Called to Belong

This morning I’m hovering over a phrase from Paul’s introduction to his letter to the Romans. In just a few short verses (Rom. 1:1-6) Paul unpacks the essentials of a great, great gospel. It’s the gospel of God. It was promised through His prophets in the holy Scriptures. It concerns His Son who, according to the flesh, descended from David, and who, through the power of the Spirit, was resurrected from the dead. And, for those who believe, it brings about the obedience of faith. This being true for all nations . . .

. . . including you who are called to belong to Jesus Christ.

(Romans 1:6 ESV)

Called to belong. Those are the words I’m chewing on this morning.

Not all the translations render the phrase that way. In the NKJV and NASB it includes those who are “the called of Jesus Christ.” Noodle on it a bit, and that’s seems to be a significant difference. Being called of Jesus is far more open-ended than being called to belong to Jesus. The former leaves a fair amount of wiggle room to debate what the call means. Called to be blessed? Called to prosper? Called to fit following Jesus into however I think my life should be lived? Those are all options with a call of. But if I’m called to belong, then it seems to be less about what’s in it for me and more about why I’m in it for Him.

So, which is it? If the original word is just the word for called, then why did some translators render it called of and others called to belong to? A note from one of my online commentaries was helpful.

‘called to be Jesus Christ’s’; not ‘called by Jesus Christ,’ for the call is always ascribed to God the Father. (Lightfoot)

God the Father does the calling. The call of salvation is the Father’s call. True statement, I think. Jesus’ high priestly prayer in John 17 would indicate that salvation’s dynamic is that those who come to Christ are those given to Christ by the Father (Jn. 17:11-12, 24). Jesus emphatically stated that the will of Him, the Father, who sent Him, the Son, was that the Son “should lose nothing of all that He has given Me, but raise it up on the last day” (Jn. 6:49).

So yeah, I’m good with those translations which seek to make clear that being called of Christ is to be understood as being called to belong to Christ.

Okay, with that settled in my mind, time to camp on the implications of being called to belong.

That Paul understood this is clear from his opening words to the Romans. He begins his letter referring to himself as “a servant of Christ Jesus” first, then as one “called to be an apostle.” To own Christ as Savior was to be owned by Christ to be a servant. To receive Jesus was to be recruited by Jesus. To believe in Jesus was to belong to Jesus. To have faith would mean to be ready to follow.

Paul also makes that really clear in another letter of his.

Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.

(1Corinthians 6:19-20 ESV)

Called to belong. Bought with a price. So glorify God in your body. That’s the good news. It’s not about what I get, but about what He gets — me!

Under new management. Called to flourish through the obedience of faith.

Oh, to really believe that I am called to belong. And then to behave like I’m called to belong.

Only by His grace. Only for His glory.

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My Exceeding Joy

Chewing on Psalm 43 this morning. That it’s a continuation of Psalm 42 seems evident because of the common chorus in these two songs of David — still turmoil within . . . still a soul cast down . . . still the echoing question of “why” (Ps. 42:5, 11; 43:5).

But the “why” asked of a soul cast down is not the only “why” being asked in these songs crying for vindication and relief from oppression.

I say to God, my rock:
Why have You forgotten me?
Why do I go mourning
because of the oppression of the enemy?”

(Psalm 42:9 ESV)

For You are the God in whom I take refuge;
why have You rejected me?
Why do I go about mourning
because of the oppression of the enemy?

(Psalm 43:2 ESV)

Why have You forgotten me? Why have you rejected me? Those questions would seem to make David’s query to his cast down soul seem kind of rhetorical, don’t they? He knows why His soul is cast down. Because, in his current situation, he feels forgotten by God. In his current reality, it’s like God has rejected him. That’s why his soul is cast down.

Every day his oppressors keep him from entering “the house of God”, he longs to again praise God with the people (42:4). As long as the ungodly, deceitful, and unjust keep him from “the holy hill” he yearns again to be in the place of God’s dwelling. But why? Why would the psalmist want to praise the God who has seemingly forgotten him. Why long to be in the presence of the One who, being Sovereign and all-powerful, has left him to his oppressors, apparently rejecting him? Those are the “whys” I’m chewing on.

Here’s a clue . . .

Then I will go to the altar of God,
to God my exceeding joy,
and I will praise You with the lyre,
O God, my God.

(Psalm 43:4 ESV)

In yesterday’s song, He was the God of my life (Ps. 42:8). This morning, He’s God my exceeding joy. How can that be? How can the seemingly forgetting God and rejecting God also be God my exceeding joy? And yet, He is.

God my exceeding joy. Literally, God the gladness of my joy, the joy of my joy, the very essence, the beginning of my joy. As Spurgeon puts it: “He is not his joy alone, but his exceeding joy; not the fountain of joy, the giver of joy, or the maintainer of joy, but that joy itself.”

Before David had known the turmoil of oppression, before encountering the depressing need for vindication, he had known the joy of the LORD. He had tasted and seen that the LORD is good (Ps. 34:8). He had experienced God’s presence, He had known God’s goodness, He had soared with divine rapture as he had worshiped facedown before God’s majesty. He had known God not as just the giver of joy, the supplier of gladness, but had found in God Himself joy itself.

Thus, He longed again to be in the presence of the One who currently seemed to have forgotten Him. He cried out for vindication so that he might access again the altar of sacrifice to make offerings to the One who seemed to have rejected Him. David wanted to be in the place where he could praise God, even in seasons of suffering and confusion, because he knew God . . . he believed God . . . he was bound to God — to God my exceeding joy.

Oh, to know God as not only the source and giver of joy, but to know Him as my exceeding joy itself. And, in knowing Him as my joy, to be able to trust Him in all seasons and situations — through those times when I feel forgotten, in those circumstances where I wonder where He is and sense divine rejection.

God my exceeding joy. Thus, my Rock, and my Refuge.

By His grace. For His glory.

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All My Life

As I pause to reflect after my readings this morning, I find myself hovering over Psalm 42.

Looking back through my journal, Psalm 42 is by far the “winner” when it comes to the passages meditated on this day in my reading plan. Whether it’s the song’s lament of a soul panting for God as a deer pants for water (42:1-2), or its melancholy remembrances of happier days gone by with the people of God (42:4), or its twice-repeated chorus echoing the “how long” questions that come with deep depression (42:5, 11), there’s something about this song that causes you (or, at least me) to pause, reflect, and so often connect.

In particular this morning, it’s the “day and night” verses that capture my attention.

My tears have been my food day and night,
while they say to me all the day long, “Where is your God?”

(Psalm 42:3 ESV)

By day the LORD commands His steadfast love,
and at night His song is with me,
a prayer to the God of my life.

(Psalm 42:8 ESV)

By day . . . at night . . . the God of my life. Chew on that a bit.

The God of my life. All of my life. The God of all my seasons. The ups, the downs. The mountains, the valleys. The mornings when I jump out of bed, and those when I don’t want to get out of bed. As David puts it, the God of those days when I would, “with the throng”, rejoice “with glad shouts and songs of praise”, and the God of round-the-clock weeping. The God of my day and of my night.

But not a passive God by day, not an absent God in the night. For He is the LORD who sends His faithful love by day and the LORD who sparks within me His song of salvation at night. The God whose presence is promised each day of the journey (Deut. 31:6,8; Jos. 1:5), whose mercies are assuredly new every morning (Lam. 3:23-23), and who prompts me to acknowledge His presence and thank Him for His mercies during midnight conversations. And in that dynamic, I remember that He is the God of my life. All my life.

And it is believing in this day and night God, and knowing this day and night engagement, as we endure our day and night turmoil which allows us to, even in our tears, answer the questioning of a deeply disquieted soul.

Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him,
my salvation and my God.

(Psalm 42:5, 11 ESV)

I shall again praise Him . . . for He is the God of my life.

Thus is my hope. A hope for all my life.

By His grace. For His glory.

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Seventy-Seven Times. That’s a Lot!

It wasn’t that the process couldn’t work that troubled Peter. I think it was more about what if it did?

Jesus’ charge to go to a brother or sister who has sinned against you and tell them their fault (Matt. 18:15) might have made sense if its purpose was for the self-satisfaction of chewing someone out. But rebuke them for the purpose of reconciling with them? Call out their transgression so that you could continue to follow Christ together? Not only was that uncomfortable, but it was also kind of risky. What if it worked and they asked to be forgiven? Then you’d have to. Yeah, but what if they sinned against you again (a pretty likely expectation given that we’re dealing with people here)? Go again? Confront again? And, potentially, forgive again? Yup, that’s kind of the implication.

But there’s gotta be a limit, thinks Peter. So Peter probes the matter with Jesus.

Then Peter came up and said to Him, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times.

(Matthew 18:21-22 ESV)

Seven times would be a lot. Think about it . . . a brother or sister sins against you; you go to them and tell them how they’ve sinned; he listens, she agrees, they confess and repent; and, you forgive having “gained your brother”, having won back your sister. But then, they sin against you again and you go through the process again and they listen again, and you forgive again. And then, it happens again, and the process begins again, and you forgive again . . . and again . . . and again . . . and again . . . and again. Seven times. Sure seems like a lot. Feels like going the “extra mile” and then some.

Peter thought seven times was a lot. Thought it would be a pretty safe limit to how much grace any one person could be expected to show to another. But Jesus says, “Nope, not seven times. Think seventy-seven times.”

Seventy-seven times? Come on! (Glad I’m reading the ESV, most other translators think the text says that Jesus responded, “Try seventy times seven times”).

Seventy-seven times! Really?

For anyone who’s done it, once can be hard enough — especially when the “sin against you” cuts deep, deep into you. Especially when there’s no setting right the damage caused by the wrong, no way to go back to how things were before. But yeah, seventy-seven (or, perhaps, seventy times seven), says Jesus. That’s the length you need to be prepared to go to for the sake of being reconciled with a brother; for, as much as it depends on you, living at peace with a sister (Rom. 12:18). That’s a lot of going, rebuking, and forgiving, all with the knowledge that it might be necessary to do it again.

How is that even possible?

Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

(Ephesians 4:31-32 ESV)

Comprehending something of the depths to which we’ve been forgiven by God through the Christ who died for us is the well from which we are able to extend forgiveness to others through the Christ who lives in us.

Ever sinned against God? Ever confessed and repented of it? Ever been forgiven? Ever done it again . . . and again . . . and again and been forgiven again and again and again? Ever known Jesus paying the price for the debt of sin you could never repay again and again and again — counting on the fact that He is faithful and just to forgive us our sin each and every time we confess our sin (1Jn. 1:9)?

That’s the secret sauce (not the simple or easy sauce) to seventy-seven times. It’s simple math, the more you’ve been forgiven the greater your capacity to forgive. Having known Jesus’ forgiveness seventy-seven times (more like seventy times seven times) we’re able to forgive from the measure with which we have been forgiven. Conversely, if we don’t think God has had to forgive us much — that most of Jesus’ blood was shed for others — then we’re not going to be able to tap the wells of abundant grace that can source our forgiveness of others.

Seventy-seven times. That’s a lot!

Yeah it is. But Lord, help me to forgive as I have been forgiven.

Forgiven by Your grace. Forgiving for Your glory.

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Fired (A 2015 Remix)

Every time I encounter the story, I can’t help but think how extreme the consequences were. After all, they were new to the job.

Sure, they had had thorough training and instruction on how to fulfill their role, but this week was their first week at actually giving it a try. Along with their father, they came to the tent of meeting and were clothed in their priestly garments. Moses walked them through the offerings and sacrifices that would be needed to “make atonement for you and for the people” (Lev. 9:7). And they seemed to be off to a good start.

Offerings offered per instruction . . . sacrifices sacrificed as commanded . . . the operation of the tabernacle commissioned . . . the priesthood of Israel established . . . God Himself making a “guest appearance” . . .

And Moses and Aaron went into the tent of meeting, and when they came out they blessed the people, and the glory of the LORD appeared to all the people. And fire came out from before the LORD and consumed the burnt offering and the pieces of fat on the altar, and when all the people saw it, they shouted and fell on their faces.

(Leviticus 9:23-24 ESV)

And being new to the job, the sons of Aaron decided to improvise a bit. And the sons of Aaron made a fatal mistake, literally. And they were fired, literally.

Now Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, each took his censer and put fire in it and laid incense on it and offered unauthorized fire before the LORD, which He had not commanded them. And fire came out from before the LORD and consumed them, and they died before the LORD.

(Leviticus 10:1-2 ESV)

What a shocker! It’s stunning, really. One moment the glory of God appears and fire from heaven consumes the offerings. And as the glory comes down, the people go facedown. What a holy, awesome moment. But then the sons of Aaron — we can only imagine what motivated them or what they were thinking — play loose with the holy things of God. And they offer unauthorized fire . . . “strange fire” (KJV) . . . “profane fire” (NKJV) . . . “the wrong kind of fire” (NLT). They played with fire and got burned, literally. The fire of heaven that consumed the offering for their sin ended up consuming them because of their sinful offering.

And as you sit back and try to make sense of it, your head can kind of spin. For those of us who have been wooed by grace, won by grace, and walk in grace, it just seems so extreme.

But then, chew on the words of Moses, for “whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction” (Rom. 15:4).

Then Moses said to Aaron, “This is what the LORD has said, ‘Among those who are near me I will be sanctified, and before all the people I will be glorified.'” And Aaron held his peace.

(Leviticus 10:3 ESV)

Like Aaron, I hold my peace and sit in awestruck wonder at that which the holiness of God demands. Rather than be tempted to ask, “Was that really fair?” . . . instead, I see the fire come down — both on the offering and then on the transgressors — and I too fall to my face.

Among those who are near me I will be sanctified. I will be “treated as holy” (NASB). And I will “demonstrate my holiness” (CSB). The sons were fired because they failed to regard God as holy. Fired because God being God must be set apart as no other.

How holy is my God? Three times holy! Holy, holy, holy! (Isa. 6:3, Rev. 4:8)

No other attribute of God is referred to in that way. While God is love, we do not read that He is love, love, love. While He is merciful, we don’t find Him referred to as mercy, mercy, mercy. But our God is holy, holy, holy — and those who would draw near must set Him apart accordingly. Not playing loose, not improvising, not doing what seems kind of cool in our own eyes with the things He has commanded concerning our interaction with His holy presence. Instead, we draw near with reverential fear, setting Him apart, seeking only to glorify the God who desires to dwell in our midst.

Among those who are near me I will be sanctified. Yes, LORD.

But thank God for the grace that allows us Nadabs and Abihus to not be fired when we fail to set Him apart as we should. When, because of our casualness concerning the holy, holy, holy holiness of God, we show up with our own “strange fire”. Though we might know the heat of testing so that He might refine us works-in-progress, we do not fear the fire of judgment. The sacrifice for our sin having been made once for all on the cross of Calvary when the hot wrath of a holy God was unleashed on His blessed Son for our otherwise fatal mistakes.

Our God is an awesome God. He is holy, holy, holy! He is to be treated as such.

And that, only by His grace. And that, always for His glory.

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A Pleasing Aroma to the LORD

Most often, the “echos” of repetition I encounter in Scripture take me a bit by surprise. Most of the time, when I detect an underlying drumbeat of something being emphasized through multiple iterations of the same word or phrase, it feels like a first-time observation. Not so when my reading plan has me enter the book of Leviticus. There I anticipate the echo, I look forward to the drumbeat, I find myself almost always in wonder as I noodle on a pleasing aroma to the LORD.

Seven times I encountered the phrase, a pleasing aroma to the LORD, as I read the first four chapters of Leviticus. Seven times in 95 verses. Three times in Chapter One’s 17 verses, twice more in the next 16 verses of Chapter Two, then repeated as a mind-renewing reprise both in the third and fourth chapters. To miss it, I think, is to be snoozing at the wheel.

Back in my King James days, I learned it as a “sweet savor.” A soothing, quieting, restful, and pleasing smell, scent, wafting fragrance — a pleasing aroma. To whom? To the LORD.

Kind of a funny phrase to be associated with burned up cows and sheep. Not what I think of when I think of bread left too long in the toaster. Not what I would think of as a divine reaction to an animal slaughtered, often disemboweled, and then incinerated. And yet, to my God, it’s a pleasing aroma.

How come? That’s a question worth chewing on.

Perhaps, above all other reasons, sweet because each of the different sacrifices pointed to a Person. Every offering a foreshadowing of the promised Messiah, the blessed Son of God in whom the Father is well-pleased — the once for all atoning sacrifice for the sins of men and women, sufficient to cover transgressions through the ages and for eternity.

Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

(Ephesians 5:2b ESV)

Perhaps because it pointed to a posture. When offered as the sacrifice should be offered, it demonstrated not just the outward actions of men and women but reflected something of their inner hearts. It wasn’t the smoke of the sacrifice which created the quieting, sweet scent, but the faith and obedience which accompanied the offering. It wasn’t the ritual of sacrifice that broke earth’s ceiling to enter heaven itself, but the humbled, sin-grieved response of those who so welcomed God’s presence that they would worship Him, welcoming atonement for anything that would interrupt their worship.

O Lord, open my lips,
 and my mouth will declare Your praise.
For You will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it;
You will not be pleased with a burnt offering.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise.

(Psalm 51:15-17 ESV)

A pleasing aroma, too, because it pointed to a people.

“For on My holy mountain, the mountain height of Israel, declares the Lord GOD, there all the house of Israel, all of them, shall serve Me in the land. There I will accept them, and there I will require your contributions and the choicest of your gifts, with all your sacred offerings. As a pleasing aroma I will accept you, when I bring you out from the peoples and gather you out of the countries where you have been scattered. And I will manifest My holiness among you in the sight of the nations. And you shall know that I am the LORD.”

(Ezekiel 20:40-42a ESV)

As Paul describes it, God’s people, those rescued from sin’s bondage and gathered together as an outpost testifying of God’s grace in a foreign land, are “the aroma of Christ to God” (2Cor. 2:15). Living sacrifices, holy and acceptable to God, emitting the sweet savor of spiritual worship (Rom. 12:1).

A Person. A Posture. A People. 

A pleasing aroma to the LORD.

By His grace. For His glory.

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Our Anointing

They were all dressed up. That had some place to go. But without an anointing, they couldn’t even get in the front door . . . literally.

I’m wrapping up Exodus this morning. And the prevailing theme is the creation, the construction, and the commissioning of the tent of meeting — the tabernacle, the place where God’s glory would dwell in the midst of His people.

Each piece of this divinely ordained meeting place architected by God. Moses was the general contractor, making sure it all came together according to spec. The people were the suppliers, moved to generously give of what they had in order to supply the raw materials needed to build the tabernacle. And there were a few good men, raised up of God and with Spirit-infused skill and ability, able to fashion each part of the tabernacle in exact conformance with God’s commanded design.

And within the tent there was to be an elite cohort — a priesthood set apart to enter the scared house and minister but a veil’s width from the most holy of holy spaces. Ministering in this place, the place upon which the glory of God would descend, were Aaron, the high priest, and his sons. And it’s something recorded concerning their entry into the priesthood which struck me this morning. Something which reminded me of our anointing.

“Then you shall bring Aaron and his sons to the entrance of the tent of meeting and shall wash them with water and put on Aaron the holy garments. And you shall anoint him and consecrate him, that he may serve Me as priest. You shall bring his sons also and put coats on them, and anoint them, as you anointed their father, that they may serve Me as priests. And their anointing shall admit them to a perpetual priesthood throughout their generations.

(Exodus 40:12-15 ESV)

They were to be washed before putting on specially made holy garments. They were to put on the holy garments before serving the LORD. And, most importantly, before serving they were to be consecrated, to be set apart for their spiritual service with a holy anointing. Without the anointing, they could be all dressed and still have no place to go. But with the anointing, they were admitted into a perpetual priesthood.

And I can’t help but see some parallels. I don’t naturally come from a priestly line, but have been adopted as a child of God and thus considered a brother of His Son, the Great High Priest of whom Aaron was but a shadow. And, says His word, coming to Jesus, the Living Stone rejected by men but precious in the sight of His Father, I am made like a living stone too, “being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (1Peter 2:5). What’s more, I am part of “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light” (1Peter 2:9).

I too have been called to be part of a priesthood. I have been washed by the blood of Christ, cleansed from all sin and stain. I have been given garments — not of my making or based on my merit — but holy garments sourced in the righteousness of the Savior. A robe of righteousness which is all-sufficient for allowing access to the Most Holy Place. And — it overwhelms me even to consider it — I have been consecrated, set apart for this high and holy work, with an anointing. The anointing of the Holy Spirit of God.

And it is God who establishes us with you in Christ, and has anointed us, and who has also put His seal on us and given us His Spirit in our hearts as a guarantee.

(2Corinthians 1:21-22 ESV)

Just as the anointing of the priests of the tent of meeting with oil admitted them to their perpetual priesthood, so too, our anointing with Spirit not only seals us and establishes us forever in Christ, but it also qualifies us to be counted among the ranks of those who can come before the holy presence of God in order to minister to Him and for Him. It admits us into what is often referred to as the “priesthood of believers.” A set apart cohort called to offer spiritual sacrifices to our God and to proclaim His excellencies to a lost world.

Who am I to receive such an anointing? What have I done to merit such a position?

Wrong questions. It’s all about who He is, and who He’s called me to be, and what He’s done so that it might be realized.

Praise God for our anointing!

Grace upon grace for those who had no right to even approach the outer courts of God’s dwelling place, but now, have not only been granted access though Christ, but have been consecrated by His blessed Spirit to minister in the holy place.

All for His glory alone.

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It Reaches to the Heavens

David knew well the lengths to which “transgression speaks to the wicked deep in his heart.” He knew it from his personal experience and failure; he knew it from the hands of his enemies before whom “there is no fear of God.” Thus, he opens the song we know as Psalm 36 with a chorus which laments “trouble and deceit” from those who have “ceased to act wisely and do good.” The lyrics are dark. The music, I imagine, either foreboding or melancholy.

But then, in verse 5, he switches it up, transitioning from a minor key to the major scale.

Your steadfast love, O LORD, extends to the heavens,
 Your faithfulness to the clouds.
Your righteousness is like the mountains of God;
 Your judgments are like the great deep; man and beast You save, O LORD.

(Psalm 36:5-6 ESV)

Your love O LORD reaches to the heavens! (I never fail to hear Third Day when I read this psalm).

And while steadfast love that reaches to the heavens is beyond defining in just a few words (not even in a few million words), the songwriter gives a snapshot of one facet of how exquisite (MSG) the love of God is.

How precious is Your steadfast love, O God!
 The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of Your wings.
They feast on the abundance of Your house,
 and You give them drink from the river of Your delights.

(Psalm 36:7-8 ESV)

Those are the verses I’m hovering over this morning, chewing on the shadow of Your wings . . . the abundance of Your house . . . and the river of Your delights.

The shadow of His wings . . . so expansive that each morning — whether they know it or not, whether they acknowledge it or not — the children of mankind fall under its protection. Every day before them which ends up being a day behind them is a day the inhabitants of the earth have known a divine protection extended to them by the common grace of the God of all the earth. How big is the steadfast love of the Lord? Pretty big! It reaches to the heavens.

The abundance of His house . . . He sets before all who would come a banqueting table unlike any other. Freely offering the Bread of Life (Jn. 6:35) and the fruit of righteousness (Php. 1:11) for all who hear Him knock and open the door accepting His invitation to eat with them (Rev. 3:20). His love reaches to the heavens.

The river of His delights . . . When God fills the cup, He fills it to overflowing for those ready to taste and see that the Lord is good (Ps. 34:8). The floodgates opened, unleashing springs of living water (Jn. 4:10, 7:38). By faith, taking sons and daughters born again of the Spirit and hooking them up, as it were, to the fire hose of His delights and good pleasures. His love reaches to the heavens.

How precious is Your steadfast love, O God!

But wait . . . there’s more . . . you ain’t seen nothing yet.

The degree to which we’ve known the presence of the shadow; to which we’ve eaten at His table and been filled; to which we’ve drank of living water and had our thirst quenched while here on earth, is but a small foretaste of what awaits the child of God when faith gives way to sight. Then the shadow of His wings will give way to the drive-you-to-your-face glory of the majesty of the God whose glory fills heaven’s temple (Isa. 6:1). There the feast will take the form of a marriage supper, when the Lamb welcomes home His bride bought by His blood (Rev. 19:6-9), and no one ever goes hungry again. And there we will drink, and drink deeply — for the Lamb will shepherd His people to springs of eternal water (Rev. 7:17).

The shadow of Your wings . . . the abundance of Your house . . . the river of Your delights.

How precious is Your steadfast love, O God!

It reaches to the heavens.

By Your grace. For Your glory.

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Your People! No, Your People.

“The LORD used to speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend” (Ex. 33:11). Scripture testifies that this was the unique relationship between the Creator and this particular image-bearer. Like neighbors might over a backyard fence, they’d interact within a holy tent. On matters of common care and concern they’d counsel together. And sometimes it could get a little testy, as it might between friends. Case in point, a conversation about a golden calf and what to do about it.

It’s a good thing that Moses wasn’t omnipresent and omniscient and thus couldn’t see what the LORD saw. That, when he interceded with the LORD over God’s reaction to the god-making project going on in the camp, he didn’t see as the LORD had seen; the out-of-control feasting and partying, the idol-worshiping induced revelry. When God saw the depths of the people’s sin while together with Moses on the mount, His wrath burned hot (Ex. 32:10-11). Later, when Moses descended the mountain and witnessed what was happening firsthand, his anger would “burn hot” too (Ex. 32:19). Had Moses been fully able to conceive of what was going on in the camp while on the mount, I wonder how ready he would have been to step up as their mediator. But he hadn’t experienced the fullness of their sin as God had, and so he did intercede on the people’s behalf. And it’s in that conversation where I wonder at the manner in which Moses, in a sense, holds God to His word.

And the LORD said to Moses, “Go down, for your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have corrupted themselves. They have turned aside quickly out of the way that I commanded them. They have made for themselves a golden calf and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it and said, ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!'” And the LORD said to Moses, “I have seen this people, and behold, it is a stiff-necked people. Now therefore let Me alone, that My wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them, in order that I may make a great nation of you.”

But Moses implored the LORD his God and said, “O LORD, why does Your wrath burn hot against Your people, whom You have brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand?”

(Exodus 32:7-11 ESV)

Your people . . . that’s the phrase that caught my attention this morning.

Says God to Moses, “These are your people who you brought out of Egypt who have corrupted themselves.” Moses, respectfully I’m sure (how else do you speak to a consuming fire?), counters, “Uh, not really . . . these are actually Your people, Lord, whom You have brought out of Egypt.”

Yeah, they were, in fact, God’s people. Promised to Abraham, redeemed by blood. Once in slavery, rescued in power. Stiff-necked, yet secured through unrelenting steadfast love.

Moses, the intercessor, has a face-to-face conversation with the God who has bound Himself by covenant to a people whose hearts remain inclined toward idolatry, toward worshiping a created thing rather than the Creator. And so, Moses reminds the LORD, they’re Your people. Not my people, says Moses, but the people of Your promise, Your provision, and Your power to forgive, and forgive again.

And the LORD relented from the disaster that He had spoken of bringing on His people.

(Exodus 32:14 ESV)

The God of grace had, before the foundation of the earth, determined a way to justly withhold His burning hot wrath from a people who deserved it. And He had ordained that a mediator would remind Him of it, that there would be one who interceded on behalf of His people.

We have such a mediator. One better than Moses. One where the conversation might go something like this.

The Father: Your people have sinned, yielded again to idolatry, deserving the just, burning hot wrath of a holy, holy, holy God.

The Son: Yes Father, they are My people. Bought with My blood and sealed with My Spirit. Forgive them for Your great Name’s sake . . . again. Because of the finished work of My cross, hear once more their prayers of confession and lead them once again in the way of repentance. Restore to them the joy of their salvation. For they are Our people.

Yes, we are.

And Jesus always lives to make intercession for us (Heb. 7:25). For His people.

People saved . . . and being saved . . . by grace alone. People saved . . . and being saved . . . for God’s glory alone.

Amen?

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Delivered Many Times

It’s the kind of good news which, while you’re glad to hear it, in a way you’d rather not hear it. The promise of a good outcome sourced in another promise of a less than desirable reality. Something to look forward to even through you sort of dread having to look forward to it. After all, when all is said and done, who wants to have to be delivered many times?

When the righteous cry for help, the LORD hears
 and delivers them out of all their troubles.
The LORD is near to the brokenhearted
 and saves the crushed in spirit.
Many are the afflictions of the righteous,
 but the LORD delivers him out of them all.

He keeps all his bones;
 not one of them is broken.

(Psalm 34:17-20 ESV)

The “inspiration” for this song of David? My bible says it’s when David “changed his behavior before Abimelech, so that he drove him out, and he went away” . . . aka, when David had to act like a loony-tune in front of an enemy king, pretending to be a madman and drooling all over himself, so that everyone would think he was too crazy to care about (talk about your less than best moment). On the run from Saul, the king of your people . . . ending up in front a Philistine king, the enemy of your people . . . what’s a guy gonna do? Commence drooling . . . and praying. For when the righteous cry for help, the LORD hears and delivers them out of all their troubles.

Praise God for deliverance! Good to know the LORD is near to those who are desperate. Yes and amen! That’s good news.

But who wants to keep being in situations where they need to experience that good news over and over again? Who wants to repeatedly find themselves desperately needing to “take refuge in Him” so that they might repeatedly “taste and see that the LORD is good” (Ps. 34:8)? Who looks forward to the thought of having to be delivered many times?

But says the songwriter to the righteous, many are the afflictions of the righteous. How’s that for a promise to claim? And just so we’re not thinking that in the original language “many” doesn’t really mean many — it does. As in, much, abounding in, more in number than, abundant. Heavy sigh.

Honestly, at this stage in my life, I had thought things would have gotten somewhat easier. Not really. And yet, I’m not complaining (most of the time). For without the Psalm 34:19a part of the promise, I would not know the Psalm 32:19b part of the promise — the LORD delivers him out of them all. O taste and see that the LORD is good!

Every desperate situation is an opportunity to know the presence and power of the Deliverer — the Redeemer who led you out of Egypt, the Rescuer who freed you from bondage. The prize in every pressure situation — situations where you’re brokenhearted and crushed in spirit — is the prize of drawing near to, and finding refuge in the Savior who draws near to you. Every hard thing endured is another thing which helps you know Jesus more deeply.

Oh, and speaking of Jesus . . . Did you notice the Messianic reference in the last part of the promise, the part about no bones being broken (see John 19:33-36)? Jesus, our Deliver. Jesus, the defining source of what it means to be righteous. Jesus, who knew affliction upon affliction so that He might be acquainted with our reality, “made like His brothers and sisters in every respect, so that He might become a merciful and faithful High Priest” (Heb. 2:17).

Jesus, who said,

” In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

(John 16:33b ESV)

Jesus, the LORD who delivers us out of them all.

Again, and again.

Delivered many times.

By His grace. For His glory.

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