He must increase, but I must decrease. [John 3:30 (ESV)]
After pointing out Jesus as the “Lamb of God,” some of John the Baptizer’s disciples left John to follow Jesus. Later, John’s remaining disciples reported that Jesus was baptizing (it actually was His disciples) and wanted to know whose purification ritual of baptism was valid. With many turning from John to Jesus, the Baptizer’s disciples were confused, concerned, and probably a little envious. Apparently, they forgot that John’s original mission was that of forerunner—the one who would prepare the way for the Messiah and point the way to the Lamb of God. Knowing that he wasn’t the bridegroom but only His friend, the Baptizer humbly affirmed his position by telling his disciples that Jesus must become more prominent while he became less and less important. J.C. Ryle likened the Baptizer’s role to that of a star growing paler and paler as the sun rises until the star completely disappears in the light of the sun. John clearly understood that he was to fade in the light of the Son.
During this time of Lent, I have given thought to John’s words and tried (rather unsuccessfully) to decrease so that Jesus’ presence can increase. It was upon reading the following prayer by John Wesley that I realized how much of me I refuse to surrender. Prepared by Wesley for the early Methodist societies in 1755, the prayer is part of a Covenant Renewal Service in Methodist churches today. Although Wesley’s original, with its “Thee,” “Thy,” and “Thou,” has been updated with “You,” “Your,” and “Yours,” the prayer’s level of commitment remains the same.
I am no longer my own, but Yours. Put me to what You will, rank me with whom You will; Put me to doing; put me to suffering; Let me be employed for You or laid aside for You, Exalted for You, or brought low for You; Let me be full, let me be empty; Let me have all things, let me have nothing; I freely and wholeheartedly yield all things to Your pleasure and disposal. [John Wesley]
These are the words of a man who was willing to decrease so that Jesus would increase—so that God’s light would be visible in his life. A prayer of surrender, Wesley’s words are those of a servant who loves and trusts his master enough to willingly submit in advance to whatever his master demands.
When Jesus called us to take up our crosses, He wasn’t speaking of bravely facing some tragic situation or long-term illness. A cross meant certain death and taking up our cross means dying to ourselves. Surrendering our wants, plans, and desires to Him, taking up our cross is decreasing while He increases! Unlike Wesley, my prayer of, “Do with me whatever You please, give me whatever task you would have me do, send me wherever whenever you want, take all that I have, and give me whatever you choose,” includes the unspoken words, “as long as it’s what I want and isn’t too inconvenient!”
While I may sing the old hymn’s words, “Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee,” there are limitations to my offer. God is welcome to my life, my time, my hands and feet, my voice, my skills, my wealth, and my will just as long as it’s on my terms! By the way, Lord, don’t ask me to do manual labor, go without modern conveniences, move, learn a new language, or leave my family!
In The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis points out that God doesn’t want most of our time and attention or even all of it; He want us—the whole package—body and soul! There is no part of us that does not belong to Him and upon which he has no claim. He wants to completely fill us with His presence, but that’s only possible if we decrease to make room for Him. It is only when we empty our souls of our own will that He can fill us with His! Let us remember: If we’re too filled with ourselves to make room for His fasts, sacrifices, and responsibilities, then we’re too filled with ourselves to have room for His feasts, gifts, and blessings!
Lord, show me how to decrease so that You might increase!
Unlike Lazarus, we haven’t had a four-day encounter with death. Our family didn’t wash us with warm water, anoint us with myrrh and aloe, wrap us in a shroud with herbs and spices, lay us in a tomb, and mourn our passing. Most of us haven’t even endured a months-long coma, flatlined, or been brought back to life with an AED. How does such an experience affect someone? Without a doubt, the man who emerged from the tomb differed from the man who died four days earlier. Did Lazarus return to life with the 1st century equivalent of a “bucket list” of things to accomplish, places to go, things to do, and adventures to have?
Jesus was in Perea on the east side of the Jordan when He learned that Lazarus lay on his sickbed. Why didn’t He immediately return when told that his dear friend was sick? While the timeline is unclear, the messenger probably set out for Jesus as soon as Lazarus took ill. Since it was a day’s journey from Bethany to Perea, Jesus would have heard the news late that first day or early the second. By that time, Lazarus already was dead. With Jewish custom requiring the funeral be within eight hours of death, he probably was buried, as well. Nevertheless, even though Jesus knew that He’d miraculously resurrect the dead man, He seemed strangely unconcerned. Rather than immediately return to comfort Martha and Mary and cut short their time of mourning, Jesus waited around on day two and three and didn’t arrive in Bethany until the fourth day.
Brent Askari’s play, The Refugees, begins with an unusual premise. Because of a violent civil war in the United States, an upscale American family become refugees in a Middle Eastern country. When the family’s Arab social worker referred to the American refugees as “you people,” the once suburban housewife’s expression spoke volumes. In her previous Connecticut life, anyone who wasn’t white and upper middle class had been “those people” but the tables have turned and the roles reversed. Instead of being the ones with the money and advantages, her family and others like them are “those people:” a minority, seeking asylum in a new country, unfamiliar with the customs, and unable to read, write, or speak the language. Wearing clothes they once would have sent to Goodwill, they need government assistance to survive. Her once high-priced lawyer husband is now a stock boy whose boss takes advantage of his immigrant status. This family and other American refugees are as unwelcome in the unnamed Arab country as are the refugees at our border.
Years ago, I often cared for my granddaughter while also watching my son’s dog. The grand in her highchair would push her food around the tray while trying to feed herself. Since fine motor skills are lacking in toddlers, a fair amount of whatever she was eating ended up on the floor. Whatever my grand didn’t get in her mouth became a feast for the dog waiting patiently beneath her for the bits and pieces that fell. When she was a bit older, I think she deliberately dropped a few tidbits for her canine friend.
When considering Solomon’s excess and riches, I recalled comedian George Carlin’s “Stuff” routine. First performed for Comic Relief in 1986, Carlin made fun of our obsession with having stuff. Along with being the King of Israel, Solomon was the King of Stuff. Denying himself nothing, along with his elaborate throne of gold and ivory, he displayed 500 ornamental gold shields on the walls of his palace. Rather than silver, all the king’s goblets and eating utensils were made of pure gold. He had 40,000 stalls of horses for his chariots, and 12,000 horseman.
Devotions of the Heart 