Today's reading.
This psalm, while beautiful, seems a bit disjointed. It speaks in the first six verses of the magnificent glory of God's creation. Who hasn't looked up at the sky in wonder, seen a smoggy L.A. sunset or the vastness of a Midwestern sky and been astonished by its beauty? "The heavens declare the glory of God" (19:1); the sky cries out in a voice that resounds throughout creation: "God is glorious, good, beautiful, worthy. Worship him!"
Then the psalm takes a sudden, uninspiring turn in 19:7: "The law of the LORD is perfect." Wait. What happened to star-gazing? Why is he talking about the law all of a sudden?
We think of the law as a difficult, burdensome set of rules and regulations meant to spoil our fun or make us feel bad. Or we think of them as a way to be holy(-er than all those other people out there who don't keep them). When we think of God's law in that way, it makes no sense that the psalmist would saw that the law of the Lord revives the soul (7), rejoices the heart (8), or more to be desired than gold or honey (10). More fitting metaphors in our mind include a straitjacket, ball and chain, heavy load to be carried, etc.
The psalmist finds the law as inspiring as the most glorious of God's natural creations, because God's law was graciously given by God to teach his people how to live in relationship with him. When we love God, when we come to him in faith, trusting him as little children, we want to hear from him how we ought to live. God gives us his law to show us how to be close to him. He gives us his ways to teach us how we can imitate him, the One who made beauty itself. The law is the key to living as our Heavenly Father's children.
Of course, we can't keep God's law as he has told us we must. The psalmist loves God's law and wants to keep it, but he knows he can'd "discern his errors" (19:12). So he throws himself upon God's mercy: "Declare me innocent!" he pleads.
In Christ, God has answered that ancient prayer. In Christ, we are declared innocent, fully the recipients of God's perfect, fatherly mercy. Though Christ hadn't yet come, the psalmist knows God is merciful and will answer him; he calls the Lord "my rock and my redeemer" (19:14). If we are in Christ, that is who God is for us as well. In light of that, let us live in the power of the Spirit as those who desire desperately to be like our Father. May the words of our mouths and the meditation of our hearts be acceptable in God's sight on account of Christ our rock and our redeemer.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
February 12: Mark 15
Today's reading.
This is it. The events of this chapter mark the climax of Jesus's life and Mark's gospel.
Mark's account of Jesus's life begins with the message of Jesus: "the kingdom of heaven is at hand" (1:15). Chapter 15 is the last time we could say the kingdom is "at hand," close, nearby. Jesus's death on the cross is what would finally make the kingdom not near, but here.
Read this chapter again in light of all that Jesus has said. Throughout Mark, Jesus has been saying he would be delivered to the rulers of the people and be crucified (8:31; 9:9, 30; 10:33-34, 45; 12:6-11; 14:8, 18, 24-25, 28, 41). There was never a point in Mark when Jesus was unsure of his future. He has had to battle against the ignorance of his disciples, the assumptions of crowds, his followers' desire to make him a king. He's done all this blamelessly, walking in perfect obedience to the Father. And now he stands before Pilate and before the people, beaten, interrogated, accused and condemned to death, all so that he could give himself a ransom for many (10:45).
It's because he had resigned himself to the Father's will (14:36) that he can now stand as a criminal before his accusers and amaze Pilate by making no response to their charges (15:3-5). He knows the crowd will scream for his crucifixion, and that Pilate will grant it (15:6-15). He knows the names and intimate personal details of the soldiers who would mock him, beat him, and nail his hands and feet to an old tree trunk (15:16-20). This Almighty Son of God knows poor Simon of Cyrene will be made to carry the tree up the hill called Golgatha because he will no longer be physically strong enough to do it, so great are his wounds (15:21-22). He knows those who stand around at his public, humiliating death will think all his words were little more than hot air, that they will believe his claims to power and authority were empty words (15:29-32). He knows the words of Psalm 22 will come true when he's lifted up, bruised and bloodied, nailed to a tree, that because he is bearing our sins in his body (1 Pet. 2:24) the Father will turn his back on his own beloved Son (15:33-36). He knows that in a few short hours, he will breathe his last (15:37).
So, then, why? Why does Jesus, knowing all that will happen to him in the coming hours, why does he just stand there? Why does he let his accusers shout lies, his executioners do their worst? Why does he let himself be led like a lamb to the slaughter (Isa. 53:7)?
Because his cross would bring the kingdom.
The moment Jesus breathed his last, "the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom" (15:38). The moment Jesus's sacrifice for our sins was complete, we were reconciled to God through him! The moment the penalty for our sins was paid by his blood (10:45), the curtain was no more. The separation between sinful humans and a holy God was eliminated at the cross. When Christ died, the kingdom of God was here; the relationship, the fellowship, the communion between God and his people was restored. With Christ—who is King (15:2)—you and I can follow him by faith into the presence of the Lord Himself.
So great is Jesus's love for you and me that he hung, abandoned, rejected, bleeding, humiliated on the cross. So great is God's purpose for us that he sent Christ to die for sin so that our sin would no longer keep us from him. So great is God's grace that we now have the freedom in Christ to live as God's children in grateful obedience to Him. So great is the kingdom. So great is the cross.
This is it. The events of this chapter mark the climax of Jesus's life and Mark's gospel.
Mark's account of Jesus's life begins with the message of Jesus: "the kingdom of heaven is at hand" (1:15). Chapter 15 is the last time we could say the kingdom is "at hand," close, nearby. Jesus's death on the cross is what would finally make the kingdom not near, but here.
Read this chapter again in light of all that Jesus has said. Throughout Mark, Jesus has been saying he would be delivered to the rulers of the people and be crucified (8:31; 9:9, 30; 10:33-34, 45; 12:6-11; 14:8, 18, 24-25, 28, 41). There was never a point in Mark when Jesus was unsure of his future. He has had to battle against the ignorance of his disciples, the assumptions of crowds, his followers' desire to make him a king. He's done all this blamelessly, walking in perfect obedience to the Father. And now he stands before Pilate and before the people, beaten, interrogated, accused and condemned to death, all so that he could give himself a ransom for many (10:45).
It's because he had resigned himself to the Father's will (14:36) that he can now stand as a criminal before his accusers and amaze Pilate by making no response to their charges (15:3-5). He knows the crowd will scream for his crucifixion, and that Pilate will grant it (15:6-15). He knows the names and intimate personal details of the soldiers who would mock him, beat him, and nail his hands and feet to an old tree trunk (15:16-20). This Almighty Son of God knows poor Simon of Cyrene will be made to carry the tree up the hill called Golgatha because he will no longer be physically strong enough to do it, so great are his wounds (15:21-22). He knows those who stand around at his public, humiliating death will think all his words were little more than hot air, that they will believe his claims to power and authority were empty words (15:29-32). He knows the words of Psalm 22 will come true when he's lifted up, bruised and bloodied, nailed to a tree, that because he is bearing our sins in his body (1 Pet. 2:24) the Father will turn his back on his own beloved Son (15:33-36). He knows that in a few short hours, he will breathe his last (15:37).
So, then, why? Why does Jesus, knowing all that will happen to him in the coming hours, why does he just stand there? Why does he let his accusers shout lies, his executioners do their worst? Why does he let himself be led like a lamb to the slaughter (Isa. 53:7)?
Because his cross would bring the kingdom.
The moment Jesus breathed his last, "the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom" (15:38). The moment Jesus's sacrifice for our sins was complete, we were reconciled to God through him! The moment the penalty for our sins was paid by his blood (10:45), the curtain was no more. The separation between sinful humans and a holy God was eliminated at the cross. When Christ died, the kingdom of God was here; the relationship, the fellowship, the communion between God and his people was restored. With Christ—who is King (15:2)—you and I can follow him by faith into the presence of the Lord Himself.
So great is Jesus's love for you and me that he hung, abandoned, rejected, bleeding, humiliated on the cross. So great is God's purpose for us that he sent Christ to die for sin so that our sin would no longer keep us from him. So great is God's grace that we now have the freedom in Christ to live as God's children in grateful obedience to Him. So great is the kingdom. So great is the cross.
Friday, February 11, 2011
March Reading Plan!
Well, we're nearly halfway through February and it's time to unveil the reading plan for March.
The only thing of note about March is that we will take a brief break from Genesis at the end of March/beginning of April to look at Galatians. The book of Galatians sheds a lot of helpful light on the story of Abraham and Sarah, so after we read their story in Genesis, we'll read Galatians and then come back to finish Genesis.
How has this experiment in community Bible reading been so far? Has it been easy to stay in the Word this way? Have you found this plan helpful? Suggestions on how to make it more helpful? Leave your comments below!
The only thing of note about March is that we will take a brief break from Genesis at the end of March/beginning of April to look at Galatians. The book of Galatians sheds a lot of helpful light on the story of Abraham and Sarah, so after we read their story in Genesis, we'll read Galatians and then come back to finish Genesis.
Friday Prayer: A Convicted Sinner's Prayer
As usual, please take the time today to pray and reflect on what we've read this week and catch up on any reading you may have missed. You are in my prayers. I pray the Lord would strengthen and build all of us up as we seek Him in His Word.
Here is a prayer from the Valley of Vision (p. 38). It is a good one to pray when feeling convicted of sin. I especially like the last two paragraphs: the second to last speaks of God's patience (that far exceeds our own), and the last asks that God would make us sorrowful for our sin to lead us to repentance, grace and healing.
Thou righteous and holy Sovereign, in whose hand is my life and whose are all my ways, keep me from fluttering about religion; fix me in it, for I am irresolute; my decisions are smoke and vapor, and I do not glorify thee, or behave according to thy will.
Cut me not off before my thoughts grow to responses, and the budding of my soul into full flower, for thou art forbearing and good, patient and kind.
Save me from myself, from the artifices and deceits of sin, from the treachery of my perverse nature, from denying thy charge against my offenses, from a life of continual rebellion against thee, from wrong principles, views, and ends; for I know that all my thoughts, affections, desires and pursuits are alienated from thee.
I have acted as if I hated thee, although thou art love itself; have contrived to tempt thee to the uttermost, to wear out thy patience; have lived evilly in word and action.
Had I been a prince I would long ago have crushed such a rebel. Had I been a father I would long since have rejected my child.
O thou Father of my spirit, thou king of my life, cast me not into destruction, drive me not from thy presence, but wound my heart that it may be healed; break it that thine own hand may make it whole.
Here is a prayer from the Valley of Vision (p. 38). It is a good one to pray when feeling convicted of sin. I especially like the last two paragraphs: the second to last speaks of God's patience (that far exceeds our own), and the last asks that God would make us sorrowful for our sin to lead us to repentance, grace and healing.
Thou righteous and holy Sovereign, in whose hand is my life and whose are all my ways, keep me from fluttering about religion; fix me in it, for I am irresolute; my decisions are smoke and vapor, and I do not glorify thee, or behave according to thy will.
Cut me not off before my thoughts grow to responses, and the budding of my soul into full flower, for thou art forbearing and good, patient and kind.
Save me from myself, from the artifices and deceits of sin, from the treachery of my perverse nature, from denying thy charge against my offenses, from a life of continual rebellion against thee, from wrong principles, views, and ends; for I know that all my thoughts, affections, desires and pursuits are alienated from thee.
I have acted as if I hated thee, although thou art love itself; have contrived to tempt thee to the uttermost, to wear out thy patience; have lived evilly in word and action.
Had I been a prince I would long ago have crushed such a rebel. Had I been a father I would long since have rejected my child.
O thou Father of my spirit, thou king of my life, cast me not into destruction, drive me not from thy presence, but wound my heart that it may be healed; break it that thine own hand may make it whole.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
February 10: Psalm 18
Today's reading.
This psalm was written and sung by David after "the LORD rescued him from the hand of all his enemies and from the hand of Saul" (18:0). David suffered much at the hand of his enemies, and he recounts some of it in this song (18:4, 5, 16, 17). We don't know why God allows suffering in our lives, but at this point David isn't asking that question. He is rejoicing.
We don't know why God allows suffering, but the answer David offers here is that it leads us to praise God more when we are delivered from it. His praise is emphatic at the beginning of this psalm; he can't seem to get enough descriptors out of his thesaurus to tell how wonderful and merciful and strong and kind and gracious God is. "I love you, O LORD, my strength. The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold" (18:1-2). That's nine descriptions in two verses. That's praise.
The fact is that the peaks of life would not feel nearly as high if they didn't stand above dark valleys. Sweet would not taste nearly so good if we did not know bitterness. The gloriously warm sun last weekend would not have felt half as delicious had we not just had a month of cold, gloomy weather. The hardships we face in life stretch us, grow us, deepen us to understand all the better "the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that [we] may be filled with all the fullness of God" (Eph. 3:18-19).
That isn't a philosophical proof to explain the problem of evil. It doesn't provide an open-and-shut, air tight case for God's existence or Christianity's truthfulness. But this momentary affliction pales in comparison to being "filled with all the fullness of God," doesn't hold a candle to "the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge." If part of the reason we go through trial and difficulty is so that we can be incredibly, miraculously, thunderously delivered from them by the hand of God himself (18:6-19, 31-45) and experience the embrace of his love for us, perhaps that's reason enough.
"For you save a humble people, but the haughty eyes you bring down" (18:27). What are you struggling through right now in your life? Perhaps you're tempted to proudly ask God why. Maybe you're frustrated and want relief from your hardship more than you want to know God and his love. Humble yourself before the Lord and trust in his salvation for you.
"For who is God, but the LORD? And who is a rock, except our God?" (18:31). It's a rhetorical question, but you are clearly not the answer. Whatever you are suffering, commit it—and yourself—to our Rock, the Lord. His love and faithfulness hits bedrock. His loving purpose for you is better than a painless, comfortable life. David knew that. Christ, "who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross" (Heb. 12:2) knew it too. May God teach all of us as well.
This psalm was written and sung by David after "the LORD rescued him from the hand of all his enemies and from the hand of Saul" (18:0). David suffered much at the hand of his enemies, and he recounts some of it in this song (18:4, 5, 16, 17). We don't know why God allows suffering in our lives, but at this point David isn't asking that question. He is rejoicing.
We don't know why God allows suffering, but the answer David offers here is that it leads us to praise God more when we are delivered from it. His praise is emphatic at the beginning of this psalm; he can't seem to get enough descriptors out of his thesaurus to tell how wonderful and merciful and strong and kind and gracious God is. "I love you, O LORD, my strength. The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold" (18:1-2). That's nine descriptions in two verses. That's praise.
The fact is that the peaks of life would not feel nearly as high if they didn't stand above dark valleys. Sweet would not taste nearly so good if we did not know bitterness. The gloriously warm sun last weekend would not have felt half as delicious had we not just had a month of cold, gloomy weather. The hardships we face in life stretch us, grow us, deepen us to understand all the better "the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that [we] may be filled with all the fullness of God" (Eph. 3:18-19).
That isn't a philosophical proof to explain the problem of evil. It doesn't provide an open-and-shut, air tight case for God's existence or Christianity's truthfulness. But this momentary affliction pales in comparison to being "filled with all the fullness of God," doesn't hold a candle to "the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge." If part of the reason we go through trial and difficulty is so that we can be incredibly, miraculously, thunderously delivered from them by the hand of God himself (18:6-19, 31-45) and experience the embrace of his love for us, perhaps that's reason enough.
"For you save a humble people, but the haughty eyes you bring down" (18:27). What are you struggling through right now in your life? Perhaps you're tempted to proudly ask God why. Maybe you're frustrated and want relief from your hardship more than you want to know God and his love. Humble yourself before the Lord and trust in his salvation for you.
"For who is God, but the LORD? And who is a rock, except our God?" (18:31). It's a rhetorical question, but you are clearly not the answer. Whatever you are suffering, commit it—and yourself—to our Rock, the Lord. His love and faithfulness hits bedrock. His loving purpose for you is better than a painless, comfortable life. David knew that. Christ, "who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross" (Heb. 12:2) knew it too. May God teach all of us as well.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
February 9: Mark 14
Having thought a lot recently about the mind of Christ (1 Cor. 2:16), I can't help seeing the ways that the wisdom of this world conflicts with the humility and weakness of Jesus's mission. He came to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:45); that sort of lowliness in the Son of God himself was too much for the wisdom of this world to abide. They had to crucify the Lord of glory (1 Cor. 2:8).
The woman who anointed Jesus with the costly perfume did "a beautiful thing" in the sight of the Lord (14:6). Again, we see the extravagant generosity of the truly changed, truly repentant, truly worshiping sinner. When we see God's mercy, his extravagance toward us who deserved only his wrath, we can't help but respond in gratitude that overflows into every part of our life. The woman took what likely was her life savings and poured it out in worship to the Lord. We do well to learn from her response to grace.
Judas can't handle the "burial" talk (14:8) anymore. He didn't sign on for a weak crucified Messiah. He's in it for the money (the other gospel accounts reveal that Judas was mad at the woman's offering of the perfume because he was the disciples' treasurer and helped himself to their common funds [John 12:6]). Judas doesn't want to watch the Messiah die; he wants to march with him into Jerusalem and be named Secretary of the Treasury. If he can't get that, he'll at least get something from this whole Jesus ordeal (14:10-11). He'll show Jesus.
Peter is sure he won't deny Jesus (14:29-31), but has no idea how sinful he is (14:66-72). The world says put your best face on a thing; spin your way to success. The gospel says your best face is Jesus's; show him to the world by walking in humility and holiness.
Our Lord allows himself to be arrested, lets his disciples desert him, is taken before the high priest and shows no sign of fighting back. All alone, stripped of his rights and his dignity, Jesus is asked directly, "Are you the Christ?" (14:61). He has never given a straight answer to this question and has always told those who know his identity—from demons to disciples—to keep mum about it. Now at his trial, hours before marching to his death, he reveals his glorious self to his accusers: "I am, and you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power, and coming with the clouds of heaven" (14:62).
We will all see that Day. We who are Christ's long for that Day, when justice will finally wash over this fallen earth. But the road to glory first must cross Calvary. The shame, suffering, humiliation, torture, trial, persecution and death of Golgatha stands between Jesus and his exaltation. The same holds true for us: "the one who humbles himself will be exalted" (Luke 18:14).
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
February 8: Psalm 17
Today's reading.
God has a sense of humor. Just before taking a look at this Psalm, I was reading an article in the Chronicle about police officials in San Francisco leaving their jobs with enormous pensions. A former police chief received over half a million dollars in her final year and will receive over $200k for life.
Many of us, when we read an article like that—not to mention many reporters, when they write an article like that—feel a sense of righteous indignation. Why are public servants guaranteed such large sums of money in their retirement, when most of us will never see that kind of wealth? For many of us, our response, when confronted with injustice in this life, is to throw up our hands, mumble something about corruption or unfairness, maybe even write a letter or take political action.
I long for the day when my first response will be that of David in Psalm 17.
I desperately want my response to injustice to be to call upon the Lord. To tell him of the injustice and to "hear a just cause" (17:1). We can be just as confident as he that God will answer (17:6); we should be just as sure that God will "wondrously show [his] steadfast love" (17:7). I should be every bit as able and willing to pray, "Arise, O Lord!" (17:13). Instead, I typically respond to injustice by arising myself, letting my blood boil a bit, ranting about how wrong it all is.
I want so very much to have the sort of contentment the psalmist exhibits in the last two verses. He observes the disparity between the earthly satisfaction of the wicked and the righteous: "You fill their womb with treasure; they are satisfied with children, and they leave their abundance to their infants" (17:14). God, who holds all things in his palm, who gives every good gift, chooses to allow the wicked to prosper in this life. The "men of the world whose portion is in this life" really do have their portion—their good life, their inheritance—here and now. Meanwhile, it seems like God's people suffer much.
But the psalmist is content with the fact that the Lord—and nothing else—is his portion: "As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness; when I awake, I shall be satisfied with your likeness" (17:15). Rather than grow indignant at the injustice of this world (that I really ought to expect, given its fallenness), I ought to remember my portion. The Lord himself is my inheritance, because in Christ I have been made a child of God. And if we are his children, then we are also heirs, "heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him" (Rom. 8:17).
In Christ, God is mine to inherit. I have no idea what that could possibly mean; it is a mystery too wonderful to attempt description. May we all be satisfied with his likeness.
God has a sense of humor. Just before taking a look at this Psalm, I was reading an article in the Chronicle about police officials in San Francisco leaving their jobs with enormous pensions. A former police chief received over half a million dollars in her final year and will receive over $200k for life.
Many of us, when we read an article like that—not to mention many reporters, when they write an article like that—feel a sense of righteous indignation. Why are public servants guaranteed such large sums of money in their retirement, when most of us will never see that kind of wealth? For many of us, our response, when confronted with injustice in this life, is to throw up our hands, mumble something about corruption or unfairness, maybe even write a letter or take political action.
I long for the day when my first response will be that of David in Psalm 17.
I desperately want my response to injustice to be to call upon the Lord. To tell him of the injustice and to "hear a just cause" (17:1). We can be just as confident as he that God will answer (17:6); we should be just as sure that God will "wondrously show [his] steadfast love" (17:7). I should be every bit as able and willing to pray, "Arise, O Lord!" (17:13). Instead, I typically respond to injustice by arising myself, letting my blood boil a bit, ranting about how wrong it all is.
I want so very much to have the sort of contentment the psalmist exhibits in the last two verses. He observes the disparity between the earthly satisfaction of the wicked and the righteous: "You fill their womb with treasure; they are satisfied with children, and they leave their abundance to their infants" (17:14). God, who holds all things in his palm, who gives every good gift, chooses to allow the wicked to prosper in this life. The "men of the world whose portion is in this life" really do have their portion—their good life, their inheritance—here and now. Meanwhile, it seems like God's people suffer much.
But the psalmist is content with the fact that the Lord—and nothing else—is his portion: "As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness; when I awake, I shall be satisfied with your likeness" (17:15). Rather than grow indignant at the injustice of this world (that I really ought to expect, given its fallenness), I ought to remember my portion. The Lord himself is my inheritance, because in Christ I have been made a child of God. And if we are his children, then we are also heirs, "heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him" (Rom. 8:17).
In Christ, God is mine to inherit. I have no idea what that could possibly mean; it is a mystery too wonderful to attempt description. May we all be satisfied with his likeness.
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