Michael Kelley's Blog, page 16

Dead in Sin… but Alive in Christ

Because we live in a culture obsessed with self-esteem, the concept of sin is disagreeable. The popular message of the day is that happiness and contentment comes not in change, but in simply accepting who you are. The perceived fallacies and character flaws are really not flaws at all; they’re simply preferences and everyone’s preferences are okay. The world will finally be the great place it can be when we all accept that we are different, and that one person’s differences don’t mean they’re more right than any other.

That’s not what the Bible teaches.

Instead, we find a much more pessimistic view of humanity in the pages of the book that tells us our true stories. We all, regardless of our economic situation, nation of origin, or situational upbringing are dead in our sin and transgression. 

As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our flesh and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature deserving of wrath (Eph. 2:1-3).

Imagine yourself stranded at sea. There is no boat in sight; no piece of driftwood to hold you up. Just you and the water. Sure, you’ve had some swim lessons, but you’re no fool – you know that in this vast ocean there is only so long you can tread water. The minutes start to tick by, one by one, and with each second you know that your strength is a little bit less than it was before. Then you notice that your kicking legs are starting to feel heavy. You tilt your head back as you realize that you’re starting to sink deeper. Now your ears are almost fully submerged. You know the end is close, and then suddenly you take on that first bit of water. You cough it up and your heart begins to race. You come to the sudden realization that there is no hope for you. Your head dips again and you prepare yourself to swallow, when suddenly, out of nowhere, you see the rope being thrown your way. With your last ounce of strength, you grab it, and you are pulled to safety.

Some have said that this is what it’s like to be saved. Jesus, when you couldn’t save yourself, tosses you a line at the cross. Just reach up and grab it and He will pull you to safety. There’s really only one problem with that illustration: We get way too much credit.

If we believe what the Bible says about us, we are not dying; we are dead. We are not in trouble; we are helpless. And we don’t need to have our lives realigned; we need to be born again. 

This isn’t a picture of someone drowning, taking on water. Instead, the picture here is of a corpse, dead and bloated, floating face down in the sea. No strength. No power. No hope.

That’s what it means to be saved.

The gospel doesn’t claim to help the weak; it claims to make the dead live again. It is only when we begin to see the true nature of the utter despair of humanity that we begin to see Jesus not as the key to a better life. Not as a sage only teaching about love. Not as a miracle worker only concerned with the alleviation of human suffering.

Jesus is our Rescuer. And, according to the Bible, He rescues from sin and death. Jesus jumps into the sea of sin and death and hauls our lifeless bodies to the shore. Then, He leans low, and breathes new life into us:

But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved (Eph. 2:4-5).

What was dead lives. We are dead in sin, and that’s why we must be born again. Glory to God.

How Do I Know If My Faith is Real?

During a youth weekend retreat when I was in the 7th grade, some friends and I were attempting to stay up all night and found ourselves at 2 or 3 in the morning with flashlights on reading the middle chapters of the Book of Revelation. We read about tattoos, dragons, bowls, and all kinds of other things. For most of us, it was the first time we had read this Book of the Bible, and we were terrified. But I suppose that was the point for all of us.

And though I’ve grown up at least a little since then, there are still some scary texts in the Bible. But not scary in the sense that it was that night so many years ago; in some ways, even more so. And I think there is no more terrifying text in all of Scripture than what we find in Matthew 7 straight from the Lord Jesus Himself:

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven. On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, didn’t we prophesy in your name, drive out demons in your name, and do many miracles in your name?’ Then I will announce to them, ‘I never knew you. Depart from me, you lawbreakers!’” (Matt. 7:21-23).

Now there’s a text that will make you take a second look at your life. What’s truly disturbing is the sense of absolute and complete surprise you find in these people. It never, until that very moment, entered their minds that they might be unknown to Jesus. They had lived – possibly for years, or even decades, under the delusion that they were safe. Secure. True servants of Jesus.

If Jesus said what He meant and meant what He said, then it’s not only possible but a certain reality that there will be people among us now that will go to their grave convinced they are eternally safe only to find out they had lived their entire lives in eternal danger. This is indeed a terrifying prospect.

So how do we know if our faith is real? The Bible gives us the answer:

What use is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone says he has faith, but he has no works? Can that faith save him? If a brother or sister is without clothing and in need of daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and be filled,” yet you do not give them what is necessary for their body, what use is that? In the same way, faith also, if it has no works, is dead, being by itself (James 2:14-17).

How do we know our faith is real? It’s by a changed life exhibiting good works. To be clear, it is not these works that save us; not at all. It is that these good external works show the reality of what has happened on the inside of us. If our faith is real, then our lives will show us.

But wait – doesn’t that contradict what Jesus was saying in the above passage? After all, the people in those verses were doing what seemed to be great things for God, weren’t they?

Apparently, despite the things the people in Matthew 7 were doing, they were not only lawbreakers; they were also not doing the will of the Father. What, then, is the will of the Father? Well Jesus tells us the answer to that very plainly:

“For this is the will of My Father, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in Him will have eternal life, and I Myself will raise him up on the last day” (John 6:40).

With that, we have a firm progression, and also the answer to our initial question: The will of God is that we believe. Those who truly believe will have their lives changed. A changed life results in visible fruit. And that visible fruit is how we know if our faith is real.

—

This post originally appeared at thinke . org. 

4 Reasons Why Disappointment is an Opportunity for Discipleship

When you grow up in Texas, as I did, you were schooled up in the stories of the Alamo. It’s legendary – a small group of freedom fighters that took their stand against incredible odds in the small mission in San Antonio (of course, I only later found out that these “heroes” were not quite the upstanding patriots I thought they were as a kid, but I digress…)

Stories of Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie, and William Barrett Travis were the stuff of legend. I’m sure I wasn’t the only kid who petitioned his or her parents to, at some point, jump in the car and make our way down to San Antonio to see the real Alamo. And one year, we did.

I was… disappointed. I don’t know what I expected, but it was certainly a little more than what was there. Just a few crumbling walls. Right in the middle of the city. In fact, the only real part of the tour I remember was that they had Davy Crockett’s actual razor.

That’s sort of picture of life in some ways, isn’t it? You get yourself worked up over something – some vacation, some promotion, some relationship, some next stage of life, and then that “thing” happens. The vast majority of the time, it in no way lives up to the expectations you had for it in your mind. Or even worse, it doesn’t happen at all, and you are crushed under the weight of what might have been. What should have been. At least in your mind. But in the end, the result is the same:

Disappointment.

And yet here again we see the truth that the best school of discipleship is life. Real life is where our faith is honed, grown, and proven. And moments of disappointment are moments ripe for discipleship. If you’re experiencing some measure of disappointment today, then consider for a moment that this disappointment is actually a chance for spiritual growth for at least these four reasons:

1. Disappointment reminds of the only lasting satisfaction.

Ecclesiastes is a book all about disappointment. Solomon tried everything, and he tried everything to the extreme. But no matter what he devoted himself to, no matter what it was that he soaked the marrow from, he came up empty. His constant refrain through all his attempts at satisfaction was “Vanity! Meaningless!” There was nothing under the sun for him that offered true and lasting satisfaction.

It’s still true. All these things on which we hang our greatest expectations will in some way come up short. The disappointment we feel is a cue to remind us again and again that true satisfaction can only be found out from under the sun. Take heed not only from Ecclesiastes, but from the prophet Isaiah in this:

“Come, everyone who is thirsty,
come to the water;
and you without silver,
come, buy, and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without silver and without cost!
Why do you spend silver on what is not food,
and your wages on what does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
and you will enjoy the choicest of foods.
Pay attention and come to me;
listen, so that you will live” (Isaiah 55:1-3).

2. Disappointment exposes the truth in our hearts.

We have an incredible knack for self-deception. Often times, we don’t actually know the depths of our own hearts. We don’t know just how much of our hope, how much of our joy, how much of our self-worth and value we have invested in a particular thing until that thing goes away. The level of disappointment we feel is more than just painful; it’s revelatory. It shows us the truth about our own hearts. And the truth is always a good thing.

It’s a good thing for us because we have an incredible capacity for self-deception. We can talk ourselves into thinking that we are loving Jesus, treasuring Jesus, valuing Jesus above all things. In fact, the only way we might know that it’s not true is through our level of disappointment. So when we are disappointed, it’s a great chance for us to have a window of clarity in our own hearts so that we might repent and then continue forward with Jesus. So says the prophet Jeremiah:

“For my people have committed a double evil:
They have abandoned me,
the fountain of living water,
and dug cisterns for themselves—
cracked cisterns that cannot hold water” (Jeremiah 2:13).

3. Disappointment is a chance to grow in perseverance.

It’s really not a question of whether or not you will be disappointed; it’s only a question of when, and to what level. So if it’s a certainty that we will experience disappointment, then we ought to be asking ourselves what will happen next. Disappointment can either crush us, paralyzing us into inactivity, or we can carry on. Keep moving. Keep showing up.

If we choose the latter, then we find ourselves in a posture ready for discipleship, for that willingness to doggedly move forward, despite disappointment, is about perseverance. And perseverance is an essential component to growing in Christ:

Consider it a great joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you experience various trials, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing (James 1:2-4).

4. Disappointment reaffirms our faith in God as Father.

Finally, disappointment is an opportunity for discipleship because it’s a chance for us to remind ourselves of God’s goodness as our Father. Jesus taught His followers about the good Fatherhood of God in Luke 11:

“What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead of a fish? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?” (Luke 11:11-13).

Jesus’ point is pretty simple here: God is a good Father. And a good Father knows how to give good gifts to His children. That doesn’t mean He gives His children everything they ask for; this would, in fact, make Him a weak, insecure Father. He’s better than that. He only gives fish. He only gives eggs.

Sometimes from our perspective, it might look as if God has given us a snake or a scorpion because we did not receive what we wanted from Him, and we feel disappointment. But in that moment, it’s a chance for us to remind ourselves that despite what His answer looks like, He has given us a good gift. We can move forward in confidence, even if we are disappointed, because by faith we trust our Father.

Friends, you will be disappointed soon. Remember, disappointment might be painful, but it’s also an opportunity. Don’t waste it.

The Spiritual Opportunity of Your No Good, Very Bad Day

When was your last bad day?

The kind of day when issues and complications and disappointments seemed to mount on top of each other as the hours pass. The kind of day when nothing is easy at work, nothing is peaceful at home, and nothing is joyful in your relationships. The kind of day when the weather outside matches your mood. The kind of day that you’re just ready to end, but at the same time, aren’t ready for it to end at all because tomorrow promises to hold more of the same.

That kind of bad day.

Surely you’ve had one recently. And if you were to track such things, surely you’ve had more of them in the last year than you might during another year. So do you have it? Do you remember that kind of day? Remember what it felt like?

Now go a step further, and consider this – How did you deal with your very bad day? Did you try and “treat” yourself out of it? Did you try and “talk” yourself out of it? Did you try and “fun” yourself out of it? How did you move from that very bad day into the next one?

There are obviously more healthy options than other to doing so. But in the midst of all those coping mechanisms, regardless of what they are, perhaps there’s an opportunity in there somewhere as well. A spiritual opportunity. Here’s what I mean:

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your cares on him, because he cares about you” (1 Peter 5:6-7).

The command here is in regard to humility, but that’s a tricky venture isn’t it? It’s tricky because those who are truly humble do not necessarily recognize themselves to be. In fact, the moment you start to recognize your own humility then you have started to drift into an insidious kind of pride – you are proud of being humble. 

It’s instructive, then, to remember that the command here is to “humble yourselves” rather than to “be humble.” It might be that I’m splitting hairs here, but the language seems to indicate that there are particular actions we can all take that are humbling in nature. So we can choose to do these things – to humble ourselves – and in so doing, to actually move toward a state of being humble. 

That brings us to the subject of our very bad days. What in the world does that have to do with the idea of humility? It’s because your very bad day is an opportunity to pursue humility. For us to humble ourselves. Consider how humbling a very bad day is. On a very bad day:

We are forced to admit that we didn’t know what was coming.
We are forced to admit that we have difficulty with our emotions.
We are forced to admit that we are, in most ways, victims of our circumstances.
We are forced to admit that we need help.

Is this not the essence of humbling oneself? Is it not about admitting, without equivocation, that we are in need? Of course it is – and of course that’s why it’s so difficult and painful. Because those who are in need are those who are weak.

But this is also the opportunity before us on those very bad days. In the midst of trying to cope with all that has happened to you in a 24-hour time span, take those 24 hours as a reminder of your own frailty and need. Acknowledge it freely knowing that the Lord is gracious and merciful. Embrace the weakness that’s always there, which a very bad day brings to the forefront. Humble yourself, and trust the One before whom you are humbled:

The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears,
and rescues them from all their troubles.
The Lord is near the brokenhearted;
he saves those crushed in spirit (Ps. 34:17-18).

—

This post originally appeared at thinke . org. 

3 Ways Christian Grief is Different

Like many of you, I watched the news of the escalating Middle Eastern conflict slack-jawed. Rockets. Gunfire. Invaders. Hostages. It went on and on, and I wondered how to respond to this. I wondered how to respond as a nation, and how to respond as an individual. While there are differing opinions all along the spectrum, including differences of opinion amongst believers in Jesus, surely at least there is one response we all have in common:

Grief.

I felt, as you likely did, a tremendous sense of grief at the violence, death, suffering, and promise of more to come. I did not know any of these people directly; I had no friends or family in Gaza at the time; I have never even set foot in that part of the world. But I felt it. Certainly not as acutely as many, but it was present nevertheless. This feeling of pain and loss and sadness and confusion all coming together in an amalgamation of grief.

One of the places in Scripture that embraces grief and then speaks clarity into it comes from Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians:

“We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, concerning those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve like the rest, who have no hope. Since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, in the same way God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep through Jesus. For we say this to you by a revelation from the Lord: We who are still alive at the Lord’s coming will certainly have no advantage over those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the archangel’s voice, and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are still alive will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore encourage one another with these words” (1 Thess. 4:13-18).

This passage is encouraging first and foremost because it validates our grief. Sometimes, as Christians, we tend to push grief away as if it’s wrong to be sad about our present circumstances when we are confident about what is to come. But Paul knew  didn’t advise that – not at all. After all, the Lord Himself wept at the tomb of His friend Lazarus (Jn. 11:35-38).

It is comforting to know that the Christian does not need to repent of his or her tears; the Christian has no need to apologize for their feelings of sadness or loss. And yet the Bible does help us know that Christian grief is different, and it’s different in at least three ways:

1. Christian grief is with hope.

This is the main way our grief is different from “those who have no hope.” Our grief is transformed because we know death is not the end. The gospel has made a fool of death, in that the thing which is the result of our sin has become the doorway to life everlasting with Jesus. Indeed, there will come a day when Jesus will execute true justice and all will be as it always should have been. That means even though we grieve, we know that grief is not forever. It is a temporary state of affairs that, along with everything else, will eventually be put right when Jesus comes back. The how’s and when’s of that return are still in question, but the reality of the event itself is not. Jesus will return. And when He does, death and grief will become a distant memory.

This is where we find perhaps the most beautiful promise of this passage: “We will always be with the Lord.” Always. And with the Lord there is indeed no more crying or pain.

2. Christian grief is with others.

For many, grief is a truly solitary experience. It’s when we feel most alone, most isolated, and most afraid. And in a sense, we are because no one feels exactly as we do; hurts exactly as we do; has lost exactly as we have. Paul concludes this teaching with the simple but beautiful exhortation that we should “encourage one another with these words.” That’s not to say private grief is wrong; surely there is a time for grieving alone. It is, however, to say that if we never share our grief with others, we are being disobedient to the commands of Scripture and, in a way, are being selfish with our pain.

These are truths that are meant to be stated and then restated and then restated again. Because we are forgetful in our grief, we should bear the burden on behalf of each other in remembering these principles.

3. Christian grief is deeper.

It’s strange that Christians tend to have the reputation of those who just put a band-aid on grief and move on; that we are the people who don’t feel grief deeply because we choose to comfort ourselves with some fabricated truth of eternal life. The opposite should actually be true. Christians should grieve more deeply than those who have no hope. And the reason why is because when we grieve, we aren’t just grieving an occasion of loss; we are grieving our entire state of being.

Christians understand that the true source of grief is not random events or diseases, but the condition of sin in which we and the rest of the world are in because of our rebellion. So when we grieve, we are acknowledging the entire broken state of the world which had led to all these occasions of loss, sadness, and pain. In this way, we mourn the loss of the right relationship the entire world had with God, and we are longing for it all to be put right again.

This is why, in the midst of our grief, our expression is not only a cry to make the pain stop or to bring back the way things used to be; rather, our mourning produces the cry for the only thing that can really make a difference:

“Come Lord Jesus.”

God Looks at the Heart – For Better or For Worse

You probably remember the scene. The Lord had chosen a new king of Israel, and He sent Samuel to anoint this new king. He told Samuel that the new king was one of the sons of Jesse, and so the prophet went to Bethlehem and lined up the boys waiting for the Lord to announce his choice.

They were a sight to see – each one seeming to have the look of a king, and yet each one was rejected by the Lord until there was only one left. David, the youngest, was out tending the sheep, and against all visible signs, he was to be the next king:

“Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for God does not see as man sees, since man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

This is comforting, isn’t it? It’s comforting because we don’t look like much. We aren’t the best looking, the smartest, or the most strategic. But external appearances don’t matter that much, because even when the rest of the world relies on what is visibly apparent, God looks at the heart.

But, of course, that principle goes both ways. David, that young man with the heart bent toward God, later penned these words from Psalm 139:

Where can I go to escape your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to heaven, you are there;
if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
If I fly on the wings of the dawn
and settle down on the western horizon,
even there your hand will lead me;
your right hand will hold on to me.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me,
and the light around me will be night”—
even the darkness is not dark to you.
The night shines like the day;
darkness and light are alike to you (Psalm 139:7-12).

As you read it, you can sense perhaps a bit of frustration in David:

Can I get some time to myself? Can I please be alone for a few minutes? Everywhere I go – in the darkness, in the light, it doesn’t matter. You’re always there!

And perhaps we can relate to that sentiment at least a little bit as well. Because with God, there is no private time. There is no let down. There is no secret being kept; no rock not overturned. If God looks at the heart, then we are all laid bare before the Lord at any given moment. He knows the real us. Better than anyone else. Better than ourselves. And to make matters worse, this One from whom we cannot hide is the One to whom we must give an account. In a world in which we carefully construct our platforms, our personas, our masks, that is a terrifying thought.

Indeed, the presence of God is terrifying for it means we are never alone.

Both are true. And the place where both realities intersect is the gospel. Because it’s only through the gospel that that the presence of God ceases to be terrifying and begins to be comforting. Yes, it is true that God knows us better than we know ourselves, and that everything in all creation is laid bare before Him to whom we must give an account. But it is also true that knowing all that, while we were still sinners, Jesus Christ died for the ungodly.

What an amazing thought for those too afraid to let anyone truly know them – that God already does, and He loves us still. When we believe the gospel, the terrifying nature of a God who knows all is transformed into the comforting nature of our heavenly advocate. It’s at that point that we know that God is not only with us, He is for us in Christ.

—

This post originally appeared at thinke . org. 

3 Things We Teach Our Kids About God When We Bunker Them

“Sheltered” is not often seen as a positive term. When we talk about someone being “sheltered,” we usually mean that they are naive, having been protected from the big, bad world outside. I don’t think that’s entirely fair. In fact, as a parent, I want my children to be sheltered.

“Shelter” is one of the basic needs of life; it’s a structure of some type that keeps the most harmful elements of the environment from killing you. As a parent, part of my job is not only to provide physical shelter for my children, but also to exercise wisdom in knowing how much and how many of the elements of the world to expose them to at a given age. Because I love my children, there are absolutely certain things I protect them from. I would not, for example, allow my kids to watch slasher movies that I know would taint their imaginations and keep them up at night. So we shelter them.

But there is a difference between a shelter and a bunker. And far too often, we veer away from sheltering our kids to bunkering them in. When we bunker them in, we not only protect them from harmful elements; we deny their very existence. We hurriedly rush them away from difficult to discuss topics; we refuse to acknowledge the evil that is in the world; we create our own world, apart from the real one, and seek to raise our kids there.

It is, frankly, easier to bunker our children rather than shelter them. When we bunker them, we simply assume everything is bad and destructive, and like those hiding from nuclear fallout underground, we seek to control our environment as fully as possible. But when you shelter, you have to actually use wisdom and discernment. Furthermore, you have to train your children to know how to interact in a good and healthy way with what’s outside the home.

That’s not to say bunkering doesn’t teach our children. It certainly does. Though when we bunker them, what they learn might not be what we intended, especially when it comes to what they learn about God:

1. When we bunker our children, we teach them that God is not sovereign.

In Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring, Frodo once remarked to Gandalf: “I wish it need not have happened in my time,” as he lamented the fact that he had lived to see the evil advancing from Mordor. Gandalf responded: “So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

That is very true. We live in the days which God decided we should live. When we bunker our children, we are many times expressing our silent wish that we did not live in the particular days we do. So we seal off our kids, trying to create an idyllic atmosphere different than the one in which God has placed us. But if our kids were born in the wrong time, then God is not sovereign. We deny that the times and seasons belong to God (Daniel 2:21).

2. When we bunker our children, we teach them that God is not powerful.

What do we tell ourselves when we bunker our children? We tell ourselves that we are keeping them safe. And isn’t that what a parent is supposed to do?

The answer, of course, is both yes and no. Yes, we should protect our children. That’s why we don’t let them stick forks in light sockets. But our highest goal as parents is not to protect our children; it’s to see them embrace the joy and passion of God’s kingdom. Furthermore, at some point we must recognize as parents that we cannot protect our children. Not really. Not fully. We have to come to grips with the fact that God alone can offer them true and eternal security. When we bunker our children, we are telling them that we can do what only God truly can.

3. When we bunker our children, we teach them that God is not sending.

There is, for every Christian, the tension between being in the world, and being of the world. Jesus intent is that we walk this line, being salt and light as His ambassadors, and yet not being polluted by the things of the world. Indeed, He has sent us out for this very work. We are meant, as Christians, to live, interact, and relate to the world around us. In so doing, we are meant to present a different set of values, priorities, and passions while standing right in the middle of the values, priorities, and passions around us.

When we bunker our children, we are teaching them that God is not actually sending us out. We are reinforcing to them that the best place for the Christian to be is inside their own carefully constructed environment rather than living as a stranger and alien right in the middle of the world.

Parents, let’s shelter our children, for sheltering gives us the chance to train them up in the way they should go. But let’s not be dominated by the fear that would take the shelter and make it into a bunker.

4 Prayers to Keep Praying for Teachers This Fall

These are hard days for teachers. For the last several years, this is one particular group of people who have been on the frontlines of shutdowns, reopens, shifting guidelines, and cultural shifts. They have found themselves at the center of issue after issue, all while trying to do a very difficult job without all these issues complicating it.

This is not a position they asked to be in; no, these are the men and women who have for some time done the good, hard, faithful, but often unnoticed work of education. These are the people in whom we have subconsciously put our trust; the ones on whom we have consistently relied; and the ones who have shouldered that burden on behalf of our families so strongly. But now they are increasingly in the public eye, and so now is an important time for us to pray for them.

In light of that here are several specific ways to pray for our teachers this fall:

1. Protection.
There is a terrible amount of violence in our schools. Regardless of what you may believe to be the solution to that violence, we live here, in the meantime, when going to work every day for this group of people comes with a level of risk. Let’s pray that the Lord would protect our teachers, along with our students, from harm:

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble (Psalm 46:1).

2. Courage
Our teachers need courage not only because it takes much courage to step in front of a classroom every day, but also because they deal with a near constant barrage of questions, criticism, and second-guessing. The vast majority of these folks are playing the hand they have been dealt; they do not set policies, curriculum, or standards on their own. To do that takes tremendous bravery.

Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand (Isaiah 41:10).

3. Patience.
If someone has been teaching for a long time, they have a general kind of routine and preparation established, but all that has been disrupted in the past three years. Their regular yearly cycle has been changed. Their practices have been adapted. And this will not be the last time. Surely in the next few weeks or months another policy will be changed, another rule will be enacted, another procedure approved, and they will yet again have to rework the method of their teaching. Added to this are the calls, emails, and other messages they will receive from well-meaning, but often frustrated parents, all expressing these opinions to teachers who in reality have little control over the overarching direction of the school in which they serve.

A gentle answer turns away wrath, But a harsh word stirs up anger (Proverbs 15:1).

4. Ministry.
As these teachers care for and educate our children, they have an opportunity to be a voice of comfort and stability for them. We should pray that the influence of our teachers would be a calming and steady one; that the Lord would help them to be ambassadors of peace even in the midst of such a turbulent time. We can pray that through both their words and deeds, teachers can be a constant reminder to the children and teenagers of a Greater Teacher.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).

This is a group of people who need our support, friends, and the greatest way we can support them is through actively praying for them. Let’s be intentional about this for the sake of our teachers, and also for the sake of our children.

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This post originally appeared at thinke . org. 

2 Things Disappointment Reminds Us Of

Have you been disappointed by something yet today?

If not, just wait. It’s coming. Because it happens most everyday. We make our plans, with the best of intentions, and then things don’t wind up going the way we think they should. Granted, some of these disappointments are bigger than others, but imagine with me for a second that the disappointment you face today is something big. Maybe it’s a project you have put your heart and sweat into that is not yielding the results you wanted. Maybe you poured your soul into a Bible study or a sermon and only were met with blank stares. Maybe you bent over backward to create a special experience for your spouse or child and they were only mildly enthusiastic. And you find yourself disappointed.

It’s easy to see why. In your mind, like mine, what you did is good. It’s worthwhile. It was certainly difficult. And the results do not, in your opinion, match the quality of the effort.

What do you do? Cry? Complain? Give up? Here’s what Paul the apostle did:

They went through the region of Phrygia and Galatia and were prevented by the Holy Spirit from speaking the message in Asia. When they came to Mysia, they tried to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them. So, bypassing Mysia, they came down to Troas. During the night a vision appeared to Paul: A Macedonian man was standing and pleading with him, “Cross over to Macedonia and help us!” After he had seen the vision, we immediately made efforts to set out for Macedonia, concluding that God had called us to evangelize them (Acts 16:6-10).

Paul was visiting the churches he planted on his first mission, and all was going well. Very well. The churches were encouraged and grew in numbers. So they set out again with the intent to head into Asia, but as the text tells us, they were prevented from doing so by the Holy Spirit. Okay – not such a big deal. Disappointing I’m sure, but the world is a big place and lots of people needed to hear the gospel, and the Lord had other plans. So they set out once again with the intent to go to Bithynia probably to preach in the big cities like Nicomedia, Nicea, and Byzantium. And they were stopped again.

Again? Maybe a tinge more disappointment this time, but still, nothing to get down about. The missionary group set out once again through the backwoods country of Mysia down to Troas. That’s when Paul had the dream. And finally, a moment of absolute clarity:

During the night a vision appeared to Paul: A Macedonian man was standing and pleading with him, “Cross over to Macedonia and help us!” After he had seen the vision, we immediately made efforts to set out for Macedonia, concluding that God had called us to evangelize them (Acts 16:9-10).

Surely this was a message from the Lord. A clear direction after two false starts. Go to Macedonia and help the lost who were there. So they readied themselves for the journey with all the confidence in the world they were at last going the right way to do the right thing. The text continues to tell us that their journey from Troas to Philippi was an easy one. A journey like that might ordinarily take 5 or more days, but Acts tells us they made it in 2 no doubt because of good weather.

So far so good – they have a clear vision. A clear mission. And even sunny skies to bolster their spirits. In Philippi Paul shares the gospel with Lydia and her family and all are converted and baptized. The missionary party must have been riding high, and then it all unraveled.

Acts 16:16 tells us the story of a slave girl in Philippi who could predict the future. Paul cast the spirit out of her, rendering her unable to make those predictions which had made her owners so much money. Enraged, those slave-owners dragged Paul and Silas before the local authorities. An impromptu lynch mob formed and the two missionaries were stripped, beaten, and thrown into prison.

Let’s review now. There was a clear mandate. There was a clear vision. There was a pure motive. And the results from all the travel, the faithfulness, and the effort was being locked into stocks. This is the kind of disappointment I have never faced, and it makes the way Paul and Silas responded all the more remarkable:

“About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them…” (Acts 16:25).

How can that be? That this was the reaction to such disappointment? Perhaps the reaction stems from something deep within that usually escapes me when I find myself in a posture of complaint and despondency at the results I see in front of me. I would propose that for people like us, who often find themselves casting their gaze heavenward in pleading fashion, asking why the results are meager when the effort was so great, that disappointment is actually an opportunity to be reminded of two things, one about God, and one about ourselves.

1. God is far wiser than I think He is.

I am more likely to be the person in this story who never made it to Philippi, but instead threw up his hands at the first redirection. But when I find myself disappointed, it’s an opportunity to be reminded that God is far wiser than I am. Just because the results aren’t what I expected or wanted, it doesn’t mean they’re wrong. It only means that God, in His wisdom, has plans that are far more wide-reaching and encompassing than I can conceive. Which leads to the second reminder when we are disappointed:

2. I am far more short-sighted than I think I am.

If I had a nickel for every opportunity in my life that I thought everything was contingent upon, then I’d have a lot of nickels. I can think back as far as playing Little League when I thought that the results of one at-bat would determine the future of the known world. I’ve prayed for a certain set of results countless times since then – in sermons, in books, in work developments, in family life. Each time I’ve been disappointed, I can look back and see that my prayer for those results was less a result of desiring God’s will and His glory than it was a result of my own short-sightedness. I was suffering from tunnel blindness, focusing only on what was directly in front of me in the moment.

When you are disappointed today, and you likely will be, perhaps it’s an opportunity for you to cast your eyes toward heaven not in complaint, but in worship of a God who is far wiser than you and in confession of your own short-sightedness. If we can do that, then we will find ourselves accepting the specific kind of daily bread the Lord has chosen to give to us on a given day, no matter what it might taste like in the moment. For we recognize that though it might not be delicious in the moment, it is indeed the best thing for us.

Jesus is the Light of the World… and So Are We

It’s been said by many wise fathers to their kids that nothing good happens after midnight. The dark is when people get in trouble; it’s when we tend to lose our inhibitions and caution. That’s because we, as humans, were made to live in the light.

If you’ve ever worked the night shift, you know how difficult it is to adjust your internal clock; you have to relearn how to live and even when you do, everything seems opposite of what it should be. That’s because you are going against the natural inclination in you to live and move and work in the light.

Jesus told His followers, “I am the light of the world” (John 8:12), and of course, He was. But why did He choose the light to compare Himself to? A lot of reasons, but maybe the most important involves the purpose of light.

In that day and time, light wasn’t meant to decorate a house; no one had a lamp sitting around because it looked pretty. Light was about utility and work; it existed in a limited supply and it was important that a person made the most of the time they had while the light was still shining. That’s because in the light, we can truly see, and can know the true nature of what’s before us.

When a lamp is lit in a darkened room, there is immediate clarity there. Without the light, there is mystery, apprehension, and fear; you can’t truly identify where or what anything is. But with light comes revelation – the light reveals the true nature of what is and what is not. It shows you that a chair is not a bed and the monster knocking on the window is really just the rain.

Light reveals. It shows us the truth about what otherwise exists in darkness. That’s exactly what Jesus did.

Jesus exposed a lot of things that had been in the dark for a long time. He shined the light on the hypocrisy of the religious leaders of the day. He refused to accept half-hearted devotion to becoming a true follower of God. He called sin “sin” and He extended love and truth with His whole self.

But Jesus not only called Himself the light of the world; He passed the responsibility of lighting the world to His Followers:

“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matt. 5:14-16).

Like Him, His followers are meant to light the world and to light it brightly. The way weary travelers look with hope to the bright and warm city on the hill, so should the world look to Christians as those who tell the truth and welcome them warmly into the kingdom of clarity.

But clarity is not always warm and truth is not always easy. The light brings the truth, but the truth is not always comfortable. That’s the difficult part about being the light of the world; it means that we must stand for truth even when we are pressured not to. Jesus was the light, the great bringer of absolute clarity, and it cost Him His life. We shouldn’t be surprised when being the light costs us as well. Jesus knew this, and so He warned against the temptation to dampen the bright light within us.

But our light is not meant to be muted; it’s meant to be put on a stand or a hill and displayed. Christians are meant to exert their influence so obviously that no matter how far from the light a person might be they can still see it in the distance. Just as He is the light of the world, so also may our light shine out in the increasingly darkened world of our day.

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This post originally appeared at thinke.org.