I want to know Christ…(Philippians 3:10)
As my friend
As my brother
As my master
As my hero
As my leader
As my confidant
As my creator
As my helper
As my shelter
As my rock
As my hope
As my heart
This could take forever.
Good
Happy Thursday, Beloved
…that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ–the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith (Philippians 3:9).
I remember a book I read when I was a kid. In it, Death was a regular guy whose job was to come collect your soul when you died. Good deeds from your life made your soul lighter; bad deeds made it heavier. Mr. Death freed your soul and allowed it to float up to heaven or sink down to hell.
Cool story–bad theology.
Two major problems from the perspective of Truth. First, as we’ve already seen, your most righteous righteousness ain’t so righteous, so your soul–and mine–would float as well as balloons filled with mashed potatoes. Second, God isn’t looking for a 51%-49% proposition. Anything less than perfection is an epic fail.
But I could never–
Exactly.
Aaaaaand…we’re back to Jesus.
Exactly.
Happy Wednesday, Beloved.
But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him… (Philippians 3:8-9)
Today is trash day.
Literally and figuratively.
I just took the cans to the curb, and as I did I though about how great it would be if I could take all the stuff that I think is important–but is really rubbish–and throw it out. Just take the pride and the doubt and the fear and…well…the Michael–and toss it in the can next to the used paper towels and the banana peels and the shredded shoes and say goodbye to it.
Then I realized…I’d need a bigger can
and a bigger truck
and a bigger landfill.
Oy
Happy Tuesday, Beloved.
Deliver me, O my God, from the hand of the wicked, from the grasp of evil and cruel men (Psalm 71:4).
Sixteen years.
Sixteen years since “Nine-One-One” became “Nine-Eleven.”
Sixteen years since we awakened to fire and smoke and terror and grief.
Sixteen years since the hand of the wicked reached out to strike at our nation.
It was a horrific reminder that there is evil in this world. Evil will always attack the innocent. Evil will always set itself against the people of God.
And yet, you didn’t really need the reminder, did you? You’ve known the attack of evil—maybe not on so grand a scale, but you’ve known it.
And you will again.
It comes with the territory. It’s part of the package of being His, of living for Christ in this world.
And so is deliverance.
As surely as the sun rose this morning.
As surely as the Son rose long ago.
God will not let evil win. Not in this world. Not in your life.
So as you remember 911 today, as you see the proud flags and hear the lofty speeches, remember your own personal 911’s, and how God has brought you through them.
And trust that he will again.
Walk in remembrance today, Beloved.
But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things (Philippians 3:7-8).
Time for a heart check, Beloved of Christ.
Read the words again.
Slowly
Let them percolate.
And ask yourself: Would you willingly, joyfully, eagerly walk away from all that you have and do and are for the sake of Christ?
Easy to say…
Happy Friday, Beloved.
If anyone else thinks he has reasons to put confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; in regard to the law, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for legalistic righteousness, faultless (Philippians 3:4-6).
You know what I like about our dog?
She’s not trying to impress anybody. She just came in from the back yard, scruffy and damp and smelling of something she should not have been rolling in. She came in with a wagging tail and a big puppy grin, nothing to prove, just happy to be with me.
You know what else I like about our dog?
She has no illusions of grandeur. She is fully aware–to the extent that a dog can be aware–that she is dependent upon us, and she seems utterly fine with that. She doesn’t even try to feed herself, or let herself out, or bathe herself (although I wouldn’t mind that last bit). She is content, knowing that her needs will be met by those who love her.
You can learn a lot from a dog.
Happy Thursday, Beloved.
It is no trouble for me to write the same things to you again, and it is a safeguard for you (Philippians 3:1).
I almost skipped over this line, as I often skim past it when I am reading this passage. It just seems like filler, a transition to get us into the next section of the letter. Then I realized something.
This line is gold.
This line is at the very heart of wisdom.
As a teacher, I know that students need to hear something multiple times before it sinks in. They can read it, hear it from me, discuss it with a partner, watch it in a video, and still be completely clueless on tomorrow’s quiz. One of my teacher mantras is It never hurts ‘em to hear it again. In this respect, we are no different from the twelve-year-olds in my classroom.
We need to read it again
Hear it again
See it again
Experience it again
Pray it again
before it really sinks in.
So, as you head into your day, don’t shy away from the lessons you think you’ve already learned. That direction leads to pride, and we know where that road takes us. Instead, embrace the wisdom like the friend that it is.
It never hurts us to hear it again.
Happy Wednesday, Beloved.
Finally, my brothers, rejoice in the Lord! (Philippians 3:1)
First thing
Last thing
Every thing
Rejoice in the One who has formed you out of dust and love, who has called you to be his beloved, who has set you apart and sealed you as his own. He knows you completely, and loves you anyway. Every dark thing in this world and in your life will be overwhelmed and overcome by the power of his love and holiness.
He is King.
He is God.
He is yours
and
you are his.
Rejoice, Beloved!
Happy Tuesday
A few thoughts about work on your Labor Day.
Once upon a time, while sitting in an airport in Bucharest…
Great start to a story, isn’t it? I should follow up with a tale of espionage, intrigue, fast cars, and spiffy accents.
Except, I’m me.
Once upon a time, while sitting in an airport in Bucharest waiting for my flight, I observed two men toiling at a job both menial and fraught with danger.
They were window washers…sort of.
Actually, they could best be described as skylight washers, but without the special equipment you may have come to expect from your average semi-professional skylight washers. No scaffolding for these men, no sissy safety belts—if you fall, well, that’s just job security for the custodian. Simply two men, a hose, and a long, long rope.
The operation went something like this: Skylight Washer #1 was stationed on the roof of the airport—oh, say, 30 feet up. SW #2 was stationed directly below, standing on the marble floor of the terminal. (I think the floor was marble—it looked very marbleish. If you are familiar with the 1990 Bucharest International Airport terminal, and know that I am mistaken, please correct me. If not, just take my word for it and move on.)
In any case, SW#1 would remove a 2ft. x 6ft.-ish panel of glass from the skylight, wrap his trusty rope around it—a single loop, no more, I’m sure it will be fine—and lower it gently to SW#2 who was, I repeat, waiting about 30ft. directly below, and surrounded by passengers making their way through the terminal.
What could possibly go wrong?
As it happened, nothing went wrong, though I must admit to a morbid fantasy that involved twelve square feet of glass hitting that marbleish floor and exploding like a mortar round.
By the way, this all happened on that glorious April 1990 morning when the Romanian airline pilots discovered the joys of capitalism and went on strike, so I had plenty of time to watch, being stranded and all.
Once the glass panel reached the floor, SW#2 would untie the rope, hoist the glass in his burly arms, and descend a flight of stairs. I can only assume there was a hose and drain of some sort down there; SW#2 would invariably return to the surface with a cleanish, dripping wet pane of glass. He would retie the rope around the pane and call to his partner, who would hoist it aloft to its nest in the roof.
One down; several hundred to go.
When I started this post, I was going to use that story to illustrate a rather delightful rant about inefficiency. It’s a plague I’ve been enduring of late. However, I have had some conversations recently that have sent me in a different direction.
So, here’s the different direction: Do you think those two men felt called to be skylight washers?
Seriously. I mean, we spend so much time wondering if our lives are fulfilling, if we are doing what we were “meant” to do. I wonder if that’s healthy? I wonder if those two men were pining for lost dreams, or if they were simply glad to have a job to do so they could feed their families.
I don’t think Charles Ingalls questioned his calling to be a farmer. He was too busy farming.
This blog, as you may have noticed, is inspired by Ephesians 4:1
As a prisoner for the Lord, therefore, I urge you to life a life worthy of the calling you have received…
But the idea there is really about my calling to follow Christ, as well as the callings to husband, to father, to teach. It’s less about what I do, and more about how I do what I do.
Still, I see people worried about their “calling.” Either they’re sad because they aren’t doing what (they think) God has called them to do, or they’re depressed because they can’t find their “calling.” I’ve certainly been there. It kind of reminds me of a ‘60s-style drifter, wandering the country trying to “find himself.”
The more I think about it, the more I think that this drive to find some higher sense of purpose and fulfillment is an unpleasant byproduct of our affluent society. If I plopped you down in the middle of name your deserted rugged wilderness, your calling would become a simple one: survive.
I can’t think of any Biblical characters searching for their calling. If God had something particular in mind for them, he had several delightful ways of making it known. Otherwise, the heroes of the faith simply did what was in front of them to the best of their abilities and to the glory of God.
I look in Scripture and I see that we are called to follow Christ.
We are called to hope.
We are called to peace.
We are called to be saints.
Again, it’s more about how we do than what we do.
Could it really be that simple? Is it really just a matter of,
Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for man (Colossians 3:23)?
How freeing is that?
So, here it is: Michael’s formula for finding God’s calling on your life.
Ready? You can take notes if you want.
Step #1 Do what’s right in front of you.
Step #2 Do it with joy, thanksgiving, and “as working for the Lord.”
Step #3 If the opportunity arises to do something that you are good at, that brings you joy, and that honors God, take it.
Step #4 Repeat Steps #1 and #2.
Maybe I’m wrong; perhaps God will call you to disagree with me. If so, be gentle in your correction—my heart’s in the right place.
OK, this is the end of my “The kids are gone to college and I feel melancholy and nostalgic” week. Thanks for putting up with me.
I am Husband. I am Father. I am called by God to be the spiritual leader in my home. It’s one of those callings I have received, of which I want to live a life worthy. Of.
So I make plans to have Family Worship. You know, a time to read Scripture, pray, discuss, and sing together as a family. It is a great plan, and I am a great planner, and it never seems to work.
I can envision it perfectly. We begin shortly after dinner. Everyone is home, the family is settling down for the night—it’s our own private vespers. I play a little guitar, and my family is transported to the very throne room of God. Then we read the Bible, and I expound upon the mysteries of Truth as my children sit, awestruck at their father’s wisdom, and my bride silently weeps with the knowledge that this spiritual Atlas is her soul mate. As we pray, we are drawn, singly and corporately, closer to the Lord. In nations around the globe, lives change and darkness is pushed back…
It’s a really good vision.
The reality…not so much.
See, the reality is that we seldom begin Family Worship until bedtime or well after bedtime. I tend to get unreasonable after a certain hour—that’s about the time we usually start. There’s no time for music, which is fine because my guitar playing is painful for all involved, so we just pray, and it ends up being pretty rote. Occasionally I’ll read Scripture—it takes about thirty minutes to make it through four lines because I am unreasonable and sleepy and because we have raised homeschoolers who like to actually understand what they read.
When the kids were little, we used to all climb up on the bed together for Family Worship. It was cuddly. These days we are all larger than we used to be, so we end up cramped and cross. We jostle each other and jockey for position. Holding hands is always entertaining, with teenage siblings in the mix.
At about this time the dog usually comes wandering in to lick any exposed feet, which transports you back from the Throne Room really quickly. If the offended flesh happens to belong to one of my ladies, screaming and leaping ensues. Meditation is replaced by pandemonium, and lives are not changed so much as threatened.
And yet…
I’ve got to figure that God is more pleased with our pathetic attempts than with my glorious visions. We are a real family—frighteningly, annoyingly real—and I know that’s a priority for God. I’m not saying we can’t do better, because I know we can. He deserves our prime time, not our leftovers. Still, we bring him what we have, and who we are, and he does not turn us away.
As a Dad, I want to be a better leader. I want to inspire my family, and, frankly, impress them with my spiritual manliosity. It doesn’t often work out that way. I’ve heard leadership described like this: If you think you are a leader, take a look behind you. If someone is following, then you are leading. If not, then you are just out for a walk.
I look back, and they’re still with me. So, for better or for worse, I am the spiritual leader of my family. I will do all I can to do it right, and I will drink deeply of grace.
I’m not pleased with our worship. Praise God, he is.