May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. [Psalm 19:14]
I’m sharing these daily devotions in the hope they will inspire you to read God’s word. I’m praying that they will help you find your way to a closer relationship with God. [Read More ….]
Like many of the psalms, Psalm 136 opens with words of thanksgiving. Beginning with creation, this beautiful psalm reviews God’s goodness in regard to his people and encourages them to praise Him for his merciful and steadfast love. Where it differs from the other psalms of thanksgiving is that every line is followed by a refrain of “His faithful love endures forever.” From those first three verses, it continues giving thanks “to him who alone does mighty miracles. … who made the heavens so skillfully. … who placed the earth among the waters. … who made the heavenly lights … the sun to rule the day… and the moon and stars to rule the night,” with its refrain following each verse. The next 13 verses recount Israel’s’ history…bringing them out of Egypt, parting the Red Sea, leading his people through the wilderness, defeating Pharaoh’s army, striking down powerful kings, and giving the land to Israel. Psalm 136 tells us that life is neither random nor meaningless; we are not here accidentally. Our lives are meticulously planned and intelligently designed.
The psalm’s author is unknown, but Scripture tells us that, when the Ark of the Covenant was brought to Jerusalem, David appointed the Levites to write a psalm of thanks because God’s “faithful love endures forever.” This psalm was also sung at the Temple’s dedication and at the three pilgrimage festivals. I picture the people gathered together in the Temple courts. While a priest or Levite sang a reason to thank God, the entire congregation answered with, “His faithful love endures forever!” Accompanied by trumpets and cymbals, it must have been an amazing sight to behold!
Although it never uses the Hebrew words “hallelu jah,” meaning “praise the Lord,” this psalm is called “the Great Hallel” (or Great Psalm of Praise) by our Jewish brothers and sisters. In traditional congregations, it is recited or chanted during the verses of praise on Shabbat/Sabbath morning services. Additionally, along with the “Egyptian Hallel” (Psalms 113 through 118), it is sung at the conclusion of the Passover Seder.
God, however, didn’t stop being good to His people some 3,000 years ago. For the 21st century Christian, there’s no reason to stop praising God’s goodness at twenty-six verses. Think of all the lines we could add to this Psalm. Verses like, “He sent his one and only Son, to give His life as ransom for sinners. His faithful love endures forever. Everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. His faithful love endures forever.” Consider how long the psalm would be!
When I read this psalm, however, I revisit the many ways God has personally shown me how “His faithful love endures forever.” I think of the people He’s placed in my path and the often fortuitous timing of their placement, the blessings of children and grands, the years He’s given me, the many ways He protected me from others and from myself, the healing of broken relationships, the restoration of health, His guidance, and His unending love, along with the many little blessings of life—things like sunshine, rainbows, chocolate, laughter, music, and butterflies! Indeed, “His faithful love endures forever.”
The refrain of “His faithful love endures forever” is repeated twenty-six times in this psalm. It could be repeated 2,600 times and that wouldn’t be enough. Regardless of what we give to the Lord in the way of time, talent, or tithes, He always gives us more. When life takes a downturn, as it often does, may we recall God’s past blessings and claim the promise that, “His faithful love endures forever.”
Since her church attendance is limited to Christmas and Easter, with an occasional funeral or wedding thrown in, a neighbor describes herself as being a “Birth and Resurrectionist.” People like her are often categorized as “nominal” or “non-practicing” Christians. Granted, church attendance is not the litmus test for Christianity. Nevertheless, lack of church attendance indicates a lack of commitment and a token or non-practicing faith. While such people identify as “Christians,” their Christianity is a more a matter of culture, habit, or tradition than one of faith, creed, and rebirth.
Celebrated evangelist Billy Sunday said, “Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than going to a garage makes you an automobile,” and we’ll find “nominal” or “non-practicing” Christians in the pews as well as the beach or golf course Sunday mornings! Some things, however, can’t be done partially—and following Christ is one of them. An all-or-nothing proposition, following Jesus means a transformed life. When those “nominal” or “non-practicing Christians” arrive at the Pearly Gates, they shouldn’t be surprised when Jesus doesn’t recognize them! Nevertheless, setting aside the promise of salvation and where we’ll spend eternity, what would our lives be like right now if we only were token or cultural Christians?
While we’d still have a code of ethics, knowing what’s right doesn’t mean we’ll do the right thing. A relationship with Jesus means we have the Holy Spirit to guide us through our moral choices and get us back on track when we stray. Without the Holy Spirit, would we be able to love? Probably, but not with the unconditional love (agape) about which Jesus spoke—the power to do that comes from Him. Worse, we’d have anger, resentment, and bitterness because, without the Spirit’s power, we’d struggle to forgive those who’ve hurt us. Moreover, if Jesus weren’t in our lives, we’d miss the blessing of God’s forgiveness and be burdened with guilt, regrets, and shame.
If we had no relationship with Jesus, we’d miss that wonderful sense of peace that comes with Him. We’d always be searching for the next best thing without ever realizing that we have the best thing right beside us. Without Jesus, our sense of worth would depend on superficial and transient things like social status, wealth, education, and looks. With Jesus in our hearts, we know without a doubt that we are loved unconditionally. Moreover, without Jesus in charge, we’d lose our sense of hope and trust. We’d fight our troubles instead of accepting them with the knowledge that He will carry us through them.
Finally, a “nominal” or “non-practicing” Christian misses out on the blessings of Christ’s church. The church isn’t a building; it’s a family of faith. It’s friends, support, instruction, accountability, inspiration, opportunities, guidance, encouragement, prayer, and joy! While salvation is the final reward for our faith in Christ, our daily lives are continually blessed for that faith.
Back in 2015, after their Washington, D.C., home was invaded, a family of three and their housekeeper were held hostage and tortured for nineteen hours before being brutally murdered and their house set on fire. During the family’s incomprehensible ordeal, their captor had a pizza delivered and calmly ate it. Ultimately, it was DNA left on a piece of that pizza that led police to the killer. While discovering his identity was an astounding piece of detective work, what most astonished me is that, while holding four people hostage—people likely crying in pain and pleading desperately for their lives—someone could calmly eat a pizza! How could anyone have an appetite while committing such an atrocious and cruel crime? Yet, Daron Wint did! Convicted of 20 counts of kidnapping, extortion, and murder, he was sentenced to four life terms in prison without the possibility of parole.
As shocking as that story is, Daron Wint is not the only person who enjoyed a meal while his hostage pled for his life. That’s exactly what Joseph’s ten elder brothers did. You remember Joseph, the favored son of Jacob, the handsome one with the coat of many colors. When his jealous brothers conspired to kill him, thinking he could rescue his younger brother later, Reuben suggested throwing him into a dry cistern and leaving him to the mercy of the elements. After tossing Joseph like a piece of garbage into a pit, Scripture tells us the ten brothers then sat down to eat a meal.
Boys being boys, perhaps Joseph thought it was just a mean brotherly prank and his siblings would soon let him out of the well. “Come on guys, I’m hungry and thirsty,” he may have pled. “Help me up so I can have some lunch. I’ll even share my coat with you!” But, when Joseph heard his brothers coldly discuss selling him into slavery to some Ishmaelite traders and plot how they would explain Joseph’s failure to return home, it began to dawn on the boy that he was in serious trouble and his brothers weren’t joking.
Can you imagine the cries of the terrified youth once he realized what was happening and the danger of his situation? While Joseph begged for his life, his brothers ignored his cries and ate their meal. Can you imagine how he must have pled for their mercy, much as that Washington family probably begged for their lives? Unlike the pizza-eating criminal, however, Joseph’s brothers didn’t plan an outright murder. They left their brother’s future up to the slave traders. But, like that killer in D.C., they knew their victim’s anguish and refused to hear his cries.
Even though we’re not likely to invade a home and kill its occupants or throw a sibling into a pit and sell him into slavery, we’re not as different from Daron Wint and Joseph’s brothers as we’d like to think we are. Although we’re not plotting murder and mayhem while eating pizza or pita, I suspect we’re all somewhat guilty of ignoring the desperate cries of those in need.
Are we like the priest and Levite who ignored the cries of the dying man on the road to Jericho? While we probably can’t hear them with our ears nor see them with our eyes, we know they’re there. While calmly eating meals in the comfort of our homes, do we turn a deaf ear to the voices of the hungry in places like Sudan and Gaza? While enjoying an evening in our safe and cozy homes, do we turn a blind eye to the suffering and the devastation in war-torn countries like Ukraine, Sudan, Palestine, and Myanmar? Do we ignore the plight of refugees, the victims of injustice, and those whose lives have been torn apart by natural disasters? With callous indifference, have we turned our backs on our less fortunate brothers and sisters both here and across the globe? By ignoring their cries, do we condemn them to lives of strife, suffering, or death? How can we, as Christians, ignore the desperate cries of those in need? Let us remember that knowing the right thing and not doing it is as much as sin as is doing the wrong thing! [James 4:17]
I recently saw a sign on a church that read, “Be the Church—Fight for the Powerless.” We can’t do that for everyone but, chances are, we can do it for someone!
We must never minimize the suffering of another. Scripture’s mandate to us is, “Weep with them that weep.” [Billy Graham]
Wearing a stuffed backpack and carrying his Teddy bear, little Tommy walked past his neighbor’s house. A short while later, he walked by her house in the same direction. He disappeared around the corner only to reappear several minutes later. As he was passing her house for the fourth time, the neighbor asked him what he was doing. When Tommy explained he was running away, she asked why he was only circling the block. “Because I’m not allowed to cross the street!”
Have you ever wanted to run away from your problems? I certainly have and so did David. Desperate, he wanted to escape his situation and yearned to be a dove that could just fly away to a far away place. Neither David nor I were any more successful at fleeing our troubles than little Tommy!
The difficulty with running away is that our problems usually come along with us while new ones loom right around the corner. When Hagar ran away from Sarah’s cruelty and Abraham’s disregard, the lone pregnant woman simply exchanged one set of problems for an even greater one—that of survival in the wilderness—and God sent her back. Hagar, of course, wasn’t the only one who chose to run rather than face her problem head-on. Adam and Eve were the first. After tasting the forbidden fruit, they foolishly thought they could escape facing God by covering themselves with leaves and hiding in the trees. They could run, but they couldn’t hide!
When famine struck and Abraham ran away to Egypt, he simply traded one problem for another when he lied about his marriage and allowed Sarah to be taken as one of Pharaoh’s wives. Naomi and Boaz jumped out the frying pan right into the fire when they escaped from famine in Judah by going to the hostile pagan nation of Moab. Boaz died there as did both of their sons and Naomi was left a penniless widow in a foreign land. Jonah, of course, is the poster boy of runaways. Unwilling to obey God and pronounce judgment on Nineveh, the prophet immediately went in the opposite direction and ended up in the belly of sea creature. If we’re running from God, we’re going in the wrong direction; Satan, however, is more than happy to provide us with transportation!
Refusing to face our problems is just another way of running from them. When Saul and his army refused to face Goliath, the giant didn’t go away; he returned every morning to taunt them and their God! Displeased by Jeremiah’s words, King Jehoiakim of Judah burned the prophet’s scroll and King Zedekiah imprisoned him. Nevertheless, ignoring Jeremiah’s prophecies of disaster didn’t keep it from happening!
Running from the truth doesn’t make it less true and running from a problem doesn’t make it disappear! Trials are inescapable in this fallen world and dealing with them is a necessary part of being a believer. Our challenges shape us into the people God wants us to be. Whether it’s financial difficulties, a troubled marriage, a difficult boss, a rebellious child, a medical issue, a loved one’s mental illness, or our own addiction, problems must be faced.
Our loving God is sovereign over our lives. Rather than run from the troubles He’s allowed to be placed in our lives, He expects us to trust Him enough to stand firm and boldly confront them while wearing the armor of God. Although we have a belt, breastplate, shoes, shield, helmet, and sword, something is missing; there is no back plate to the breastplate of righteousness. I suspect that’s because we can’t win the Kingdom if we’re fleeing from the enemy!
Things were going well for Moses in Midian: he was happily married, with a family, and tending his father-in-law’s sheep. Then God interrupted his comfortable life with a burning bush and a major task: free the Israelites. Moses reacted the way most of us would by questioning God. Who am I to do this? Who do I say sent me? What if they don’t believe me? He then told God he simply wasn’t up to the task. Not one to be thwarted, God responded to all of Moses’ concerns. He would be with him, provide the words, the proof, and even Aaron to do the talking. In short, God promised to provide and so Moses obeyed.
God sends all of us burning bush moments that interrupt our comfortable lives. While they’re not likely to involve an actual burning bush or freeing a nation from slavery, they are important to the people involved. Several years ago, I had a burning bush moment and, like Moses, I questioned my ability to respond.
My mother-in-law had suffered a mild cardiac episode and we were in a treatment room in the local ER. Treatment had started, she was resting comfortably, and we were waiting for a hospital room to become available. Suddenly, a young man on a gurney was wheeled past our room. Surrounded by paramedics, an automated CPR machine was pumping on his chest. As doctors and nurses sped past, I said a quick prayer for him. Not much later, I saw a young woman being consoled by a nurse. There was no doubt in my mind that this woman had been married to the man brought in by the EMTs. Clearly, the outcome had not been good and, while she’d started the day as a wife, she was ending it as a widow. This tearful woman was being given papers, directions to somewhere in the hospital, and some small solace before the nurse turned away. It was a busy night in the ER and other patients called. Sitting there, alone in her grief, she looked frightened and lost. Did she need someone to be with her? Did she need someone like me? Without a doubt, I felt God’s call; this was a burning bush moment.
Like Moses, I had questions and excuses. This was way out of my comfort zone. After all, I’m not a grief counselor, what would I say? What if she rebuffed my offer of help? What if she’s not Christian? What if I misread the situation? What if I got sucked into all sorts of family drama? Unlike Moses, however, I didn’t trust God’s call or His provision. I was so busy arguing with Him, I didn’t let Him answer my questions or ease my doubt. While busy thinking about me and pondering various difficult scenarios in my mind, the opportunity passed. When next I looked out the door, the sobbing woman was gone.
Rather than thinking about her, I was thinking about me! Hesitant to get involved, I thought of all the reasons I wasn’t qualified when I should have prayed for God’s guidance and trusted in His provision. Yes, I may have been rebuffed and told to mind my own business, but I’m a big girl and could have handled that. Like Moses, I didn’t know what I’d say but, rather than trust the Spirit for my words, I was overthinking the situation. This woman probably didn’t need relevant Bible verses; she just needed compassion and I have plenty of that. Along with my prayers, I had arms that could hold her, a shoulder on which she could cry, and tissues for her tears.
It’s my regret that I failed God and one of His children that night. I was reminded of my failure when, like that man, my son-in-law was brought into the ER by paramedics doing CPR. Because her mother was on a mission trip, my 21-year-old granddaughter was alone when told of her father’s death. Fortunately, a nurse stayed with her until a family friend arrived. I thank God for this compassionate woman who did what I should have done years ago.
Since that night several years ago, God has called me out of my comfort zone and my response has been better and quicker. Nevertheless, I know He’s not done with me yet; another burning bush might be right around the corner. Keep your eyes open; there may be a burning bush in your path today, as well. How will you respond?
Beware of despairing about yourself; you are commanded to put your trust in God, and not yourself. [St. Augustine]
“May the Holy Spirit give us grace to not begrudge the pedagogy of God,” wrote John Piper in the day’s devotion. A somewhat archaic word and not one I regularly use, I thought of a pedagogue as an old, boring, stodgy, and authoritarian teacher who never changed his lesson plan or lectures. Unsure what Piper meant, it seemed wise to consult the dictionary. “Pedagogy” comes from two Greek words: pais, meaning child, and agogos, meaning leader. A paidagogos was a slave who led the boys to and from school, taught them manners, and tutored them after school.
Pedagogy eventually came to mean the method and practice of teaching—how knowledge and skills are taught and learned—and a pedagogue is a teacher or educator. While God is neither boring nor stodgy, He is older than time and an authoritarian (but loving) teacher with some unique, innovative, and often challenging teaching methods or pedagogy.
I don’t know about boys in ancient Greece, but I imagine they were like boys today: often less than enthusiastic about spending time in a classroom, learning their lessons, and being taught restraint, civility, and good behavior. Like schoolboys, we often are less than enthusiastic about learning the lessons God is teaching us, especially since His lessons rarely are as easy as learning the alphabet or simple arithmetic. Granted, He does provide us with a syllabus in Scripture so we have a general outline of His policies, expectations, and rules. Nevertheless, we don’t get an individual syllabus explaining our specific assignments, exam dates, projects, and deadlines. Some of God’s lessons seem bizarre or unreasonable while others are heartbreaking or near impossible; much of the time, we can’t see their purpose at the time. Like the teacher who gives pop quizzes, doesn’t allow make-up exams, and won’t accept late papers, it’s easy to begrudge the way God teaches us.
I’m reminded of a scene from the movie Peggy Sue Got Married in which the middle-aged Peggy Sue goes back in time to high school. When asked to solve a problem in algebra class, she responds, “I happen to know that, in the future, I will not have the slightest use for algebra, and I speak from experience.” Like Peggy Sue, once out of school, I had no need to know about coefficients, variables, constants, or exponents. Nevertheless, I didn’t know that when I took algebra more than sixty years ago; had I taken another career path, I might have needed that information!
We are finite beings and can only see what is right before us. God, however, is infinite and can see far into our future both here and in the hereafter. When He teaches us lessons about patience, humility, loss, conflict resolution, pain, worry, pride, fear, trust, obedience, persistence, and faith, we rarely know for what purpose we’re in His schoolroom or when we’re going to need the skill we’re being taught. God’s pedagogy only makes sense when we look back in time. It is then that we realize the benefit we’ve gained from His extraordinary and often bizarre teaching methods. Indeed, as John Piper said, “May the Holy Spirit give us grace to not begrudge the pedagogy of God.”
I never had a trial I wanted to have, but I never had trial I wasn’t glad I had. [Jack Hyles]
Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood. [Helen Keller]
Devotions of the Heart 