The Overcoming Blood

I find myself pondering the life that's in the blood.
The life of sin, that infects and reproduces,
that multiplies and overwhelms,
and results in a life bled out.

There was a doctor laboring in a hopeless fight
to save his patients from a death that just kept conquering.
And he got infected with it, too.
And he knew the disease, and he isolated himself.
And by the grace of God, he overcame it.
He was raised up from that death bed,
and his face glows when he speaks.
And his wife's face looks full of joy and wonder.
And he's been asked to share his story with news channels,
and to speak to Congress,
and to talk to the President about how to conquer this death.

But more than that:
he keeps opening his veins for fellow human beings,
and donating his blood -- the overcoming blood.
It was something that a recovered patient had done for him,
while he lay dying of the incurable plague.

And I think on Jesus, dying of my sin,
and raised up full of Life,
and He opens Himself up to conquer my infection.
He offers His overcoming blood,
to fight my plague from the inside out,
so I can grow clean and whole.
The Life is in the Blood.

And they overcame him because of the blood of the Lamb, 
and because of the word of their testimony; 
and they loved not their life even unto death.  
~Revelation 12:11

The Water and the Weeds

I turn on the sprinkler for a few minutes in the garden,
letting it pool up on the dirt.
Then I turn it off and wait so it can soak into the ground,
as I go around watering the rest of the things I have planted.
Once the water has soaked down, and no longer pools,
I take my bucket and squat down in between the rows
and begin another day's weed pulling among my onions.
The dirt is wet enough to cake on my hands, and under my fingernails.
What are these weeds? They're everywhere.
I focus on one small area at a time, carefully grasping each one at the base,
and applying slow steady pressure with a gentle twist.
When I am careful, and don't rush the work,
the weeds come sliding out satisfactorily,
all the way down to their slender root tips.
They pile up in my bucket.
The vegetables I planted become visible.

My toes go numb in this position, and I stand up to stretch.
I double over, and work awhile that way,
to let my toes and the back of my legs rest.
It was a hot day, and the garden earth lets off a cool vapor.
I think about Adam walking in the cool of the evening,
and wonder what the Lord showed him there in the garden.
I think about weeds and water and good soil.
How we need to be softened up with the Water,
so our hearts can let go of those bitter roots.
How skipping the watering makes the weeding impossible.
The roots break, and the weeds hang on.
I don't want that good seed to be choked out.

I spot a huge weed, and prepare for a struggle with it,
but the water has done its work, and it comes out easy.
I am careless over a small one, because it is small,
and I move too fast, and it wasn't watered well, and it breaks.
I'll have to work harder on it the next time.

I don't finish this time, just as I didn't the day before.
It will not be finished.
But tomorrow, I'll pull a few more after I water.
The rows are getting clearer, and the good seed is growing.
The weeds will get smaller.
They won't go away entirely, but it will be clear which side is winning.
Each day when I finish what I am doing,
and see how much was accomplished, I am surprised.
It was more than I expected -- even though so much is left.

The Unfashioned Altar, Low to the Ground

An ancient, pagan temple -- Megiddo

"An altar of earth you shall make for Me, 
and you shall sacrifice on it your burnt offerings 
and your peace offerings, 
your sheep and your oxen. 
In every place where I record My name I will come to you, 
and I will bless you. 
And if you make me an altar of stone, 
you shall not build it of hewn stone; 
for if you use your tool on it, you have profaned it. 
Nor shall you go up by steps to My altar, 
that your nakedness may not be exposed on it."
~ Exodus 20:24-26

We have such a longing for our service to the Lord
to stand out as a work of art.
But He asks us to form His altar from dirt, or unfashioned stone.
It was a functional place of worship.
And its function was all about a bloody atonement.
About payment for sin, and peace at a cost.
It is not a place to be showing off our skills with a chisel.
This altar was a necessity because of a multitude of transgression.
Because our works are at enmity with His holiness,
and must be reconciled.
How wrong it would be to put our works into the altar.
But we would like them there -- distracting from the blood.
Drawing men's eyes away
from the reality of death making payment for our sins,
and toward the incredible artistry we possess --
the gifts God gave us.
We don't want earthen altars:
such dirty accommodations for worship.
Something more permanent --
a little flashier and more fashionable would please us better.
He'll allow stone, but not stone formed by us.
Just simple, earthy materials over which blood must run.
The sacrifice ought to be the central thing in our worship.
Our tools, our gifts, our expertise are a profanity to His altar.

He says He'll come and bless us
wherever He has caused His name to be remembered.
It's remembered at the altar of His sacrifice,
and not in the work of our hands.

And how we would like to build steps up to it.
Steps up to the blessings, steps to the atonement.
Stairs to climb to peace with God,
a way to ascend for the payment of sin.
Its height would hold the blood up high enough that others might not see it.
They might just see us standing a little higher than they are.
But the reality is that in climbing steps to the altar,
our nakedness is exposed.
We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.
Jesus said, "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
No man comes to the Father but by Me."
He is the sacrifice, and we cannot climb up to Him.
In our service to the Lord,
we ought to keep the blood right there at eye-level.
Visible to the lowly.
Not formed by human hands.

And Hurting the Heart

 
Last night, shortly after dinner, our youngest ran screaming to us.
He said he had hit his head, and I tried to calm him down enough
to figure out what was wrong with him.
His screaming seemed a little out of proportion to a bumped head.
I felt around on his head and my hand came away bloody.
Parting his hair (which is far too long), I finally saw the gash.
"Get off the phone!" I called to my husband,
"We need to take him in for a few stitches."
We cleaned it up a little to get a good look,
held a bandage to his head,
and struggled through getting everyone into coats and shoes.
He came home with two staples in his head.

Tonight I was reading 1 John 1 to my kids before bed.
If, then, we say that we have fellowship with him, 
yet at the same time live in the darkness, 
we are lying both in our words and in our actions. 
But if we live in the light---just as he is in the light---
then we have fellowship with one another, 
and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from every sin.
If we say that we have no sin, 
we deceive ourselves, and there is no truth in us.
But if we confess our sins to God, 
he will keep his promise and do what is right: 
he will forgive us our sins and purify us from all our wrongdoing.
If we say that we have not sinned, we make a liar out of God, 
and his word is not in us.
1 John 1:6-10

I noticed one of my children's eyes were very wide,
and there was a quivering chin.
"Mom?"
"What, honey? Did you want to say something?"
A nod.
"I was running... I mean, I was chasing...
and Silas was trying to get away from me...
and that's why he hurt his head."
The tears came then.
I held the offender, who was eaten up with guilt.
"Do you want to pray?"
Another nod.
"I'm sorry!"
"Listen, I forgive you. Jesus forgives you. Silas, do you forgive?" I said.
He came over and hugged his crying sibling fiercely,
kissing cheeks and laughing.

Whether you view the childishness that resulted in injury to someone else
as a sin, or simply an accident,
there is no doubt that confession was good for the soul.
This child was carrying around a burden of condemnation.
It was damaging fellowship, and hurting the heart.

If our conscience condemns us, 
we know that God is greater than our conscience 
and that he knows everything. 
And so, my dear friends, if our conscience does not condemn us, 
we have courage in God's presence. 
1 John 3:20-21

The child thought it was sin, and so it was sin.
Confession brought courage.
And reassured love.

In Our Weakness

"In the time of struggle
we ought to have recourse to God with perfect confidence,
abiding steadfast in the Presence of His Divine Majesty;
in lowly adoration we should tell out before Him our griefs and our failures,
asking Him lovingly for the succor of His grace;
and in our weakness we shall find in Him our strength."
~The Spiritual Maxims of Brother Lawrence

"Nevertheless, I am continually with You;
You hold me by my right hand.
You will guide me with Your counsel,
and afterward receive me to glory...
My heart and my flesh fail;
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever...
But it is good for me to draw near to God;
I have put my trust in the Lord God."
~from Psalm 73

"It is the schooling of the soul to find its joy in His Divine Companionship,
holding with Him at all times
and at every moment humble and loving converse,
without set rule or stated method,
in all time of our temptation and tribulation,
in all time of our dryness of soul and disrelish of God,
yes, and even when we fall into unfaithfulness and actual sin."
~The Spiritual Maxims of Brother Lawrence

"For we do not have a High Priest 
who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses,
but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin.
Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, 
that we may obtain mercy
and find grace to help in time of need."
~Hebrews 4:15,16

Something Jesus Would Never Want You To Do

When my husband and I were first married,
we were 'counseled' by Christians regarding the bearing of children:  
Yes, children are a blessing of the Lord, but God wants you to be wise.
As though receiving a blessing from the Lord could be unwise.

The problem, of course, is that those who give advice along these lines,
have made their wisdom the standard.
Setting our own opinions and preferences up
as the way to really honor God drives people from Him.

My son told me that years ago, a teacher told him,
"Tearing the papers off of crayons is something
Jesus would never want you to do."
Frankly, it made my heart hurt.
Because he said he believed her.
He thought he had sinned against God.
I wish I had known it sooner.

"If you really want to be a God-fearing person, 
you will wash your hands 
in the prescribed (but extra-biblical) manner 
before eating your food.
If you are truly a believer, you will keep a spotless house, 
so that others can see the cleanliness of Christ in your dust-free home.
If you are sold-out for Jesus, you will forfeit marriage 
in favor of communal living in an elder-dictated community.
Jesus would never walk with a cigarette-smoking sinner.
Give up your tobacco so Jesus will speak to you.
My preferences are God's preferences, 
and I can show you how to please Him."

Jesus said, "If you have seen me, you have seen the Father."
And He didn't say a word against the tearing of crayon wrappers.
But He did have a few things to say against teaching men's opinions
in the place of God's requirements.

It causes a conflict when we read what God's word actually says.
We attribute evil to God when we see Him doing the things
men have told us are wrong to do.
But He is good, and He does good.
Or we hide ourselves from Him (and from our brothers and sisters in the Lord)
because we think He's angry.

And when it cost Him so much to give us access,
I don't think we're doing His work when we push others away from Him.
Furthermore, it trains the consciences of those we teach
to dismiss real evil as inconsequential
while carefully obeying worthless edicts.

That's not the Gospel.

Making More Sins Than God

My husband made a delicious dinner tonight.
The conversation was good, too.
We asked our kids a bunch of questions which weren't planned,
but which I think were important.

Do people ever dishonor marriage in the way that they live? (Yes.)
Should we, then, say Christians shouldn't get married?
Can we do evil things with money? (Yes!)
Is money evil? (No!)
Can we honor the Lord with money? (Yes!) 
If people might do evil things with money, maybe we should ban money.
Can we do evil things with our bodies? (Yes.)
Does that make our bodies evil? (No!)
Can we honor the Lord with our bodies? (Yes!)
Can we do evil things with meat? (Yes.)
What kind of evil things could you do with meat?
(You could take it away from hungry people! You could be a glutton!)
So is meat evil? (No!)
Can we use meat in a way that honors the Lord? (Yes!)
Maybe, since people can use meat in a way that is evil, all meat should be destroyed.

There is an interesting passage in 1 Timothy 4:
Now the Spirit expressly says that in latter times 
some will depart from the faith, 
giving heed to deceiving spirits and doctrines of demons, 
speaking lies in hypocrisy... 
forbidding to marry, 
and commanding to abstain from foods 
which God created to be received with thanksgiving; 
for it is sanctified by the word of God and prayer. 
If you instruct the brethren in these things, 
you will be a good minister of Jesus Christ, 
nourished in the words of faith 
and of the good doctrine which you have carefully followed. 
But reject profane and old wives' fables, 
and exercise yourself toward godliness. 
For bodily exercise profits a little, 
but godliness is profitable for all things, 
having promise of the life that now is and of that which is to come.

Reading the whole thing in context makes it plain
that the forbidding of the gifts of God,
which He has given us to be received with thanksgiving,
and which are made holy by His word, and by prayer, 
is a teaching of deceiving spirits, 
a lie, 
a doctrine of demons, 
a departure from the faith, 
and a profane old wives' fable.
Pretty strong words.
Good ministers of Jesus Christ reject such teachings.
The 'discipline' of abstinence from these things
(which are holy if done in holiness)
profits little.
But godliness is always profitable.
And godliness comes by faith in Him, and in His work.

"Do not suppose that abuses are eliminated
by destroying the object which is abused.
Men can go wrong with wine and women.
Shall we then prohibit and abolish women?"
~Martin Luther

"Thomas Shepherd, pastor and friend of Governor John Winthrop  
(Puritan governor of Massachusetts),
advised against forbidding a temptation.
He wrote Winthrop to argue
that forbidding a temptation provokes God
because it makes 'more sins than (as yet is seen) God himself hath made.'"

Sick All Along

Over eight years ago I was suffering from an infection whose seriousness I did not recognize. I thought I had a minor problem (misdiagnosed by myself), and watched it as it did not improve. There's a funny thing about watching something bad. When it turns a little worse, you can't tell. You think, Is that worse, or is it the same? And you keep thinking that maybe it's improving. Well, with my misdiagnosed minor problem, which was slightly uncomfortable at the beginning, I lived for several weeks. It began to be an obviously not small problem, but by then I was intimidated by the possible consequences of seeing a doctor. A doctor might tell me it was worse than what I had decided it was. I read in a book that if it was what I was afraid it was, the pain would be excruciating. So I waited longer. Until the pain did become excruciating. Then I called.

He couldn't see me until the next day. When he did see me, he looked worried. He put me on a heavy antibiotic, a narcotic pain killer, and told me to call him if it wasn't obviously improving in twelve hours. And he told me to treat it with heat. I went home and did just that. Part way through the prescribed treatment, I felt an end to my pain, and rejoiced that it was working. I thought the pain killers were making me crazy, so I stopped taking them. I didn't realize I was delirious. When the twelve hours were up, I called and spoke with a nurse, described my condition, and the strange coloration that was now part of it, and was given a hearty, "Sounds like you're getting better!" I never spoke to the doctor.

The next day, my problem exploded. Literally. On the phone with a doctor (but not mine), I was told to bandage it, and that it was an improvement. I didn't want to sit in an ER on a Saturday night with a newborn, so I was glad to not have it looked at. The bandages kept sticking to the wound, and pulling skin off whenever I changed them. My husband looked at it on Monday morning and insisted I call my doctor and have it looked at, because it wasn't right. Something was wrong. I wanted to go see our friends, and wasn't happy to listen to him.

The doctor, when he had finished ripping the bandages off, grew very pale. His eyes looked huge. He said in an obviously trying-to-keep-calm voice, "I'm going to call my friend Dr. A over at the hospital and have her take a look at you." I just wanted an ointment that would keep my bandages from sticking. I wanted to go to lunch. I was still delirious, and my thoughts weren't connecting coherently.

I said, "I just don't want this to be gangrene."

"Technically, that's what that is," he said. He sent me to the hospital with a hug. His eyes looked afraid.

At the hospital, the triage nurse and the ultrasound tech stood with their mouths hanging open, speechless. "How did this happen to you?" one of them finally asked.

I felt stupid. "I don't know. I thought..." I thought it was okay. I didn't know I needed help.

They called the specialist down, and she was fast. She looked at the problem, watched the ultrasound, and said, "We need to take you upstairs now." In a whirlwind, they were lifting me onto a gurney, explaining a surgical procedure I was adverse to, and shoving release forms in front of me to sign.

"I can walk. I'm fine. I want you to do it under local -- I don't want you to give me anything that'll hurt my baby. He's breastfeeding. He won't take a bottle."

The doctor was firm but kind. "We're not doing this under a local. And you can't walk."

In the prep room for surgery, a nurse lifted the blanket to tuck a warm one around me and saw I was still in street clothes. She yanked off my pants. Another lady from anesthesia talked cheerfully with me. She injected me with something. "What is that for?" I asked.

"To help you relax."

Oh. They wheeled me into the operating room, asked me to sit up, look straight up at the big light, and open my mouth as wide as I could. Under the influence of my 'relaxation', I did just what they asked, wondering all along, I wonder why they want me to do that?

When I woke up, I had a gaping wound. Cavern, really. And oh, the relief. It felt a hundred times better. My husband had to be trained to pack the wound, and he had to continue doing it for over three months. It was an ordeal.

Years later, I was pondering the words of Jesus to the Pharisees. He was eating with some tax collectors and other unsavory characters, and the Pharisees were bothered. "Why does He eat with such people?" they asked.

Jesus heard them and answered, "People who are well do not need a doctor, but only those who are sick."

Jesus, our Great Physician, is found among the sick. In the past, I always thought the tax collectors were the 'sick', and the Pharisees in the story were the 'well'. But thinking on His words, I remembered my condition when I had an infection that I didn't think was an infection, and when it deteriorated to gangrene, and the pain grew significantly less, and so I delayed seeing my doctor again. I was sick all along. But I didn't think I was sick. I didn't think my condition was serious enough to need a doctor. So I didn't call.

Those Pharisees were sick. In another place, Jesus said they were blind. They needed the doctor, too. But they wouldn't call.