2 Peter 2:9-18

God warns us against misguided desires, because sinful passions can lead to emptiness, suffering, disappointment, pain, and even death. Wise believers let the Father direct their yearnings–and then make changes if necessary.

Impure desires have been part of the “flesh” nature since the fall of man, and they can be hard to see in ourselves. Instead of obvious things like theft, drugs, or immorality, they often involve more subtle attitudes and behaviors, like hoping for a rival’s downfall, despising authority (2 Peter 2:10), obsessing about wealth (1 Tim. 6:9), or even speaking arrogant and vain words. Since worldly passions can cause great damage (2 Peter 2:18), believers are to deny them (Titus 2:11-12). But we can’t overcome these desires on our own. Submitting to God’s Spirit is the only way to live righteously.

The Lord knows what we really desire–and more importantly, what we need–even when cloudy judgment leads us astray. And He understands honest mistakes. When a believer misinterprets the Spirit’s guidance or receives bad advice from a friend, God looks at the heart. He may allow the consequences of a poor choice to play out, but He won’t shame His children for an honest mistake. He can turn a bad situation into something good (Rom. 8:28).

God can save us from worldly desires, but we must be willing to commit ourselves to Him and trust that His response is the best thing for us. When we put our lives entirely in the Father’s hands, we can claim the wonderful promises He has for us and then rest in His grace.

The Language of Tears

A close friend of mine recently had her first child. I had the opportunity to visit with them a few months ago and to meet her new little one. At three months old, her baby makes all the typical sweet coos and sounds that endear newborns to their adult admirers. He would even offer a tiny laugh when I would make a silly face at him.

And then, seemingly out of the blue, he would cry. What amazed me was how his mother knew just what the cries indicated. Sometimes it was anger at being put on his stomach; sometimes it was a cry for food; other times, it was the weary crying of his fighting off inevitable sleep. What was amazing to me was that as I listened carefully, I could begin to hear the difference between the various cries of his limited, yet profound vocabulary.

On a cross-country air flight, I was overwhelmed by the plaintive cries of a young child in the row behind me. I immediately thought of my friend. Like my friend’s newborn, I thought of how the child was trying to communicate with his mother through the only means available to him. With each piercing wail, the tears streamed down my own eyes. And I thought about how my own tears were the only way I could express the place of deep sorrow that arose in me as I listened to wave after wave of his sobs.

There is something about a baby’s cries that connects to someplace deep inside of me. For most, especially when sitting on a crowded plane as we were, the sound of a baby crying pierces ears like a scratch on a chalkboard or the siren of an emergency vehicle. But for me, the cries of all young children vocalize all that I cannot say and all that I feel inside. From plaintive wail to frustrated, angry cries, whether they emerge from my friend’s child, a child beside me on the plane, or in the schoolyard across from my home, these cries articulate the deepest yearnings of my own heart.

In this particular case, the young child’s cries connected to deep losses I had suffered. His cries told stories of grief and heartache I bore in my own spirit on behalf of friends and loved ones. His tears expressed for me the bitter sorrow over lost opportunity, frittered years, idle moments when opportunity might have been seized rather than squandered. And so, I cried with the child—the child vocalizing all that I could not say, but that which I deeply felt.

Many times, our response to tears is to admonish them away. “Don’t cry,” “be thankful” or “look on the bright side” are dismissive statements, as much as they are meant to comfort. Yet, there are so many moments in life that cannot be expressed or soothed by words. They are too deep, too visceral to be simply captured by a clever turn of phrase. Instead, tears are the necessary articulation of our hearts, speaking out the groans too deep to be uttered.

Indeed, tears are a language of their own. Whenever I am tempted to dismiss them or to try to overcome them, I am encouraged towards their free expression because of the way in which my Christian faith values them. Throughout the sacred pages of Scripture, there are tears. The tears of the grieving, the weary, and even the joyful—tears speak what the mouth cannot say.

The psalmist speaks of God gathering up tears in a bottle, writing them in a book, as if they tell a unique story. The apostle Paul speaks of the Spirit groaning with utterances too deep for words. The ancient Hebrew prophet, Jeremiah, is often called “the weeping prophet” and Isaiah characterizes the “suffering servant” as “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.”

Christians believe that it was this suffering servant, Jesus, who wept at the tomb of his friend Lazarus, moved by the weeping of Mary, Martha and all those who had gathered to mourn his loss. He didn’t just shed a single tear; he wept, crying out in anguish over the death of Lazarus. In a world that values strength, stoicism, and in contrast to those traditions that espouse detachment, I find myself comforted that there is room for my tears, value in grief, and a God who comes near to the brokenhearted.

Furthermore, if as Christians affirm, Jesus presents a living picture of what God is like, then tears are not foreign to God. God is not removed from human pain, but has borne under it in the flesh, in Jesus. Our tears are understood, welcomed and honored by a God who feels. And this gives me great hope for the all too frequent days when tears are as much a part of my days as laughter. And it helps me better understand Jesus’s own words of blessing on those who mourn: Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted. If all of this is true, then let the tears flow freely, just as they do when the young child cries.

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

Morning “Able to keep you from falling.” / Jude 24

 In some sense the path to heaven is very safe, but in other respects there is

no road so dangerous. It is beset with difficulties. One false step (and how

easy it is to take that if grace be absent), and down we go. What a slippery

path is that which some of us have to tread! How many times have we to exclaim

with the Psalmist, “My feet were almost gone, my steps had well nigh slipped.”

If we were strong, sure-footed mountaineers, this would not matter so much;

but in ourselves, how weak we are! In the best roads we soon falter, in the

smoothest paths we quickly stumble. These feeble knees of ours can scarcely

support our tottering weight. A straw may throw us, and a pebble can wound us;

we are mere children tremblingly taking our first steps in the walk of faith,

our heavenly Father holds us by the arms or we should soon be down. Oh, if we

are kept from falling, how must we bless the patient power which watches over

us day by day! Think, how prone we are to sin, how apt to choose danger, how

strong our tendency to cast ourselves down, and these reflections will make us

sing more sweetly than we have ever done, “Glory be to him, who is able to

keep us from falling.” We have many foes who try to push us down. The road is

rough and we are weak, but in addition to this, enemies lurk in ambush, who

rush out when we least expect them, and labour to trip us up, or hurl us down

the nearest precipice. Only an Almighty arm can preserve us from these unseen

foes, who are seeking to destroy us. Such an arm is engaged for our defence.

He is faithful that hath promised, and he is able to keep us from falling, so

that with a deep sense of our utter weakness, we may cherish a firm belief in

our perfect safety, and say, with joyful confidence,

 “Against me earth and hell combine,

 But on my side is power divine;

 Jesus is all, and he is mine!”

 

Evening “But he answered her not a word.” / Matthew 15:23

 Genuine seekers who as yet have not obtained the blessing, may take comfort

from the story before us. The Saviour did not at once bestow the blessing,

even though the woman had great faith in him. He intended to give it, but he

waited awhile. “He answered her not a word.” Were not her prayers good? Never

better in the world. Was not her case needy? Sorrowfully needy. Did she not

feel her need sufficiently? She felt it overwhelmingly. Was she not earnest

enough? She was intensely so. Had she no faith? She had such a high degree of

it that even Jesus wondered, and said, “O woman, great is thy faith.” See

then, although it is true that faith brings peace, yet it does not always

bring it instantaneously. There may be certain reasons calling for the trial

of faith, rather than the reward of faith. Genuine faith may be in the soul

like a hidden seed, but as yet it may not have budded and blossomed into joy

and peace. A painful silence from the Saviour is the grievous trial of many a

seeking soul, but heavier still is the affliction of a harsh cutting reply

such as this, “It is not meet to take the children’s bread, and to cast it to

dogs.” Many in waiting upon the Lord find immediate delight, but this is not

the case with all. Some, like the jailer, are in a moment turned from darkness

to light, but others are plants of slower growth. A deeper sense of sin may be

given to you instead of a sense of pardon, and in such a case you will have

need of patience to bear the heavy blow. Ah! poor heart, though Christ beat

and bruise thee, or even slay thee, trust him; though he should give thee an

angry word, believe in the love of his heart. Do not, I beseech thee, give up

seeking or trusting my Master, because thou hast not yet obtained the

conscious joy which thou longest for. Cast thyself on him, and perseveringly

depend even where thou canst not rejoicingly hope.

But he did not answer her a word.    Matthew 15:23

Genuine seekers who as yet have not obtained the blessing may find comfort in this story. The Savior did not immediately bestow the blessing, even though the woman had great faith in Him. He intended to give it, but He waited awhile. “He did not answer her a word.” Were her prayers no good? Never better in the world. Was she not needy? Dreadfully needy. Did she not feel her need sufficiently? She felt it overwhelmingly. Was she not sincere enough? She was intensely so. Did she have no faith? She had such a high degree of it that even Jesus wondered and said, “O woman, great is your faith!” Notice then, although it is true that faith brings peace, it does not always bring it instantaneously. There may be certain reasons for faith to be tested rather than rewarded.

Genuine faith may be in the soul like a hidden seed, but so far it may not have budded and blossomed into joy and peace. Silence from the Savior is the painful trial of many a seeking soul, but heavier still is the affliction of a harsh, cutting reply such as, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” Many in waiting upon the Lord find immediate delight, but this is not the case with all. Some, like the jailer, are in a moment turned from darkness to light, but others are plants of slower growth.

A deeper sense of sin may be given to you instead of a sense of pardon, and in such a case you will need patience to bear the heavy blow. Poor heart, though Christ beat and bruise you, or even slay you, trust Him; even if He should give you an angry word, believe in the love of His heart. I urge you, do not give up seeking or trusting my Master because you have not yet obtained the conscious joy that you long for. Cast yourself on Him, and perseveringly depend even when you cannot rejoicingly hope.

Family Reading Plan    Ezekiel 42   Psalm 94