Jonah 1:1-17

When Jonah ran away from the Lord, he probably thought he’d escaped an undesirable assignment. But rebellion never makes life better–or easier. Before long, he found himself in an even less pleasant situation: taking a wild ride inside a fish. Two things stand out in this story.

Jonah’s determination to get away. The reluctant prophet boarded a ship going in the opposite direction. Perhaps you’ve had the same problem he had: God’s plans don’t match yours. We can coast along with the Lord in sweet fellowship until the day He asks us to do something we don’t like. That’s the point at which our devotion to Him is tested. If you resist, He will allow a storm to rage in your soul until you submit to His authority.

God’s persistence in going after Him. As a prophet, Jonah was to speak for the Lord. That’s a commitment God takes seriously. When you read through today’s passage, you’ll notice certain actions the Lord took to help Jonah fulfill his obligation–though they’re not the kind we want to experience. He “hurled a great wind on the sea”(v. 4) and “appointed a great fish to swallow Jonah” (v. 17). When we resist God, He will put pressure on us to get our attention and bring us back to Himself. That’s how important we are to Him.

Rebellion carries a high price tag. We lose not only peace and joy but also future opportunities to serve God. Consequences can even reach into eternity. You wouldn’t want to stand before Christ, knowing that disobedience led to loss of eternal rewards. Begin now to obey quickly and fully.

I was on hold the other day trying to schedule an appointment for a hair cut. As I waited for the receptionist, I half-listened to the obligatory recordings. The announcer asked me to consider scheduling a make-over with my upcoming appointment and to make sure I leave with the products that will keep up my new look. (Apparently, when you have a captive audience of customers “muzak” is hardly strategic.)  But I was then caught off guard by a question: “What do the local communities of Chad, Africa, mean to you?”  The answer he offered was as immediate as my inability to think of one:  “Chad is a leading producer of organic acacia gum, the vital ingredient in a new line of products exclusively produced for and available at our salon.”

In a culture dominated by consumption, the commodification of everything around us is becoming more and more of an unconscious worldview. Thus, when we think of Chad, we can think of our favorite shampoo and its connection with our hair salon. The land where it came from, the conditions of its production, and the community or laborers who produce it are realities wholly disassociated with the commodity. Like soap and luggage, the nation of Chad can become just one of the many commodities within our consumer mindset.

As I put down the phone, I couldn’t help but wonder about Amos’s description of those who are “at ease in Zion.” How at ease do you have to be to begin to see the world in commodities?

In fact, at the time of Amos’s words, Israel itself was at one of its most opulent junctures. They had expanded their territory in more than one direction. Their winter palaces were adorned with ivory and their feasts were lacking nothing. They could be heard singing songs to the sound of the harp and seen anointing themselves with the finest of oils. It was in such affluence that the shepherd Amos proclaimed indomitably: “Woe to those who are at ease in Zion, and to those who feel secure on the mountain of Samaria” (Amos 6:1).

Though unpopular words to voice, Amos’s omen is far from isolated in ancient Scripture. While Amos compares the drunken women of Israel to the fat cows of Bashan, Micah describes the rich as men full of violence, and Jeremiah cites those with wealth and power as those who grow fat and sleek. Likewise, in the book of Revelation, the church that God wants to spit out of his mouth is the one who has “acquired wealth and needs nothing,” the one who has not realized that they are “wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked” (Revelation 3:17).

As G.K. Chesterton once noted, “Alas, it is impossible to have any sort of debate over whether or not Jesus believed that rich people were in big trouble—there is too much evidence on the subject and it is overwhelming.”(1) The pervasiveness of this evidence makes for a rough entry into the ongoing debate about the morality of affluence among Western Christians. Like Chesterton, I am at times uncomfortably aware at whom the words of Christ were aimed: I am the rich Christian to whom Jesus speaks bluntly.

I am also among the crowd he takes the time and care to caution. Among his many words about money, Jesus warned, “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a person’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”

How then might we live in a world of affluence? How might we fight the all-pervading atmosphere of consumerism and the attitude of commodification around us? How might we learn again to see our neighbors when they have become invisible behind our mountains of stuff? There is good reason for unrelenting words against the greed that turns communities into commodities and souls into consumers. There is similarly good reason that Christ has called the poor in spirit blessed, for those who cling to the Father know it is God alone they can eternally hold. We were not made to be at ease in Zion any more than we were made in the image of commodity. We were made in the image of God.

This God we now faintly resemble never sleeps or slumbers, perhaps in part because the suffering among us never sleep or slumber. It is this God who calls us to follow and to deny ourselves, to consider the “treasures” that might block our vision of God—as well as our vision of our neighbor. There are none seen as commodities in the eyes of the Creator; there are but children with the eyes of their Father.

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

(1) As quoted by Arthur Simon in “What Was That About the Rich Man?” Books & Culture, March 1, 2004.

Morning “The Lord looketh from heaven; he beholdeth all the sons of men.” / Psalm
33:13

Perhaps no figure of speech represents God in a more gracious light than when
he is spoken of as stooping from his throne, and coming down from heaven to
attend to the wants and to behold the woes of mankind. We love him, who, when
Sodom and Gomorrah were full of iniquity, would not destroy those cities until
he had made a personal visitation of them. We cannot help pouring out our
heart in affection for our Lord who inclines his ear from the highest glory,
and puts it to the lip of the dying sinner, whose failing heart longs after
reconciliation. How can we but love him when we know that he numbers the very
hairs of our heads, marks our path, and orders our ways? Specially is this
great truth brought near to our heart, when we recollect how attentive he is,
not merely to the temporal interests of his creatures, but to their spiritual
concerns. Though leagues of distance lie between the finite creature and the
infinite Creator, yet there are links uniting both. When a tear is wept by
thee, think not that God doth not behold; for, “Like as a father pitieth his
children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.” Thy sigh is able to move
the heart of Jehovah; thy whisper can incline his ear unto thee; thy prayer
can stay his hand; thy faith can move his arm. Think not that God sits on high
taking no account of thee. Remember that however poor and needy thou art, yet
the Lord thinketh upon thee. For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro
throughout the whole earth, to show himself strong in the behalf of them whose
heart is perfect towards him.

Oh! then repeat the truth that never tires;

No God is like the God my soul desires;

He at whose voice heaven trembles, even he,

Great as he is, knows how to stoop to me.

Evening “Go again seven times.” / 1 Kings 18:43

Success is certain when the Lord has promised it. Although you may have
pleaded month after month without evidence of answer, it is not possible that
the Lord should be deaf when his people are earnest in a matter which concerns
his glory. The prophet on the top of Carmel continued to wrestle with God, and
never for a moment gave way to a fear that he should be non-suited in
Jehovah’s courts. Six times the servant returned, but on each occasion no word
was spoken but “Go again.” We must not dream of unbelief, but hold to our
faith even to seventy times seven. Faith sends expectant hope to look from
Carmel’s brow, and if nothing is beheld, she sends again and again. So far
from being crushed by repeated disappointment, faith is animated to plead more
fervently with her God. She is humbled, but not abashed: her groans are
deeper, and her sighings more vehement, but she never relaxes her hold or
stays her hand. It would be more agreeable to flesh and blood to have a speedy
answer, but believing souls have learned to be submissive, and to find it good
to wait for as well as upon the Lord. Delayed answers often set the heart
searching itself, and so lead to contrition and spiritual reformation: deadly
blows are thus struck at our corruption, and the chambers of imagery are
cleansed. The great danger is lest men should faint, and miss the blessing.
Reader, do not fall into that sin, but continue in prayer and watching. At
last the little cloud was seen, the sure forerunner of torrents of rain, and
even so with you, the token for good shall surely be given, and you shall rise
as a prevailing prince to enjoy the mercy you have sought. Elijah was a man of
like passions with us: his power with God did not lie in his own merits. If
his believing prayer availed so much, why not yours? Plead the precious blood
with unceasing importunity, and it shall be with you according to your desire.

And he said, ‘go again,’ seven times.   1 Kings 18:43

Success is certain when the Lord has promised it. Although you may have pleaded month after month without evidence of response, it is not possible that the Lord should be deaf when His people are serious about a matter that concerns His glory. The prophet on the top of Carmel continued to wrestle with God and never for a moment gave way to the fear that he would not be suited for Jehovah’s courts. Six times the servant returned, but on each occasion no word was spoken but “Go again.”

We must not dream of unbelief but hold to our faith even to seventy times seven. Faith sends expectant hope to look from Carmel’s peak, and if nothing is seen, she sends again and again. So far from being crushed by repeated disappointment, faith is quickened to plead more fervently with her God. She is humbled but not crushed: Her groans are deeper, and her sighings more vehement, but she never relaxes her hold or stays her hand. It would be more agreeable to flesh and blood to have a speedy answer, but believing souls have learned to be submissive and to find it good to wait for as well as upon the Lord. Delayed answers often set the heart searching itself and so lead to contrition and spiritual reformation: Deadly blows are then struck at our corruption, and the sinful images are cleansed. The great danger is that men should faint and miss the blessing.

Reader, do not fall into that sin, but continue to watch and pray. At last the little cloud was seen, the sure forerunner of torrents of rain; and even so with you, the token for good will surely be given, and you will rise as a prevailing prince to enjoy the mercy you have sought. Elijah was a man with passions just like us: His power with God did not lie in his own merits. If his believing prayer availed so much, why not yours? Plead the precious blood with unceasing persistence, and it will be with you according to your desire.

Family Reading Plan   Ezekiel 31   Psalm 79

John 1:35-42

Andrew is the disciple known for bringing people to Jesus. Immediately after meeting the Lord, he introduced his brother Simon to the Messiah. Another time, when a great multitude was hungry, he found a boy with five loaves and two fishes and brought him to Jesus (John 6:8-9). When some Greeks wanted to meet Christ, Andrew and Philip made the introductions (12:20-22). This disciple never lost his enthusiasm for the Savior.

Andrew’s own conversion experience motivated him to let others know about the One who’d changed his life (1:36-37). How about you–have you lost the joy of your salvation? If your Christian life has become stale and musty, it’s time to remember what Christ has done for you and to ask that He restore your excitement.

In addition, Andrew longed to know the Savior and spend time with Him (vv. 38-39). The disciple’s example is a good reminder that sweet fellowship with the Lord isn’t supposed to end with devotional times. It should also stimulate a desire to share with others the joy we find in our relationship with Christ.

Finally, Andrew was motivated by his conviction that Jesus was the Messiah (v. 41). He’d found the answer for a lost and hurting world and wanted others to know.

When Andrew answered the call to discipleship, Jesus told him he’d be “catching men” instead of fish (Luke 5:10). Since we, too, are followers of Christ, we have this same assignment. Our styles and opportunities vary, but we’re each responsible to develop a lifelong habit of bringing others to Jesus.

Every culture or era has its own way of defining issues that invoke shame and guilt. These are connected, but different. Guilt is a feeling associated with things done or not done. Shame has a much deeper and wider impact. It is, in a sense, a deep embarrassment about who we are. It is an almost visceral contempt for some act or behavior that leaves you feeling disgust, contempt, or humiliation…at yourself.

 In 2 Timothy 1:8, the Apostle Paul tells the young Timothy, not to be ashamed of the testimony of Jesus. The apostle understood the pressure against telling others about Jesus, the cultural dynamics that militate against boldness, and the real dangers and threats from militant traditional Jewish audiences or hostile Roman Imperial authorities. The dangers were many, and as we know from the history of the early church, they were real.

 One danger, however, that I’m fairly sure they did not face was the pressure to be “nice.” What do I mean? In our time, we have lived through the expansion of the market, the explosion of media influence, and what Philip Rieff of Chicago University calls “the triumph of the therapeutic.” We are immersed in values and visions of the good life, which we inculcate with almost every breath that we breathe. It is a cultural moment where looking good and feeling good are paramount, and anything that threatens, disturbs, or challenges the cultural value-setters is ruled out of court.

 I am not suggesting that following these values is a conscious choice for many, but I would propose it is the default setting of most lives in our comfort-driven, convenience-laden moment. Our internal radar system is fixed on the maximization of pleasure and the minimization of pain. We simply “know” that certain things, difficult things, and yes, even some good things, are just too much to ask in our context.

 For instance, “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel…” Well, maybe for some people. “Be prepared to give an answer for the hope that is in you…”  But they may think I’m a fanatic, or worse, some kind of religious nut. Anyway, the doors of the church are open and we have a special speaker on Sunday. They can come if they want to (or not). I can’t jeopardize my status, my peace, my equilibrium, and thereby risk becoming not “nice.”

 I must confess it is hard for me to envision the apostle Paul worrying excessively about not being “nice.” It is equally difficult if I consider others who risked reputation or safety to speak of the God they found. They were not rude, belligerent, ugly, or unnecessarily aggressive. They were clear, confident, compassionate, and courageous. At stake were some key issues for all of the above, the importance of truth, and the necessity of obedience. The Christian story is not advice, a set of ideas, or a moral exhortation for those who happen to like such things.

 Perhaps you’ve never reflected on whether your sincere desire to be “nice” undermines any expression of belief or disbelief. If you are effectively stopped by an internal dialogue that insists the need to be nice trumps all other goods or needs, perhaps it is time to seek afresh, resist that voice, break the hold of bad ideas, and step out in faith and obedience and do or say what is needed.

 There are worse things in life, after all, than not being nice! Perhaps being without Jesus is one of them?

Stuart McAllister is vice president of training and special projects at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

Morning “Happy art thou, O Israel; who is like unto thee, O people saved by the Lord!”
/ Deuteronomy 33:29

He who affirms that Christianity makes men miserable, is himself an utter
stranger to it. It were strange indeed, if it made us wretched, for see to
what a position it exalts us! It makes us sons of God. Suppose you that God
will give all the happiness to his enemies, and reserve all the mourning for
his own family? Shall his foes have mirth and joy, and shall his home-born
children inherit sorrow and wretchedness? Shall the sinner, who has no part in
Christ, call himself rich in happiness, and shall we go mourning as if we were
penniless beggars? No, we will rejoice in the Lord always, and glory in our
inheritance, for we “have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear;
but we have received the spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father.”
The rod of chastisement must rest upon us in our measure, but it worketh for
us the comfortable fruits of righteousness; and therefore by the aid of the
divine Comforter, we, the “people saved of the Lord,” will joy in the God of
our salvation. We are married unto Christ; and shall our great Bridegroom
permit his spouse to linger in constant grief? Our hearts are knit unto him:
we are his members, and though for awhile we may suffer as our Head once
suffered, yet we are even now blessed with heavenly blessings in him. We have
the earnest of our inheritance in the comforts of the Spirit, which are
neither few nor small. Inheritors of joy forever, we have foretastes of our
portion. There are streaks of the light of joy to herald our eternal
sunrising. Our riches are beyond the sea; our city with firm foundations lies
on the other side the river; gleams of glory from the spirit-world cheer our
hearts, and urge us onward. Truly is it said of us, “Happy art thou, O Israel;
who is like unto thee, O people saved by the Lord?”

Evening  “My Beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him.” / Song of Solomon 5:4

Knocking was not enough, for my heart was too full of sleep, too cold and
ungrateful to arise and open the door, but the touch of his effectual grace
has made my soul bestir itself. Oh, the longsuffering of my Beloved, to tarry
when he found himself shut out, and me asleep upon the bed of sloth! Oh, the
greatness of his patience, to knock and knock again, and to add his voice to
his knockings, beseeching me to open to him! How could I have refused him!
Base heart, blush and be confounded! But what greatest kindness of all is
this, that he becomes his own porter and unbars the door himself. Thrice
blessed is the hand which condescends to lift the latch and turn the key. Now
I see that nothing but my Lord’s own power can save such a naughty mass of
wickedness as I am; ordinances fail, even the gospel has no effect upon me,
till his hand is stretched out. Now, also, I perceive that his hand is good
where all else is unsuccessful, he can open when nothing else will. Blessed be
his name, I feel his gracious presence even now. Well may my bowels move for
him, when I think of all that he has suffered for me, and of my ungenerous
return. I have allowed my affections to wander. I have set up rivals. I have
grieved him. Sweetest and dearest of all beloveds, I have treated thee as an
unfaithful wife treats her husband. Oh, my cruel sins, my cruel self. What can
I do? Tears are a poor show of my repentance, my whole heart boils with
indignation at myself. Wretch that I am, to treat my Lord, my All in All, my
exceeding great joy, as though he were a stranger. Jesus, thou forgivest
freely, but this is not enough, prevent my unfaithfulness in the future. Kiss
away these tears, and then purge my heart and bind it with sevenfold cords to
thyself, never to wander more.

My beloved put his hand to the latch, and my heart was thrilled within me.    Song of Songs 5:4

 Knocking was not enough, for my heart was too full of sleep, too cold and ungrateful to rise and open the door; but the touch of His effectual grace has caused my soul to stir. How patient of my Beloved to wait when He found Himself shut out, and me asleep upon the bed of indolence! How great His patience to knock and knock again, and to add His voice to His knockings, beseeching me to open to Him! How could I have refused Him! My heart is base; I blush and without excuse!

But the greatest kindness of all is this, that He becomes His own porter and unlocks the door Himself. Blessed is the hand that condescends to lift the latch and turn the key. Now I see that nothing but my Lord’s own power can save such a naughty mass of wickedness as I am; ordinances fail, and even the Gospel has no effect upon me, until His hand is stretched out. I also see that His hand is good where everything else is unsuccessful; He can open when nothing else will. Blessed be His name, I feel His gracious presence even now. Well may my heart be thrilled within me when I think of all that He has suffered for me and of my ungenerous response.

I have allowed my affections to wander. I have tolerated rivals. I have grieved Him. Sweetest and dearest of all lovers, I have treated You as an unfaithful wife treats her husband. Oh, my cruel sins, my cruel self. What can I do? Tears are a poor evidence of my repentance; my whole heart palpitates with indignation at myself. I am wretched to treat my Lord, my All in All, my exceeding great joy, as though He were a stranger. Jesus, You freely forgive, but this is not enough; prevent my unfaithfulness in the future. Kiss away these tears, and then purge my heart and bind it with sevenfold cords to Yourself, so that I may never wander from You again.

Family Reading Plan   Ezekiel 30   Psalm 78

2 Timothy 4:6-8

Many people think about the last years of life as an opportunity to just relax. But this does not align with God’s purpose for us; He wants us to serve Him all the days of our lives.

Let’s look at the apostle Paul’s journey and explore what it means to finish well. He spent time pouring into others until the very end of his life. Consider the letters he wrote to Timothy from a prison cell prior to being executed. In every season of life, God calls us to serve others.

And notice how, when writing about his life, the apostle chose words descriptive of a battle. He understood the human struggle against sin as well as the challenges of pain and persecution in the trials we all face–even in doing kingdom work like preaching Christ to a fiercely resistant society.

This godly servant’s life was also marked by surrender. His mindset is obvious in these words: “present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship” (Rom. 12:1). He was not afraid of Nero, nor was he struggling to stay alive. Paul trusted God to determine everything about his life, including where he would go, what he would do, and when he would die. Death did not scare him, because he knew he would dwell with Jesus forever.

God doesn’t require our lives to be perfect in order to finish strong. We can live life fully and be ready to meet our Maker by surrendering, walking victoriously with Christ, and serving others. If Jesus called you home today, would you–like Paul–be confident that you lived well until the end?

 Ballet lost some of its wonder when it was explained. It was a class that was supposed to lift my mind, lighten my spirit, and boost my grade point average. Instead it became a one-credit nightmare: a class dedicated to dissecting moves I could not duplicate, within a semester that seemed to slowly dismember my romantic fascination with dance.

 Explanations sometimes have a way of leaving their questioners with a sense of loss. Students note this phenomenon regularly. Expounded principles of light refraction and water particles seem to explain away the rainbow, or at least some of its mystique. Air pressure, gravity, and the laws of physics deconstruct the optical mystery of the curve ball. Knowledge and experience can ironically leave us with a sense of disappointment or disenchantment. 

 I recently read an article that scientifically explained the glow of a firefly. The author noted the nerves and chemical compounds that make the “fire” possible, pointing out that it is merely a signal used for mating and is in fact far from the many romantic myths that have long surrounded it. As one who delights in the stories of science but simultaneously a fanciful story before a sky ignited with bugs, I put the article down with a sigh. And then a thought occurred to me in a manner not unlike the description itself: The light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it.(1) Where nerves and photocytes seem to explain away the glow of the firefly, have we any more erased the miracle of light? 

 However accurate or inaccurate our explanations might be, they sometimes have a way of leading us to short-sighted conclusions. They have also led us to outright incongruity. Brilliant minds try with great effort to define humanity as an impersonal collocation of matter, an adult germ in a vast cosmic machine. We have brusquely described life as a tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing, only to claim that this should not lead us to despair. We have declared our appetites and our reason the gods of a better religion, while insisting both God and religion to be an invention of the human psyche. We scoff at the notion of a savior who frees the captive or restores the fallen, while maintaining we live with every qualification for human dignity, distinction, and freedom. Are these even realistic applications of our own philosophies? Do the explanations warrant the conclusions? 

 On the contrary, we seem to undermine our own mines. Why should a tale told by an idiot have players of any intrinsic value? Why would an impersonal, cosmic accident see herself as a personal, relational being worthy of dignity? What we are attempting to explain away in one sentence, we are arguing for in the next. 

 Explanations need not always lead us to the conclusion that all is lost. But neither should our explanations lead us to conclusions that contradict our own accounts. Thankfully, in both cases, there are times in life where we find, like Job, that we have spoken out of turn and discover there may be more to the story. Sitting through the whirlwind of God’s own 63 questions, Job exclaims: “I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.”

Ever thankfully, I believe there is invitation that both invites great disclosures and discloses in great mystery. “Call to me,” the God of wisdom tells the prophet and the people. “And I will answer you and tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.” The presence of light can be overlooked, but it cannot be explained away. Can we any more explain away the presence of God?

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

 (1) John 1:5.

Morning  “The myrtle trees that were in the bottom.” / Zechariah 1:8

The vision in this chapter describes the condition of Israel in Zechariah’s
day; but being interpreted in its aspect towards us, it describes the Church
of God as we find it now in the world. The Church is compared to a myrtle
grove flourishing in a valley. It is hidden, unobserved, secreted; courting no
honour and attracting no observation from the careless gazer. The Church, like
her head, has a glory, but it is concealed from carnal eyes, for the time of
her breaking forth in all her splendour is not yet come. The idea of tranquil
security is also suggested to us: for the myrtle grove in the valley is still
and calm, while the storm sweeps over the mountain summits. Tempests spend
their force upon the craggy peaks of the Alps, but down yonder where flows the
stream which maketh glad the city of our God, the myrtles flourish by the
still waters, all unshaken by the impetuous wind. How great is the inward
tranquility of God’s Church! Even when opposed and persecuted, she has a peace
which the world gives not, and which, therefore, it cannot take away: the
peace of God which passeth all understanding keeps the hearts and minds of
God’s people. Does not the metaphor forcibly picture the peaceful, perpetual
growth of the saints? The myrtle sheds not her leaves, she is always green;
and the Church in her worst time still hath a blessed verdure of grace about
her; nay, she has sometimes exhibited most verdure when her winter has been
sharpest. She has prospered most when her adversities have been most severe.
Hence the text hints at victory. The myrtle is the emblem of peace, and a
significant token of triumph. The brows of conquerors were bound with myrtle
and with laurel; and is not the Church ever victorious? Is not every Christian
more than a conqueror through him that loved him? Living in peace, do not the
saints fall asleep in the arms of victory?

Evening   “Howl, fir tree, for the cedar is fallen.” / Zechariah 11:2

When in the forest there is heard the crash of a falling oak, it is a sign
that the woodman is abroad, and every tree in the whole company may tremble
lest to-morrow the sharp edge of the axe should find it out. We are all like
trees marked for the axe, and the fall of one should remind us that for every
one, whether great as the cedar, or humble as the fir, the appointed hour is
stealing on apace. I trust we do not, by often hearing of death, become
callous to it. May we never be like the birds in the steeple, which build
their nests when the bells are tolling, and sleep quietly when the solemn
funeral peals are startling the air. May we regard death as the most weighty
of all events, and be sobered by its approach. It ill behoves us to sport
while our eternal destiny hangs on a thread. The sword is out of its
scabbard–let us not trifle; it is furbished, and the edge is sharp–let us
not play with it. He who does not prepare for death is more than an ordinary
fool, he is a madman. When the voice of God is heard among the trees of the
garden, let fig tree and sycamore, and elm and cedar, alike hear the sound
thereof.

Be ready, servant of Christ, for thy Master comes on a sudden, when an ungodly
world least expects him. See to it that thou be faithful in his work, for the
grave shall soon be digged for thee. Be ready, parents, see that your children
are brought up in the fear of God, for they must soon be orphans; be ready,
men of business, take care that your affairs are correct, and that you serve
God with all your hearts, for the days of your terrestrial service will soon
be ended, and you will be called to give account for the deeds done in the
body, whether they be good or whether they be evil. May we all prepare for the
tribunal of the great King with a care which shall be rewarded with the
gracious commendation, “Well done, good and faithful servant”

Wail, O cypress, for the cedar has fallen.   Zechariah 11:2

 When in the forest there is heard the crash of a falling oak, it is a sign that the woodman is around, and every tree in the whole company may tremble lest tomorrow the sharp edge of the axe should find it out. We are all like trees marked for the axe, and the fall of one should remind us that for every one, whether as great as the cedar or as humble as the cypress, the appointed hour is fast approaching.

I trust we do not, by often hearing of death, become callous to it. May we never be like the birds in the steeple, which build their nests when the bells are tolling and sleep quietly when the solemn funeral peals are startling the air. May we regard death as the most serious of all events and be sobered by its approach. It ill behooves us to play while our eternal destiny hangs on a thread. The sword is out of its sheath—let us not trifle; it is ready, and the edge is sharp—let us not play with it. He who does not prepare for death is more than an ordinary fool—he is a madman. When the voice of God is heard among the trees of the garden, let fig tree and sycamore and elm and cedar all hear the sound.

Be ready, servant of Christ, for your Master comes suddenly, when an ungodly world least expects Him. See to it that you are faithful in His work, for the grave shall soon be prepared for you. Be ready, parents, see to it that your children are brought up in the fear of God, for they will soon be orphans. Be ready, businessmen, make sure that your affairs are in order and that you serve God with all your hearts, for the days of your earthly service will soon be over, and you will be called to give account for the deeds done in the body, whether they are good or bad. May we all prepare for the tribunal of the great King with a care that will be rewarded with the gracious commendation, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”1

1Matthew 25:21

Family Reading Plan     Ezekiel 29   Psalm 78

Luke 12:15-21

Death is inevitable, but at times it surprises us. Perhaps you know someone who died unexpectedly.

Today’s parable is a warning about such situations. It tells of a man who acquired comfort and wealth but thought only of his time on earth. Death came without warning, and he could take nothing with him. God called him a fool for living focused on “self.”

Though rich in the world’s eyes, the man had no relationship with God and hadn’t invested anything in Christ’s kingdom. All the treasures he stored here were worthless once he died. What’s worse, without Jesus, he would be separated from God forever. What a tragic waste of life.

As I think about this person’s choices, two questions come to mind that are important for all of us to contemplate. First, if you were to die today, would you go to heaven? Salvation is a free gift for those who trust in Jesus as the acceptable sacrifice for our sin. He is the only way–no excuses or even sincere beliefs in other “ways” will work. And Jesus promises that when believers die, they immediately find themselves in His presence (2 Cor. 5:6).

Second, what is your life accomplishing? Are you driven by selfish purposes, storing security and wealth for yourself? Or is your motivation to further God’s kingdom?

Like the man in this parable, we don’t know when we will die. We do know, however, that death is inescapable. Though dying is an unpleasant topic, eternity is a long time and worthy of our attention. It’s definitely a wise investment to make sure of your salvation and to invest in God’s kingdom.

 As a Christian writer and speaker, I am often asked what the most frequent questions are regarding the Christian faith. Of course, I am frequently asked questions of an intellectual or historic nature: Did Jesus of Nazareth really exist? Is his resurrection from the dead a historical event? How is one to understand the Bible as the Word of God? For some, the questions never go beyond intellectual curiosity or pursuit. For others, these questions need to be answered for constructing a sound apologetic.  

 For others, however, the questions come from the deepest places of the heart. They come because of personal experience with suffering of one form or another. Is there a God?  f so, does that God care about me, know me? If so, why does God seemingly allow so much suffering? When the fervent prayers of righteous men and women do not prevent the cancer from spreading, or the child from dying, or the plane from crashing, or the marriage from failing, these more existential questions come like water bursting through the dam. 

 Unfortunately, these questions are not unique to my ministry or this generation. They have been asked for millennia. The technical term for the theist’s problem with suffering is called theodicy. Theodicy is the word given in the seventeenth century by Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, one of the great intellectual thinkers of the Enlightenment period.(1) Theodicy attempts to explain how and why there can be suffering in the world if God is all-powerful and loving. In trying to solve this problem, some thinkers have denied the omnipotence of God; God is all-loving, but not able to do anything about suffering. Others dispense of the notion that God is all-loving, at least in any conventional understanding. But, neither of these alternatives provides a satisfactory answer ultimately.    

 Intellectual wrangling over this problem, aside, the experience of suffering in light of both the goodness and power of God has caused many to doubt God, and others to walk away from faith altogether. If God does not prevent suffering, and if God does not care about the sufferer, then for some, the only alternative appears to be that God cannot exist in any meaningful way.

 The writers of Scripture wrestled with these questions too. Often, they provided different ways of answering these questions. Some believed that suffering resulted from sin.  Others believed that God causes suffering as a form of punishment. Still others asserted that suffering brings redemption.(2)

 In Mark’s gospel, a simple story about a boat caught in a terrible storm provides an altogether different answer framed around three profound questions. When evening had come, Jesus and his disciples got into a boat, most likely to cross the Sea of Galilee, in order to “go over to the other side” (Mark 4:35-41). In the course of their travel, a fierce storm arose suddenly and violently. It was so intense that the waves were not only breaking over the boat, but the boat was filling with water and on the verge of sinking. The gospel writer tells us that Jesus was asleep in the stern of the boat and resting soundly when the disciples roused him with their fearful, first question: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”  Jesus seems to ignore their question their question, and instead answers the wind and the waves, “Peace, be still.” His exhortation to the natural elements of wind and water was nevertheless intended for the disciples as well, for he returns their question with a second question: “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” To which the disciples reply to one another with the ultimate question, “Who then is this, that even wind and sea obey him?”

 It is not entirely unreasonable for those who want to be followers of Jesus to think that because he is in the boat suffering will not arise. But suffering does come, and the wind roars around and the sky turns black, and the storm of all storms appears to envelop all in darkness and terror. Jesus, don’t you care that we are perishing becomes an incredulous for all who would wish for immunity from the troubles of life. But Jesus’s answer reminds us that faith does not insulate us from life’s storms. Indeed, as noted author Craig Barnes has written “Faith…has little to do with our doctrines or even with our belief that Jesus could come up with a miracle if he would only pay attention. Faith has everything to do with seeing that…the Savior [is] on board“(3) 

 In the midst of difficult and often unending questions about suffering, Jesus is there in the midst of the storm of doubt, in the tumultuous waves of despair, in the gale-force winds of defeat. He rests in the assurance of God’s care in the storm. His presence with the disciples in the storm tells us more about who he is–neither removed from suffering, nor always preventing suffering–then why we suffer.  “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” 

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

 (1) Bart Ehrman, God’s Problem (New York: HarperOne, 2008), 8.
(2) See for examples Proverbs 3:33, “The Lord’s curse is on the house of the wicked, but he blesses the abode of the righteous”; Amos 4:1-3, “[Y]ou cows of Bashan who oppress the poor, who crush the needy…the Lord God has sworn in his holiness: the time is surely coming upon you, when they shall take you away with hooks, even the last of you with fishhooks”; and Isaiah 53, the redemption by the suffering Servant.
(3) M. Craig Barnes, When God Interrupts (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1996), 138.

 Morning   “Just, and the justifier of him which believeth.” / Romans 3:26

 Being justified by faith, we have peace with God. Conscience accuses no

longer. Judgment now decides for the sinner instead of against him. Memory

looks back upon past sins, with deep sorrow for the sin, but yet with no dread

of any penalty to come; for Christ has paid the debt of his people to the last

jot and tittle, and received the divine receipt; and unless God can be so

unjust as to demand double payment for one debt, no soul for whom Jesus died

as a substitute can ever be cast into hell. It seems to be one of the very

principles of our enlightened nature to believe that God is just; we feel that

it must be so, and this gives us our terror at first; but is it not marvellous

that this very same belief that God is just, becomes afterwards the pillar of

our confidence and peace! If God be just, I, a sinner, alone and without a

substitute, must be punished; but Jesus stands in my stead and is punished for

me; and now, if God be just, I, a sinner, standing in Christ, can never be

punished. God must change his nature before one soul, for whom Jesus was a

substitute, can ever by any possibility suffer the lash of the law. Therefore,

Jesus having taken the place of the believer–having rendered a full

equivalent to divine wrath for all that his people ought to have suffered as

the result of sin, the believer can shout with glorious triumph, “Who shall

lay anything to the charge of God’s elect?” Not God, for he hath justified;

not Christ, for he hath died, “yea rather hath risen again.” My hope lives not

because I am not a sinner, but because I am a sinner for whom Christ died; my

trust is not that I am holy, but that being unholy, he is my righteousness. My

faith rests not upon what I am, or shall be, or feel, or know, but in what

Christ is, in what he has done, and in what he is now doing for me. On the

lion of justice the fair maid of hope rides like a queen.

Evening  “Who of God is made unto us wisdom.” / 1 Corinthians 1:30

 Man’s intellect seeks after rest, and by nature seeks it apart from the Lord

Jesus Christ. Men of education are apt, even when converted, to look upon the

simplicities of the cross of Christ with an eye too little reverent and

loving. They are snared in the old net in which the Grecians were taken, and

have a hankering to mix philosophy with revelation. The temptation with a man

of refined thought and high education is to depart from the simple truth of

Christ crucified, and to invent, as the term is, a more intellectual doctrine.

This led the early Christian churches into Gnosticism, and bewitched them with

all sorts of heresies. This is the root of Neology, and the other fine things

which in days gone by were so fashionable in Germany, and are now so ensnaring

to certain classes of divines. Whoever you are, good reader, and whatever your

education may be, if you be the Lord’s, be assured you will find no rest in

philosophizing divinity. You may receive this dogma of one great thinker, or

that dream of another profound reasoner, but what the chaff is to the wheat,

that will these be to the pure word of God. All that reason, when best guided,

can find out is but the A B C of truth, and even that lacks certainty, while

in Christ Jesus there is treasured up all the fulness of wisdom and knowledge.

All attempts on the part of Christians to be content with systems such as

Unitarian and Broad-church thinkers would approve of, must fail; true heirs of

heaven must come back to the grandly simple reality which makes the

ploughboy’s eye flash with joy, and gladens the pious pauper’s heart–“Jesus

Christ came into the world to save sinners.” Jesus satisfies the most elevated

intellect when he is believingly received, but apart from him the mind of the

regenerate discovers no rest. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of

knowledge.” “A good understanding have all they that do his commandments.”

Whom God made our wisdom.  1 Corinhians 1:30

Man’s intellect seeks for peace and by nature seeks it apart from the Lord Jesus Christ. Men of education are apt, even when converted, to look upon the simplicities of the cross of Christ with too little reverence and love. They are trapped in the old net in which the Greeks were taken and have a hankering to mix philosophy with revelation.

The temptation with a man of refined thought and high education is to depart from the simple truth of Christ crucified and to invent, as the term is, a more intellectual doctrine. This led the early Christian churches into Gnosticism and bewitched them with all sorts of heresies. This is the root of unorthodoxy and the other high-sounding notions that in the past were so fashionable in Germany and are now so enthralling to certain classes of divines. Whoever you are, good reader, and whatever your education may be, if you are the Lord’s, rest assured that you will find no peace in philosophizing divinity.

You may receive the dogma of one great thinker or the dream of another profound reasoner, but what the chaff is to the wheat is what these notions are to the pure Word of God. Reason at its best can only discover the ABCs of truth, and even that lacks certainty, while in Christ Jesus there is treasured up all the fullness of wisdom and knowledge. All attempts on the part of Christians to be content with the systems that Unitarian and liberal-church thinkers approve of must fail; true heirs of heaven must come back to the grandly simple reality that makes the plowboy’s eye flash with joy and rejoices the pious pauper’s heart—”Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.”1 Jesus satisfies the most elevated intellect when He is believingly received, but apart from Him the mind of the regenerate discovers no rest. “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge.”2 “All those who practice it have a good understanding.”3

11 Timothy 1:15 2Proverbs 1:7 3Psalm 111:10

Family Reading Plan   Ezekiel 28  Psalm 77

Matthew 25:31-34

Scripture refers to “the kingdom of God” frequently, but many people are unclear as to its meaning. Let’s look at the past, present, and future reality of this concept.

The first thing we must realize is that the heavenly kingdom refers to everything under Christ’s control. At the moment of salvation, we are transferred from the reign of darkness to the bright authority of Jesus. And we are eternally secure in Him.

As today’s verses explain, Jesus’ kingdom and reign have been planned since the foundation of the world. From the beginning, God has been preparing mankind for what is to come. One way was by using prophets to foretell how He would redeem humanity and sovereignly rule over heaven and earth.

Once Jesus came and gave His life, He established the “present” kingdom. This isn’t a geographical locale; it’s a term describing the heart, where God’s Holy Spirit indwells believers to guide, counsel, and empower.

But there is also a future aspect of the kingdom, which we can anticipate with excitement. You are probably familiar with the words “Thy kingdom come” from the Lord’s Prayer (Luke 11:2 kjv). This speaks of the new heaven and new earth, where we will enjoy freedom from pain and sin. There, we will worship Jesus with gladness and joy for all eternity.

As God’s kingdom ambassadors, we who are His children have the responsibility and privilege of sharing the good news: Through Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection, all who trust in Him are forgiven of sin and assured of eternal life with God. Whom can you tell about this amazing gift?

 Gregory Wolfe, editor of Image journal, tells a story about telling stories for his kids. He describes the memorable bedtimes when he attempts to concoct a series of original tales. “My kids are polite enough to raise their hands when they have some penetrating question to ask about plot, character, or setting,” he writes. “If I leave something out of the story, or commit the sin of inconsistency, these fierce critics won’t let me proceed until I’ve revised the narrative. Oddly enough, they never attempt to take over the storytelling. They are convinced that I have the authority to tell the tale, but they insist that I live up to the complete story that they know exists somewhere inside me.”(1) Children seem to detest a deficient story.

There is no doubt that our sense of the guiding authority of story and storyteller often dramatically lessens as we move from childhood to adulthood. And yet, regardless of age, there remains something deeply troubling about a story without a point, or an author not to be trusted.

 In an interview with Skeptic magazine, Richard Dawkins was asked if his view of the world was not similar to that of Shakespeare’s Macbeth: namely, that life is but “a tale told by an idiot, filled with sound and fury, signifying nothing.”(2)

 “Yes,” Dawkins replied, “at a sort of cosmic level, it is. But what I want to guard against is people therefore getting nihilistic in their personal lives. I don’t see any reason for that at all. You can have a very happy and fulfilled personal life even if you think that the universe at large is a tale told by an idiot.”(3)

 His words attempt to remove the sting his philosophy imparts. And yet, it stings regardless—both with callousness and confusion. If I am but a poor player fretting my hour upon the stage of a tale told by an idiot, what is a “fulfilling” personal life?  There is no basis in the naturalist’s philosophy for intrinsic dignity, human worth, or human rights. There is no basis for moral accountability, right or wrong, good or evil. There is no basis for the layers of my love for my husband, the cry of my heart for justice, or the recognition on my conscience that I am often missing the mark. There is no room for my surprise at time’s passing or my longing for something beyond what I am capable of fully reaching in this moment.  This is not the story I know.

 In the words of G.K. Chesterton, “I had always felt life first a story: and if there is a story there is a story-teller.”

 Could it be that our relationship to stories, our first love of the tale beyond us and the author beside us, conveys a deep truth about our own cosmic tale?  Are not the very philosophies we carry attempts to make sense of the grand story of which we find ourselves a part? 

 The first words of Genesis 1 boldly claim that we are not lost and wandering in a cosmic circle of time and chance. There is a story that emerges from the beginning, and we have a place within it. Similarly, the writer of Hebrews describes Jesus as the author and finisher of our faith, where ultimate significance is aptly defined as being written into the story of God. God’s Word places us in the timeline of a coherent history, delivering us from the deceptions of the enemy, telling us who we are, and where we came from, what is wrong with us, how we are made whole, and where we are going. We are placed within a story of which we know and celebrate the outcome, even as we wait for it through time and trial. In Christ, history’s outcome—its ultimate end—is revealed. Dark days may follow, but the ending is known. It is a story neither deficient, nor untrustworthy.

 C.S. Lewis fittingly describes heaven at the end of his Chronicles of Narnia as a place where good things continually increase and life is an everlasting story in which “every chapter is better than the one before.”  His compelling reflection has often reminded me of Christ’s beloved disciple in the closing chapters of his testimony to the significance of Jesus Christ. Notes John, “If all of the acts of Christ were recorded, the world would not have enough room for all the books that would be written” (John 21:24-26). Like children, eyes widen at the thought. What a story to be a part of, a life to find touching your own.

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

 (1) Gregory Wolfe, Intruding Upon the Timeless: Meditations on Art, Faith, and Mystery (Square Halo Books: Baltimore, 2003), 81-82.
(2) Skeptic, vol. 3, no. 4, 1995, pp. 80-85.
(3) Ibid.

Morning  “For I was ashamed to require of the king a band of soldiers and horsemen to
help us against the enemy in the way: because we had spoken unto the king,
saying, The hand of our God is upon all them for good that seek him; but his
power and his wrath is against all them that forsake him.” / Ezra 8:22

A convoy on many accounts would have been desirable for the pilgrim band, but
a holy shame-facedness would not allow Ezra to seek one. He feared lest the
heathen king should think his professions of faith in God to be mere
hypocrisy, or imagine that the God of Israel was not able to preserve his own
worshippers. He could not bring his mind to lean on an arm of flesh in a
matter so evidently of the Lord, and therefore the caravan set out with no
visible protection, guarded by him who is the sword and shield of his people.
It is to be feared that few believers feel this holy jealousy for God; even
those who in a measure walk by faith, occasionally mar the lustre of their
life by craving aid from man. It is a most blessed thing to have no props and
no buttresses, but to stand upright on the Rock of Ages, upheld by the Lord
alone. Would any believers seek state endowments for their Church, if they
remembered that the Lord is dishonoured by their asking Caesar’s aid? as if
the Lord could not supply the needs of his own cause! Should we run so hastily
to friends and relations for assistance, if we remembered that the Lord is
magnified by our implicit reliance upon his solitary arm? My soul, wait thou
only upon God. “But,” says one, “are not means to be used?” Assuredly they
are; but our fault seldom lies in their neglect: far more frequently it
springs out of foolishly believing in them instead of believing in God. Few
run too far in neglecting the creature’s arm; but very many sin greatly in
making too much of it. Learn, dear reader, to glorify the Lord by leaving
means untried, if by using them thou wouldst dishonour the name of the Lord.

Evening   “I sleep, but my heart waketh.” / Song of Solomon 5:2

Paradoxes abound in Christian experience, and here is one–the spouse was
asleep, and yet she was awake. He only can read the believer’s riddle who has
ploughed with the heifer of his experience. The two points in this evening’s
text are–a mournful sleepiness and a hopeful wakefulness. I sleep. Through
sin that dwelleth in us we may become lax in holy duties, slothful in
religious exercises, dull in spiritual joys, and altogether supine and
careless. This is a shameful state for one in whom the quickening Spirit
dwells; and it is dangerous to the highest degree. Even wise virgins sometimes
slumber, but it is high time for all to shake off the bands of sloth. It is to
be feared that many believers lose their strength as Samson lost his locks,
while sleeping on the lap of carnal security. With a perishing world around
us, to sleep is cruel; with eternity so near at hand, it is madness. Yet we
are none of us so much awake as we should be; a few thunder-claps would do us
all good, and it may be, unless we soon bestir ourselves, we shall have them
in the form of war, or pestilence, or personal bereavements and losses. O that
we may leave forever the couch of fleshly ease, and go forth with flaming
torches to meet the coming Bridegroom! My heart waketh. This is a happy sign.
Life is not extinct, though sadly smothered. When our renewed heart struggles
against our natural heaviness, we should be grateful to sovereign grace for
keeping a little vitality within the body of this death. Jesus will hear our
hearts, will help our hearts, will visit our hearts; for the voice of the
wakeful heart is really the voice of our Beloved, saying, “Open to me.” Holy
zeal will surely unbar the door.

“Oh lovely attitude! He stands

With melting heart and laden hands;

My soul forsakes her every sin;

And lets the heavenly stranger in.”

I slept, but my heart was awake.    Song of Songs 5:2

Paradoxes abound in Christian experience, and here is one: The spouse was asleep, and yet she was awake. The only one who can read the believer’s riddle is he who has lived through this experience. The two points in this evening’s text are: a mournful sleepiness and a hopeful wakefulness. “I slept.” Through sin that dwells in us we may become lax in holy duties, lazy in religious exercises, dull in spiritual joys, and completely indolent and careless.

This is a shameful state for one in whom the quickening Spirit dwells; and it is dangerous in the highest degree. Even wise virgins sometimes slumber, but it is high time for all to shake off the chains of idleness. It is to be feared that many believers lose their strength as Samson lost his hair, while sleeping on the lap of carnal security. With a perishing world around us, to sleep is cruel; with eternity so close at hand, it is madness.

Yet none of us are as awake as we should be; a few thunderclaps would do us all good, and it may be, unless we soon stir ourselves, we will have them in the form of war or disease or personal bereavements and loss. May we leave forever the couch of fleshly ease, and go out with flaming torches to meet the coming Bridegroom! “My heart was awake.”

This is a happy sign. Life is not extinct, though sadly smothered. When our renewed heart struggles against our natural heaviness, we should be grateful to sovereign grace for keeping a little vitality within this body of death. Jesus will hear our hearts, will help our hearts, will visit our hearts; for the voice of the wakeful heart is really the voice of our Beloved, saying, “Open to me.” Holy zeal will surely unlock the door.

 Oh lovely attitude! He stands

With melting heart and laden hands;

My soul forsakes her every sin;

And lets the heavenly stranger in.

 Family Reading Plan    Ezekiel 27  Psalm 76