1 Samuel 18:1-3  –  All people long to be in genuine relationships. God created us with this need, as we were not meant to live in isolation.

Our world is so driven by technology that many people today try to ease their loneliness through computer relationships. However, this can never satisfy or compare to the human fellowship that the Creator designed. But healthy friendships don’t just happen. They require intentional effort.

Yesterday, in looking to Jonathan and David for a biblical model of godly companions, we saw how mutual respect is vital in a healthy friendship. Now, let’s look at two more aspects of their relationship. These two men had an emotional love for one another; their hearts were knit together (1 Sam. 18:1). When one man experienced joy or sadness, the other man felt it too.

They also had genuine devotion to each other, which is a type of commitment that involves giving: to show loyalty, Jonathan gave his friend material items–his robe and weapon. But these two men also selflessly offered more: Jonathan even risked his life and future kingship in order to save David from execution. Notice, too, that Jonathan was often the initiator, and the one who gave more. He was a prince, whereas David was a lowly shepherd. Social status shouldn’t interfere with cultivating a true friendship.

We were designed for true companionship based on mutual respect, genuine love, and commitment. This requires not only time and selfless devotion but also transparency–which means being real, even about our faults. Taking such a risk requires trust. Such relationships are well worth the effort.

 It is startling to consider the amount of information we carry about in our heads. Think simply of all of the numbers you have by memory: phone numbers, birthdays, ID numbers, zip codes, appointment times and dates.  Among these many numbers are some so inscribed in your mind with permanent marker that you could not forget the number anymore than you could forget the person or thing they represent. The significance moves well beyond the boldfaced digits themselves—the birth of a child, the death of a loved one, the street number of the house you grew up in, the number of times you failed before you finally passed the test.

In the days of Mordecai and Queen Esther the people set themselves to remember the days when they received relief from their enemies, the month that had been turned “from sorrow into gladness and from mourning into a holiday.”(1) And so it was determined: “These days of Purim should never cease to be celebrated by the Jews, nor should the memory of them die out among their descendants.” The days were weighted with enough hope to press upon them the need to remember them forever. More importantly, they saw the very certain possibility that they might forget.

I suppose there are moments in our lives when we realize that we are beholding the carving of a day into the great tree of history. On my way to the hospital on the day my son was born I thought about the date and how it was about to be something more. Like any bride or groom or parent I knew from that day forward it would be difficult (and detrimental) to forget this day on the calendar; it would carry the force of forgetting so much more. Like the number itself, my remembering is more than a recollection of detail; it is the recollection of a person.

With a similar sense of anticipation, God told the Israelites that they would remember the night of Passover before the night even happened. “This day shall be for you a memorial day, and you shall keep it as a feast to the LORD; throughout your generations, as a statute forever, you shall keep it as a feast” (Exodus 12:14). Moses and Aaron were given instructions to tell the whole community of Israel to choose a lamb without defect, slaughtering it at twilight. Then they were to take some of the blood and put it on the doorposts of the houses. “The blood will be a sign,” the LORD declared. “And when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No destructive plague will touch you when I strike the firstborns of Egypt.”

The significance of remembering is a theme carried throughout all of Scripture. It is not about static facts or rules or figures, but the mystery of a place, the significance of a person, the marking of lives. Celebrating the Passover was nonnegotiable. The command to remember was passed down from generation to generation. But they were remembering more than the mere events of Israel’s exodus from Egypt; they were remembering God as God showed up and changed them—the faithful hand that moved among them, the mighty acts which exclaim a Father’s untiring remembering of his people.

As the disciples sat around the table celebrating their third Passover meal with Jesus, an observance they kept before they could walk, everything probably looked ceremoniously familiar. The smell of lamb filled the upper room; the unleavened bread was prepared and waiting to be broken. Remembering again the acts of God in Egypt, the blood on the doorposts, the lives spared and brought out of slavery, they looked at their teacher as he lifted the bread from the table and gave thanks to God. Then Jesus broke the bread, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.”

I have always wished that Luke would have described a little more of the scene that followed. Were the disciples hushed and confused? Did their years of envisioning the blood-marked doorposts cry out at the Lamb of God before them? They had spent their entire lives remembering the sovereignty of God in the events of the Passover, and then Jesus tells them that there is yet more to see in this day on the calendar: In this broken bread is the reflection of me. On this day, God is engraving across history the promise of Passover: I still remember you. I still seek you. 

I imagine from that day forward the disciples knew it would be difficult to forget that day on the calendar. It is not that different for us today either. Forgetting what was witnessed in the upper room on that Passover carries the force of forgetting so much more.

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

 Morning “After this manner therefore pray ye: Our Father which art in heaven, etc.” /

Matthew 6:9

 This prayer begins where all true prayer must commence, with the spirit of

adoption, “Our Father.” There is no acceptable prayer until we can say, “I

will arise, and go unto my Father.” This child-like spirit soon perceives the

grandeur of the Father “in heaven,” and ascends to devout adoration, “Hallowed

be thy name.” The child lisping, “Abba, Father,” grows into the cherub crying,

“Holy, Holy, Holy.” There is but a step from rapturous worship to the glowing

missionary spirit, which is a sure outgrowth of filial love and reverent

adoration–“Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

Next follows the heartfelt expression of dependence upon God–“Give us this

day our daily bread.” Being further illuminated by the Spirit, he discovers

that he is not only dependent, but sinful, hence he entreats for mercy,

“Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors:” and being pardoned, having

the righteousness of Christ imputed, and knowing his acceptance with God, he

humbly supplicates for holy perseverance, “Lead us not into temptation.” The

man who is really forgiven, is anxious not to offend again; the possession of

justification leads to an anxious desire for sanctification. “Forgive us our

debts,” that is justification; “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us

from evil,” that is sanctification in its negative and positive forms. As the

result of all this, there follows a triumphant ascription of praise, “Thine is

the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever, Amen.” We rejoice

that our King reigns in providence and shall reign in grace, from the river

even to the ends of the earth, and of his dominion there shall be no end. Thus

from a sense of adoption, up to fellowship with our reigning Lord, this short

model of prayer conducts the soul. Lord, teach us thus to pray.

 

Evening “But their eyes were holden that they should not know him.” / Luke 24:16

 The disciples ought to have known Jesus, they had heard his voice so often,

and gazed upon that marred face so frequently, that it is wonderful they did

not discover him. Yet is it not so with you also? You have not seen Jesus

lately. You have been to his table, and you have not met him there. You are in

a dark trouble this evening, and though he plainly says, “It is I, be not

afraid,” yet you cannot discern him. Alas! our eyes are holden. We know his

voice; we have looked into his face; we have leaned our head upon his bosom,

and yet, though Christ is very near us, we are saying “O that I knew where I

might find him!” We should know Jesus, for we have the Scriptures to reflect

his image, and yet how possible it is for us to open that precious book and

have no glimpse of the Wellbeloved! Dear child of God, are you in that state?

Jesus feedeth among the lilies of the word, and you walk among those lilies,

and yet you behold him not. He is accustomed to walk through the glades of

Scripture, and to commune with his people, as the Father did with Adam in the

cool of the day, and yet you are in the garden of Scripture, but cannot see

him, though he is always there. And why do we not see him? It must be ascribed

in our case, as in the disciples’, to unbelief. They evidently did not expect

to see Jesus, and therefore they did not know him. To a great extent in

spiritual things we get what we expect of the Lord. Faith alone can bring us

to see Jesus. Make it your prayer, “Lord, open thou mine eyes, that I may see

my Saviour present with me.” It is a blessed thing to want to see him; but oh!

it is better far to gaze upon him. To those who seek him he is kind; but to

those who find him, beyond expression is he dear!

But their eyes were kept from recognizing him.   Luke 24:16

The disciples ought to have known Jesus; they had heard His voice so often and gazed upon that marred face so frequently that it is incredible they did not discover Him. Yet is it not also with you? You have not seen Jesus lately. You have been to His table, and yet you have not met Him there. You are in a dark trouble this evening, and though He plainly says, “It is I, do not be afraid,” yet you cannot discern Him. Sadly, our eyes are kept from seeing Him. We know His voice, we have looked into His face, we have leaned our head upon His shoulder, and yet, though Christ is very near us, we are saying, “I wish I knew where I could find Him!”

We should know Jesus, for we have the Scriptures to reflect His image, and yet how possible it is for us to open that precious book and have no glimpse of our loving Lord! Dear child of God, are you in that state? Jesus feeds among the lilies of the Word, and you walk among those lilies, and yet you do not behold Him. He is accustomed to walking through the glades of Scripture and communing with His people, as the Father did with Adam in the cool of the day, and yet you are in the garden of Scripture but cannot see Him, although He is always there.

And why do we not see Him? This must be ascribed in our case, as in the disciples’, to unbelief. They evidently did not expect to see Jesus, and therefore they did not know Him. To a great extent in spiritual things we get what we expect from the Lord. Only faith can bring us to see Jesus. Make it your prayer, “Lord, open my eyes, that I may see my Savior present with me.” It is a blessed thing to want to see Him; but it is far better to gaze upon Him. To those who seek Him He is kind; but to those who find Him, He is dear beyond expression!

Family Reading Plan   Hosea 2  Psalm 119:97-120