Lamentations 3:24-26

Many Christians struggle to discipline themselves in the area of self-gratification. There are so many things we want right now. And to make matters worse, we usually have the ability to follow through on our desires. That’s what the entire credit card industry is all about: have it now; pay later.

But finances aren’t the only area where we get into trouble. Some people are in a hurry to be married and therefore make an unwise choice regarding a mate. Others don’t even see marriage as necessary and opt for premarital sex instead of waiting for the right person. Or maybe you’re just in a hurry to become successful and well-respected in your career, never giving any thought to whether your pursuit aligns with God’s plans for your life.

One reason the Lord wants us to wait is to protect us from our own self-destructive ways. Those who can’t say no to their own desires end up enslaved to them. God wants us to be mature believers who have the character and self-restraint to wait for Him to provide in His perfect time. Because the heavenly Father is omniscient, He alone knows what’s best. You can trust that if He asks you to wait, He has something more wonderful in mind than you could ever provide for yourself.

Does anything seem to have a power over you? If so, it may be an area that requires the practice of self-restraint. Yield to the Lord, and submit your desires to Him. Then, begin saying no to temptations as you wait for God to reveal His will for your life

For the earliest believers in the God of Abraham, confession, sharing aloud what they held as sacred, was a way remembering all they had witnessed. Before God they declared: “You saw the suffering of our forefathers in Egypt; you heard their cry at the Red Sea. You sent miraculous signs and wonders against Pharaoh…. You made a name for yourself, which remains to this day” (Nehemiah 9:9-10). Before one another they remembered: “We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him” (1 Thessalonians 4:14). Whereas some might view the confessions of the church today as formal treatises or ancient documents, the intent was the same: The church confesses what it needs to remember, what it longs to remember. We confess the promises of God; we confess the actions of God. We confess, and our identity is forged. For what we choose to remember in doctrine and history, faith and belief, boldly informs who we are.

Confessing is, therefore, much more than formal subscription to words spoken in history. It is learning to voice the unchanging story of the gospel beside the situation and mission of the church today. It is the utterance of dynamic truths and the active process of living by them. Confessing God the Father moves those who confess into a particular history, people, and reality, and then compels us to move further and further into the identity it places before us. With Simon Peter, the church confesses of Christ the Son: “We believe and know that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:69). And with Christ, the church confesses the Spirit.

Yet for the Church in history and for many today, none of these are easy words. Nor are they words from which one can pick and chose with whim and preference. They are spoken with the knowledge that they must inform all of life, regardless of the life in which we find ourselves. Michael Horton clarifies, “While it is certainly possible to have a church that is formally committed to Christian doctrine—even in the form of creeds, confessions, and catechisms, without exhibiting any interest in missions or the welfare even of those within their own body, I would argue that it is impossible to have a church that is actually committed to sound doctrine that lacks these corollary interests.”(1)  In other words, rightly functioning, confession and mission, doctrine and life exist hand in hand. Karl Barth was equally insistent upon the missional corollary of true confession. “A declaration may be bold and clear, and centrally Christian… but so long as it remains theoretical, entailing no obligation or venture on the part of him who makes it, it is not confession and must not be mistaken for it.”(2) To use one of Christ’s own metaphors, true confessing does not produce words that fall like seeds on shallow ground, but seeds that grow into great trees where others can come and rest in their branches.  Confession is an action in a very real sense of the word.

It was with such an understanding that Dietrich Bonhoeffer declared a state of status confessionis for the church under Nazi Germany. Status confessionis, literally, “a state of confessing,” is a dire situation in which the church must stand up for the integrity of the gospel and the authority of the God it confesses. For Bonhoeffer and others, the Nazification of the church was an issue so threatening to the veracity of their confession of Christ that no dissimulation or concession was possible. Bonhoeffer recognized that the Nazi persecution of Jews demanded a serious response from the church. But more so, he recognized that the church was called “not only to bandage the victims under the wheel, but to jam a spoke into the wheel itself” and bring the engine of injustice to a halt.(1) Confessing Christ was a theology that could not be held without obligation.

And so it remains today. In the Christian story, God has given us a great history to remember, and God has called us to remember it dynamically together. “If you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved” (Romans 10:9). Confessing Christ as Lord, one’s identity is cast with a sense of the same urgency and intentionality as those who have gone before us. It is not an individual, one-time act, but a communal, ongoing activity. Confessing Christ is an active declaration of the church universal and the church before us, a profound claim upon the whole of life and the whole of the church. Like the savior we boldly proclaim, who is unchanging and timeless but also specifically relevant to time itself, what we believe God has done in history calls us to faith and mission today. In a world that would seek to dethrone him, confessing Christ as Lord dynamically continues to tell us who we are and what we thenmust do. This is the invitation of Christ to the world: not a legal transaction, a stodgy list of creeds and rules, but a new way of life in the Father, by the Son, and through the Spirit.

Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

  (1) Michael Horton, “Creeds and Deeds: How Doctrine Leads to Doxological Living” Modern Reformation Magazine, Vol. 15, No. 6.
(2) Karl Barth, “The Doctrine of Creation,” Part 4 Church Dogmatics Vol. 3. (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark Publishers, 1960), 84.
(3) Dietrich Bonhoeffer, A Testament to Freedom: The Essential Writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer (New York: Harper Collins, 1995), 132.

Abide in me – John 15:4

Communion with Christ is a certain cure for every ill. Whether it be the woodworm of sadness or the smothering impact of earthly treasure, close fellowship with the Lord Jesus will take bitterness from the one and excess from the other. Live near to Jesus, Christian, and it is a matter of secondary importance whether you live on the mountain of honor or in the valley of humiliation. Living near to Jesus, you are covered with the wings of God, and underneath you are the everlasting arms.

Let nothing keep you from that hallowed communion that is the unique privilege of a life hidden in Christ. Do not be content with the occasional meeting, but always seek to retain His company, for only in His presence will you find either comfort or safety. Jesus should not be for us a friend who calls us now and then, but one with whom we are in constant touch.

You have a difficult road before you: Make sure, pilgrim, that you do not go without your guide. You have to pass through the fiery furnace; do not enter unless, like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, you have the Son of God to be your companion. You have to storm the walls of your corrupt heart: Do not attempt it until, like Joshua, you have seen the Captain of the Lord’s host, with His sword drawn in His hand. When you meet with many temptations, do not rest upon the arm of flesh. In every case, in every condition, you will need Jesus, but most of all when the iron gates of death shall open to you.

Keep close to the Captain of your salvation, lean upon His strength, ask Him to refresh you by His Spirit, and you will stand before Him at the end, without spot or blemish and at peace. Seeing you have lived with Him, and lived in Him here, you will abide with Him forever.

The family reading plan for March 9, 2012

Job 38 | 2 Corinthians 8

Romans 12:1-5

God’s kindness to us is demonstrated by the fact that He doesn’t leave us in the condition we were in before coming to faith. How tragic it would be if we still thought, felt, and acted the same way we did before receiving Christ as our Savior. Throughout our lives, the Lord uses His choice tools to shape us into the image of His Son.

Prayer. By talking to the Lord in open dialogue, we develop a relationship with Him. He becomes not just our Savior, but our friend, and as the intimacy grows, so will our passion to be with Him. Setting aside time for prayer each day will become a delight, not a duty.

God’s Word. You can’t grow in your Christian life if you keep the Bible closed all week long. No one lives on one meal a week, yet many Christians try to get by with just a Sunday dinner of the Word served up by their pastor. How can we expect God’s truth to do its transforming work if we never let it into our minds and hearts?

The Church. Christ uses His body of believers as a place for transformation. That’s where we rub against each other and have the rough edges of our character smoothed. It is a place of instruction, accountability, and encouragement.

Are you letting the Lord use His character-shaping tools in your life? Our culture has no shortage of worldly voices and pressures that fill minds and influence behavior. Only when we intentionally schedule time for God, His Word, and His people can Christ do His transforming work in our lives

In an interesting encounter between Jesus and the paralytic given to us by Luke, we see a defining reminder of the relationship between soul and body, the temporal and the eternal. The friends of this paralyzed man did everything they could to bring him within the sight and touch of Jesus.(1) They even disfigured the property of the person in whose house Jesus was visiting in the hope that he would perform a miracle for their friend. I suspect they must have reasoned that if Jesus could make a paralyzed man walk again, then replacing a roof would be a minor problem. But as they lowered this man within reach of Jesus, they were not expecting an apologetic discussion.

“Which of the two is harder,” asked Jesus, “to bring physical healing or to forgive a person’s sins?” The irresistible answer was self-evident, was it not? To bring physical healing is harder because that would be such a miraculous thing, visible to the naked eye. The invisible act of forgiveness had far less evidentiary value. Yet, as they pondered and as we ponder, we discover repeatedly in life that the logic of God is so different to the logic of humanity. We move from the material to the spiritual in terms of the spectacular, but God moves from the spiritual to the material in terms of the essential. The physical is the concrete external—a shadow comparatively. The spiritual is the intangible internal—the objective actuality.

Yet we all chase shadows. We chase them because they are a haunting enticement of the substance without being the substance themselves. It takes a jolt, sometimes even a painful jolt, to remind us where reality lies and where shadows seduce. Jesus was so aware of this weakness within us that he often walked the second mile to meet us in order that something more dramatic might be used to put into perspective for us what is more real and of greater importance to God. Yes, he did heal that man, but not without the reminder of what the ultimate miracle was. Once we understand this, we understand the relationship between touching the soul and touching the body. In this instance, Jesus followed the act of forgiveness with the easier act of physical healing. If the paralytic was a wise man he would walk with the awareness that the apparently less visible miracle was actually more miraculous than the more visible one—even as his feeling of gratitude for his restored body would remain a constant reminder to him of the restoration of his soul.

As I have pondered this and the many other examples of Jesus’s acts of mercy, I look at our hurting world that is desensitized to the gospel message—the message that cleanses the soul, heals the inner being, and brings light to the body. Our world is weighed down with pain, fear, suffering, and poverty. Our world is so broken that if we were to stare reality in the face, we would wish it really were only a shadow and not an actual embodiment. Such is the blind eye people turn to the familiar and dismiss as mere shadows what is tragically real. Sadly, both body and soul are forgotten in the process. The cost in human suffering is beyond computation.

In such a world, the question becomes: Does Jesus still lift body and soul out of the shadow and bring it into the light? I believe he does, and what an answer is the cross upon which “He bore our griefs and carried our sorrows.” Such is the power of love. It is Christ who shows that unless a person’s pain is understood one will never understand a person’s soul. He is the best reminder of what is real and what is shadow.

Ravi Zacharias is founder and chairman of the board of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.

It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man.

Psalms 118:8

No doubt the reader has been tempted to rely upon the things that are seen instead of resting alone upon the invisible God. Christians often look to man for help and advice, and so spoil the noble simplicity of their reliance upon God.

Does this evening’s passage meet the eye of a child of God who is filled with anxiety? Then let us reason with you. You trust in Jesus, and only in Jesus, for your salvation; then why are you troubled? “Because of my great care.” Is it not written, “Cast your burden upon the Lord”? “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.”3

Can you trust God for your physical needs? “Ah! I wish I could.” If you cannot trust God with the physical, how dare you trust Him with the spiritual? Can you trust Him for your soul’s redemption, and yet not rely upon Him for a few lesser mercies? Is God not enough for your need, or is His all-sufficiency too narrow for your wants? Do you need another to watch for you when you have Him who sees every secret thing? Is His heart faint? Is His arm weary? If so, seek another God; but if He is infinite, omnipotent, faithful, true, and all-wise, why do you run around seeking another confidence? Why do you scour the earth to find another foundation when this is strong enough to bear all the weight that you can ever build on it?

Christian, do not mix your wine with water; do not tarnish the gold of faith with the dross of human confidence. Wait only upon God, and let your expectation be from Him. Do not covet Jonah’s gourd but rest in Jonah’s God. Let the sandy, shaky foundations be the choice of fools; but you, like one who sees the approaching storm, build for yourself an abiding place upon the Rock of Ages.

3 Philippians 4:6

The family reading plan for March 7, 2012

Job 36 | 2 Corinthians 6

1 Thessalonians 4:1-8

Did you know that God didn’t save you just to keep you from hell and get you into heaven? His top priority while you are here on earth is to shape you into the image of His Son (Rom. 8:29). But at this stage of our sanctification, He doesn’t do it all for us. We have a responsibility to cooperate with Him and actively participate in the process. Yet many Christians have a passive attitude about the life of faith. They tolerate sin and smooth it over with the age-old excuse, “Nobody’s perfect!”

When you received Christ as your Savior, you took the first step in your walk with Him–a walk that will last the rest of your life. However, you also stepped into spiritual warfare with Satan. The Enemy may have lost your soul, but he’s going to do everything he can to hinder, sidetrack, and discourage you. The last thing he wants is a saint who’s on fire for the Lord and useful in the kingdom.

But many believers have abdicated their responsibility to live holy lives. In fact, some of them look and act just like the unbelieving world. Sexual immorality is one area of compromise that the apostle Paul addressed specifically, but in truth, we should abstain from anything that interferes with godliness.

Have you allowed something in your life that shouldn’t be there? If so, you need to drop it now. You don’t want a thread of sin to become a rope, then a chain, and finally a cable that traps you in a stronghold. Turn back to the Lord, and let your sanctification continue.

His final hours were spent in prayer. Yet, the gospel of Luke tells us that there was nothing unusual about him being in prayer. “And he came out and proceeded as was his custom to the Mount of Olives…and when he arrived at the place…he withdrew from them…and knelt down and began to pray” (22:39-41). As was his custom, he would go to pray. We do not often hear the content of these prayer times, but in this case, in these final hours, we see him gripped with passion. Luke tells us that he was in such agony that his sweat “became like drops of blood.” Medical science tells us that under extreme conditions of duress, capillaries in the head burst forth drops of blood literally pouring out of the skin like perspiration. Whatever the case, Jesus had never been in this much distress before—even in his wilderness testing—we have no other portrait of such extreme anguish in prayer.

“And being in agony he was praying very fervently,” writes Luke. I’ve often wondered about the nature of these agonized prayers. Was Jesus in agony over the physical torture and death he was about to endure? Was he in agony over the spiritual condition of his disciples, one who would betray him and the others who would all abandon him in his time of need? Certainly, the latter is a real possibility as he exhorts his disciples at least two times to “watch and pray that you might not enter into temptation” (Luke 22:40; 46).

Whatever the reason for his agony, Jesus’s humanity was on full display in his prayer. He did not want to walk the path that was unfolding before him, and he pleads with God to provide an alternative path, a “plan B” as it were.  Matthew’s gospel reveals more of his struggle. He tells his disciples “I am deeply grieved, to the point of death.”  Then he prays to his Father, “If it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not as I will, but your will be done” (Matthew 26:38-39). The via dolorosa, theway of suffering, unfolded before him and he would go to his death, despite his anguished prayers for another way.

As I meditate on Jesus’s passionate prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, his human agony and suffering on full display, I am reminded how often we long for God to provide another way in the face of our own suffering. Whether of the Christian persuasion or not, there are times we simply cry out for intervention. We do not want to follow Jesus down the via dolorosa. We seek to follow the victorious entry of the Messiah into Jerusalem to be enthroned and crowned the king. We want that kind of victory borne out in our lives as the absence of difficulty. But as author Kim Reisman has noted, “That is not the Jesus way. God doesn’t dispense with death. God resurrects us from it. The truth is that the Jesus way isn’t about God taking pain away from God’s people; it’s about God providing us with strength, courage, and meaning, with abundant life, often in the midst of pain.”(1)

I am always thankful then, for this very human portrait of Jesus’s own agonizing struggle with his own suffering. For I know he shares my own struggle. And while I often reluctantly say to God, “Not my will but yours be done,” I remember that God transforms the evil of suffering and affliction perpetrated against Jesus. God takes the very death of Jesus, and brings about resurrection. In my own prayers during this season that remembers Jesus’s own cry for intervention, I bow my head and my heart to the king who reigns not from a throne, but from the cross.

Margaret Manning is a member of the writing and speaking team at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Seattle, Washington.

(1) Kimberly Dunnam Reisman, Following At a Distance (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2005), 75.

Before destruction a man’s heart is haughty.

Proverbs 18:12

It is an old and common saying that “coming events cast their shadows before them.” The wise man teaches us that a haughty heart is the precursor of evil. Pride is as clearly the sign of destruction as the change of mercury in the barometer is the sign of rain, and far more infallibly so than that. When men have ridden the high horse, destruction has always overtaken them.

Let David’s aching heart show that there is an eclipse of a man’s glory when he dotes upon his own greatness (2 Samuel 24:10). Observe Nebuchadnezzar, the mighty builder of Babylon, creeping on the earth, devouring grass like a beast, his nails grown like the bird’s claws, and his hair like eagle’s feathers (Daniel 4:33). Pride made the boaster a beast, as once before it made an angel a devil. God hates high looks and never fails to bring them down. All the arrows of God are aimed at proud hearts.

O Christian, is your heart haughty this evening? For pride can get into the Christian’s heart as well as into the sinner’s; it can delude him into dreaming that he is “rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing.”1 Are you glorying in your graces or your talents? Are you proud of yourself and your spiritual experiences?

Be careful, reader–there is a destruction coming to you also. Your flaunting poppies of self-conceit will be pulled up by the roots, your mushrooming graces will wither in the burning heat, and your self-sufficiency will become as straw for the dunghill. If we forget to live at the foot of the cross in deepest lowliness of spirit, God will not forget to discipline us for our good. A destruction will come to you, O unduly exalted believer, the destruction of your joys and of your comforts, although there can be no destruction of your soul. Therefore, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.”2

1 Revelation 3:17

2 1 Corinthians 1:31

The family reading plan for March 6, 2012

Job 35 | 2 Corinthians 1

1 Thessalonians 5:23-24

It’s amazing but true that God’s grand plan for your life is far greater than you can imagine. In fact, this earth-bound existence has us so preoccupied with the demands of life that most of us give little thought to what it will mean to be completely sanctified.

In the Christian life, sanctification is a three-stage process. At the moment of salvation, God sets us apart for Himself. Then throughout the rest of our earthly life, He works to transform us into the image of His Son. One day, however, there will be a glorious culmination to our sanctification. Presently, we all struggle with sin, but when we die, our spirits and souls will ascend to heaven and be completely sinless. Then we’ll see our Savior face to face and experience unimaginable joy. No longer will we struggle with the pride of life or the lusts of the flesh and the eyes (1 John 2:16).

However, as great as this will be, it’s not yet the final step. Some day in the future, Jesus will descend from heaven, bringing with Him the souls of those who have died in Christ. They will be united with their resurrected bodies, and believers who are still alive on the earth will be changed (1 Thess. 4:14-17; 1 Cor. 15:51-54). Then sanctification will be complete–spirit, soul, and body.

This is not a fairy tale, but the believer appointed destiny. God Himself promises to bring it to pass. We’ll walk in His presence, spotless and without blame, for all eternity. Knowing this, how will you live today? The promise of salvation isn’t meant just to give hope, but to spur us on to holy living

Lamentation is not a word that is heard very often. Words like sadness, regret, sorrow, and mourning are far more common. But I believe something is lost in the dismissal of lament from our vocabulary.

The Christian hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” is for me a song of lament. Because of certain associations, it is a song that immediately evokes grief and sadness, and yet it is the sort of mourning that is both held and expressed in worship. Whether the Christian story is one you embrace or not, the connection of these two ideas—worship and lament—may seem even more foreign than the word itself. Nonetheless, lamentation asworship was once a significant element in the Judeo/Christian vision and experience of the world.

Worship leader and songwriter Matt Redman was in the United States shortly after the attacks on the Pentagon and the World Trade Center. Leading worship in several churches in the weeks following, he was immediately struck by the powerful sermons that were being preached, eloquently expressing the love of Father, Son, and Spirit to a shocked and vulnerable people. He was also struck by the distinct lack of songs he had on hand for worship in the midst of suffering. Where were the songwriters for such a time as this? Where were the poets and prophets to help the people of God find a voice in worship? Writes Redman, “As songwriters and lead worshipers, we had a few expressions of hope at our disposal; but when it came to expressions of pain and lament, we had very little vocabulary to give voice to our heart cries.”(1)

Certainly hope is a needed expression, a gift not afforded by every worldview, and lamentation in this sense is similar. But more so, lamentation is a vital aspect of a life in relation with God. Seventy percent of the psalmist’s words are words of lament. “Hear my prayer, O LORD,” the psalmist pleads. “Let my cry for help come to you. Do not hide your face from me when I am in distress. Turn your ear to me; when I call, answer me quickly. For my days vanish like smoke; my bones burn like glowing embers.” Sadly dissimilar to many public and private expressions of grief as well as many worship services today, the writers of Scripture identify with the pain of the world and do not hold back in addressing it before a God they believe needs to hear it. For these voices, lament is not a relinquishing of faith but a cry in worship to God who weeps with them.

I was at my father’s funeral when another mourner caught me with tears in my eyes and told me that neither God nor my dad would want me to cry. Her intentions were good; she meant to encourage me with the powerful hope of the Christian story, which holds at its center the resurrection of Christ. But I desperately needed permission to lament, permission to look up at the cross with the sorrow of Mary and the uncertainty of the centurion. I needed to be able to ask why with the force that was welling up inside me, even as I clung to hope in the Son, trust in the Father, and comfort in the Spirit.

The Christian season of Lent is a time to walk the labored steps of Jesus toward the agony of the cross, the reality of its injustice, and the despair of human death and suffering. This is a profound gift for a world in need of permission to ask why, to cry out in pain, and to know there is one hearing. While songs of hope are essential in a world that is not as it should be, lament is often the honest, needed pathway there, just as the iniquitous sufferings of the cross and the darkness of a cold tomb were the way to resurrection. Neither our worship nor our journeys can deny this if they are truly to lead us to hope.

The Christian story holds a unique capacity for tears because the story itself is filled with tears. And thus the Christian can sing through the disorienting sting of cancer and unemployment and injustice, even as it moves us to reach out to those who are suffering with the love of one who will one day wipe away every tear from our eyes. It is this God who gives us permission to utter the words in the pit of our stomach and the Spirit who helps us groan them, even as we follow the Son who uttered the words in his: “I am deeply grieved, even to death.”

Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

(1) Matt and Beth Redman, Blessed Be Your Name: Worshipping God on the Road Marked with Suffering (Ventura, CA: Regal, 2005), 34

Say to my soul, ‘I am your salvation!’

Psalms 35:3

What does this sweet prayer teach me? It shall be my evening’s petition; but first let it grant me an instructive meditation.

The text informs me first of all that David had his doubts; for why should he pray, “Say to my soul, ‘I am your salvation'” if he were not sometimes exercised with doubts and fears? Let me, then, be encouraged that I am not the only saint who has to face such faltering faith. If David doubted, I need not conclude that I am not a Christian because I have doubts.

The text reminds me that David was not content while he had doubts and fears, but he proceeded directly to the mercy-seat to pray for assurance, for he valued it as much as gold. I too must work to foster a continual sense of being accepted in the Beloved and must have no joy when His love is not shed abroad in my soul. When my Bridegroom is gone, my soul must long for Him.

I learn also that David knew where to obtain full assurance. He went to his God in prayer, crying, “Say to my soul, ‘I am your salvation.'” I need to be often alone with God if I am to enjoy a clear sense of Jesus’ love. When my prayers cease, my eye of faith will grow dim. Much in prayer, much in heaven; slow in prayer, slow in progress.

I notice that David would not be satisfied unless his assurance had a divine source. “Say to my soul . . .” Lord, speak to me! Nothing less than a divine testimony in the soul will ever content the true Christian.

Moreover, David could not rest unless his assurance had a vivid personality about it. “Say to my soul, ‘I am your salvation.'” Lord, if You said this to all the saints, it means little unless You should say it to me. Lord, I have sinned; I do not deserve Your smile; I scarcely dare to ask for it. But oh, say to my soul, even to my soul, “I am your salvation.” Let me have a present, personal, infallible, indisputable sense that I am Yours and that You are mine.

The family reading plan for March 5, 2012

Job 34 | 2 Corinthians 4

2 Timothy 2:20-21

Do you feel special, or does a sense of insignificance hang over you like a cloud? Maybe it seems as if God has wonderful plans for some Christians and is effectively using them in amazing ways, but you’re just an ordinary person living a mundane life. And you wonder, Why would He be interested in me?

The good news is that everyone is special in the Lord’s eyes, and He has an awesome plan for each one of us. When we accept Christ as our Savior, He sets us apart for a very sacred purpose. We now belong to Him, and that means we’re not here on this earth to live as we please. As God’s children, we exist to bring glory and honor to Him by becoming more and more like His Son in our character, conduct, and conversation. It’s not a matter of following a list of rules, but of letting Christ live His life through us.

The Bible calls this sanctification. It is a process whereby the Lord continually changes His followers through the power of His indwelling Holy Spirit. I’m not saying that we’ll become sinless, but the more we yield to the Spirit’s leadership, the more we will find ourselves victorious over sin. As our old attitudes and habits are replaced with godly ones, we’ll become useful servants in the household of God.

Being special to the Lord has nothing to do with what kind of work you do or how intelligent or successful you are. It’s based on whose you are. But are you living as if you belong to God? The wonderful plan He has for your life can be fully realized only when you walk in obedience to Him

He saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove.

Matthew 3:16

As the Spirit of God descended upon the Lord Jesus, the head, so He also, in measure, descends upon the members of the mystical body. His descent is to us after the same fashion as that in which it fell upon our Lord. There is often a sudden swiftness about it; before we are even aware of it, we are impelled onward and heavenward beyond all expectation. Yet there is none of the hurry of earthly haste, for the wings of the dove are as soft as they are swift.

Quietness seems essential to many spiritual operations; the Lord is in the still small voice, and like the dew, His grace is distilled in silence.

The dove has always been the chosen type of purity, and the Holy Spirit is holiness itself. Where He comes, everything that is pure and lovely and of good report is made to abound, and sin and uncleanness depart. Peace reigns also where the Holy Dove comes with power; He bears the olive branch, which shows that the waters of divine wrath are assuaged. Gentleness is a sure result of the Sacred Dove’s transforming power: Hearts touched by His benign influence are meek and lowly from that point and forever.

Harmlessness follows as a matter of course; eagles and ravens may hunt their prey–the turtledove can endure wrong but cannot inflict it. We must be harmless as doves. The dove is an apt picture of love; the voice of the turtle is full of affection. And so the soul visited by the blessed Spirit abounds in love to God, in love to the brethren, and in love to sinners, and above all, in love to Jesus. The brooding of the Spirit of God upon the face of the deep first produced order and life, and in our hearts He causes and fosters new life and light. Blessed Spirit, as You did rest upon our dear Redeemer, even so rest upon us from this time forward and forever.

The family reading plan for March 3, 2012

Job 32 | 2 Corinthians 2

Psalm 27:13-14

Are you currently waiting for the Lord to intervene in some way in your life or in the life of a loved one? One of the struggles we face as Christians is trying to understand why our heavenly Father sometimes delays over matters that are so urgent to us. Only the Lord knows all the reasons. However, there are several adjustments we can make in our attitude and mindset as we wait.

Determine your focus. In the urgency of the moment, it’s easy to center our attention on the need instead of on God. We may start out waiting for the Lord but end up waiting for the answer we want. Soon we’re more interested in what He can do for us than we are in Him. Sometimes God delays until we get our focus back on Him. He wants us to delight in Him, not just in what He gives us.

Release your expectations into His hands. The Lord is working on our behalf, but sometimes we cling so tightly to a desired outcome that He must wait until we open our hands and let go of our expectations. Holding onto your own assumptions about how the Lord should intervene is emotionally exhausting. But peace awaits those who trust that He will do what is in our best interests–in every situation we encounter.

We need to remember that while we are waiting, God is working. He sees the entire picture and is active behind the scenes, arranging everything according to His will. But perhaps His most important work is the deepening of our relationship with Him as we learn to love and trust Him in the wait.

“God is dead,” declares Nietzsche’s madman in his oft-quoted passage from The Gay Science. Though not the first to make the declaration, Nietzsche’s philosophical candor and desperate rhetoric unquestionably attribute to its familiarity. In graphic brushstrokes, the parable describes a crime scene:

“The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. ‘Whither is God,’ he cried; ‘I will tell you. We have killed him—you and I! All of us are his murderers…Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder?…Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.'”(1)

Nietzsche’s atheism, unlike recent atheistic mantras, was more than rhetoric and angry words. He recognized that the death of God, even if only the death of an idol, introduced a significant crisis. He understood the critical role of the Christian story to the very underpinnings of European philosophy, history, and culture, and so understood that God’s death meant that a total—and painful—transformation of reality must occur. If God has died, if God is dead in the sense that he is no longer of use to us, then ours is a world in peril, he reasoned, for everything must change. Our typical means of thought and life no longer make sense; the very structures for evaluating everything have become unhinged. For Nietzsche, a world that considers itself free from God is a world that must suffer the disruptive effects of that iconoclasm.

Herein, I believe Nietzsche’s atheistic tale tells a story beneficial no matter the creed or conviction of those who hear it:  Gods, too, decompose. Within Nietzsche’s bold atheism is the intellectual integrity that refused to make it sound easy to live with a dead God—a conclusion the self-deemed new atheists are determined to undermine. Moreover, his dogged exposure of idolatrous conceptions of God wherever they exist and honest articulation of the crises that comes in the crashing of such idols is universal in its bearing. Whether atheist or theist, Muslim or Christian, the death of the God we thought we knew is disruptive, excruciating, tragic—and quite often, as Nietzsche attests, necessary.

Yet for Nietzsche and the new atheists, the shattering of religious imagery and concepts is simply deconstruction for the sake of deconstruction. Their iconoclasm ultimately seeks to reveal towers of belief as houses of cards best left in piles at our feet. On the contrary, for the theist iconoclasm remains the breaking of false and idolatrous conceptions of God, humanity, and the cosmos. But added to this is the exposing of counterfeit motivations for faith, when fear or self-interest lead a person deeper into religion as opposed to love or truth, or when the source of all knowledge becomes something finite rather than the eternal God. While this destruction certainly remains the painful event Nietzsche foretold, God’s death turns out to be one more sign of God’s presence. As C.S. Lewis observed through his own pain at the death of the God he knew:

“My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it himself. He is the great iconoclast. Could we not almost say that this shattering is one of the marks of his presence? The incarnation is the supreme example; it leaves all previous ideas of the Messiah in ruins. And most are ‘offended’ by the iconoclasm; and blessed are those who are not.”(2)

For Lewis, it was the death of his wife that brought about the decomposition of his God. For others, it is the prevalence of suffering or the haunt of God’s silence that begets the troubling sense that our God is dying. At some profound level, the Christian season of Lent takes us to God’s death as well, perhaps for some in more ways than one. Like the Incarnation, the crucifixion leaves most of our ideas in ruins at the foot of the cross. The journey to death and Golgotha is an offensive journey to take with God. But blessed are those who take it. Blessed are those in pain over the death of their Gods. Blessed are those who mourn at the tombs and take in the sorrow of the crime scenes. For theirs is somehow the kingdom of heaven, a kingdom somehow able to hold Golgotha, a kingdom able to hold death itself.

Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

(1) Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science (New York: Vintage, 1974), 181-182.
(2) C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed (New York: HarperCollins, 1996), 66.

To me, though I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given, to preach to the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ.

Ephesians 3:8

The apostle Paul felt it a great privilege to be allowed to preach the Gospel. He did not look upon his calling as a drudgery, but he entered upon it with intense delight. Although Paul was thankful for his calling, his success in it greatly humbled him.

The fuller a ship becomes, the deeper it sinks in the water. Idlers may indulge a fond conceit of their abilities, because they are untried; but the earnest worker soon learns his own weakness. If you seek humility, try hard work; if you would know your nothingness, attempt some great thing for Jesus. If you want to feel how utterly powerless you are apart from the living God, attempt especially the great work of proclaiming the unsearchable riches of Christ, and you will know, as you never knew before, what a weak, unworthy thing you are.

Although the apostle thus knew and confessed his weakness, he was never perplexed as to the subject of his ministry. From his first sermon to his last, Paul preached Christ, and nothing but Christ. He lifted up the cross and extolled the Son of God who bled on it. Follow his example in all your personal efforts to spread the glad tidings of salvation, and let “Christ and him crucified” be your ever-recurring theme.

The Christian should be like those lovely spring flowers that, when the sun is shining, open their golden cups, as if saying, “Fill us with your beams!” But when the sun is hidden behind a cloud, they close their cups and droop their heads. So should the Christian feel the sweet influence of Jesus. Jesus must be his sun, and He must be the flower that yields itself to the Sun of Righteousness.

Oh, to speak of Christ alone–this is the subject that is both “seed to the sower and bread to the eater.”1 This is the live coal for the lip of the speaker, and the master-key to the heart of the hearer.

1 Isaiah 55:10

The family reading plan for March 2, 2012

Job 31 | 2 Corinthians 1

Proverbs 16:9

No one likes to wait, but have you ever wondered why? It’s because delays show us that we are not in control. Someone or something else is calling the shots. Although we may be able to identify the immediate cause–like a traffic light or the long checkout line–ultimately the One who controls all our delays is the Lord. Since He is sovereign over everything in heaven and on earth, even our time and schedules are in His hands.

This means that in every delay, we are actually waiting for God in one way or another. You might have thought that the expression “waiting upon the Lord” applies only to seeking guidance from Him or an answer to prayer. But it can mean so much more when you remember that He controls all your day-to-day inconveniences and frustrations.

In the Christian life, learning to wait is vitally important because until you do, you’ll never be able to walk in obedience to God, have an effective prayer life, or experience the peace of resting in His loving sovereignty. We must learn to trust His judgment–about not just the big events in our lives, but also the trivial ones which cause us to become irritated, impatient, or even angry. If we’re sensitive to His instruction, each delay has a lesson.

The next time you face an unexpected or unwanted wait, remember that it comes as no surprise to God. He wants to teach you patience and increase your faith. He’s more interested in developing godly character than He is in making sure your schedule runs according to your plans.

The difficult question of pain forms a thorny question on which volumes have been written. Why do the innocent suffer? Why do we face all these diseases? Why the suffering of millions because of natural disasters or the tyranny of demagogues? I do not pretend to have all the answers, but one thing I know: pain is a universal fact of life. Likewise, there are moral dimensions in the way we phrase our questions concerning pain, and every religion explicitly or implicitly attempts to explain pain.

But why do we even ask these questions about suffering within the context of morality? Why have we blended the fact of physical pain with the demand for a moral explanation? Who decided that pain is immoral? Indeed, almost every atheist or skeptic you read names this as the main reason for his or her denial of God’s existence.

In the Judeo-Christian framework, pain is connected to the reality of evil and to the choices made by humanity at the beginning of time. The problem of pain and the problem of evil are inextricably bound. So when we assume evil, we assume good. When we assume good, we assume a moral law. And when we assume a moral law, we assume a moral law-giver.

You may ask, Why does assuming a moral law necessitate a moral lawgiver? Because every time the question of evil is raised, it is either by a person or about a person—and that implicitly assumes that the question is a worthy one. But it is a worthy question only if people have intrinsic worth, and the only reason people have intrinsic worth is that they are the creations of One who is of ultimate worth. That person is God. So the question self-destructs for the naturalist or the pantheist. The question of the morality of evil or pain is valid only for a theist.

And only in Christian theism is love preexistent within the Trinity, which means that love precedes human life and becomes the absolute value for us. This absolute is ultimately found only in God, and in knowing and loving God we work our way through the struggles of pain, knowing of its ultimate connection to evil and its ultimate destruction by the One who is all-good and all-loving; who in fact has given us the very basis for the words good and love both in concept and in language.

Not far from my home lives a young woman who was born with a very rare disease called CIPA, congenital insensitivity to pain with anhydrosis. Imagine having a body that looks normal and acts normally, except for one thing: You cannot feel physical pain. That sounds as if it would be a blessing. But the reason it’s a problem is that she lives under the constant threat of injuring herself without knowing it. If she steps on a rusty nail that could infect her bloodstream, she wouldn’t even realize it by sensation. If she placed her hand on a burning stove, she would not know she had just burned her hand except by looking at it. She needs constant vigilance because she could sustain an injury that could take her life or cause serious debilitation. When her family was interviewed some years ago, the line I most remember is the closing statement by her mother. She said, “I pray every night for my daughter, that God would give her a sense of pain.”

If that statement were read in a vacuum, we would wonder what sort of mother she is. But because more than anyone else she understands the risks of this strange disease, there is no greater prayer she can pray than that her daughter feel pain and be able to recognize what it portends.

I ask you this simple question: If, in our finitude, we can appreciate the value of pain in even one single life, is it that difficult to grant the possibility that an infinite God can use pain to point us to a greater malady? We see through a glass darkly because all we want is to be comfortable. We cannot understand the great plan of an all-knowing God who brings us near through the value of pain—or of disappointment with pleasure.

And yet the very thing that enslaves and traps us becomes the indicator of our need for God and the means to draw us to the recognition of our own finitude and to the rescuing grace of God. The pain of pain clasps the lifesaving hand of God and draws us into God’s arms.

Ravi Zacharias is founder and chairman of the board of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries. 

Behold, I am laying in Zion a stone, a cornerstone chosen and precious.

1 Peter 2:6

As all the rivers run into the sea, so all delights center in the Lord Jesus. The glances of His eyes outshine the sun: the beauties of His face are fairer than the choicest flowers; no fragrance is like the breath of His mouth. Gems of the mine and pearls from the sea are worthless things when measured by His preciousness.

Peter tells us that Jesus is precious, but he did not and could not tell us how precious, nor could any of us compute the value of God’s unspeakable gift. Words cannot convey the preciousness of the Lord Jesus to His people, nor fully tell how essential He is to their satisfaction and happiness.

Believer, have you not found in the occasion of plenty a sore famine if your Lord has been absent? The sun was shining, but Christ had hidden Himself, and all the world was dark to you; or it was night, and since the bright and morning star was gone, no other star could yield you so much as a ray of light. What a howling wilderness is this world without our Lord! If once He hides Himself from us, withered are the flowers of our garden; our pleasant fruits decay; the birds suspend their songs, and a tempest overturns our hopes. All earth’s candles cannot make daylight if the Sun of Righteousness be eclipsed. He is the soul of our soul, the light of our light, the life of our life.

Dear reader, what would you do in the world without Him when you wake up and look ahead to the day’s battle? What would you do at night when you come home jaded and weary if there were no door of fellowship between you and Christ? Blessed be His name, He will not leave us to face the struggle without Him, for Jesus never forsakes His own. Yet, let the thought of what life would be without Him enhance His preciousness.

The family reading plan for March 1, 2012

Job 30 | 1 Corinthians 16