not right. And I'm going to do something about it." And there is one potent story that I turned to at this time. 

    In the book of John is recorded the story of Lazarus,  a friend whom Jesus raises from the dead (John 11:1-44). Listening to a sermon on this incident titled "Befriended" and delivered at my church in 2005, I was struck by the fact that Lazarus was dead by the time Jesus set out to go to him, that it was a four day walk (~150 km) for Jesus to get there. I reflected on the God that never gives up, who waits till the seemingly irreversible has happened, and then set out on the long, dusty walk through the Judean wilderness toward the one He loved and called 'friend'. The God who created the known universe by the words of his mouth (Psalm 33:6), but patiently endured the limitations of the human frame as He put one tired foot in front of the other for four days, even as the dust seeped through His sandals. The God who "spoke and it came to be", but showed the depths of His compassion in enduring the frustrations of walking speed, even as the friend He loved disintegrated in his tomb. The God in whose presence angels fall down and worship, and demons shiver, yet who "...was deeply moved in His spirit and greatly troubled" as He witnessed the grief and sorrow of inconsolable friends and family. The uncreated, self-sufficient God who needs nothing from anyone, yet of whom it is written "Jesus wept", as He who is infinite in power and multiplied in capacity was moved with emotion. The God who undertook this long journey to confront Death and shout at the top of His lungs: "Lazarus, come out!". And it is recorded that the undefeated terror that stalks all of humanity bowed in the presence of its Master, and gave Him back His friend.

    While roomates on campus in our second year of undergrad, Yeswanth and I had many conversations about God, karma, fate, destiny and many more. Somehow, as things went, we never got around to the topic of Jesus. I believe the Christ I follow is present in the midst of the sorrow and grief of those who are trying to come to terms with his passing.

Yes, I believe that He is there. And that He cares.

    I'm going to talk about why I believe that Christ offers hope that none else can in the next post. I have so much to write, but I'm going to stop here. To those who read this and weep because of the searing anguish in the heart that forces the tears out at the thought of a loved one that is gone: may you feel the presence of the God of all comfort. He does not need to undertake a four-day journey through wilderness to reach you. He is already there. He cares. See you soon.

- The Wisdom Seeker