"Winter into Winter"

Is that a deathbed where a Christian lies?  

Yes, but not his—’tis Death itself that dies.  

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

***

I’m fascinated by stories of "unreached people groups” and the means by which the gospel finds its way into these cultures. This week, while reading a history of England, I came across this report:

In 731, a British abbot, known to later generations as the Venerable Bede, wrote the first history of England: The Ecclesiastical History of the English People. (The world also owes to Bede the practice of reckoning years from the birth of Christ.) 

Bede tells us that King Edwin, a 7th century king of North Umbria, called a council of his wisest retainers to consider their response to the evangel. Bede reports that one of the king's chief men gave the following speech, in which he compared our life to that of a sparrow flying through a hall in winter:         

The present life of man upon earth, O King, seems to me, in comparison with that time which is unknown to us, is like to the swift flight of a sparrow through the house wherein you sit at supper in winter, with your eldermen and theons, while the fire blazes in the midst, and the hall is warmed, but the wintry storms of rain or snow are raging abroad. The sparrow, flying in at one door and immediately out at another, whilst he is within, is safe from the wintry tempest; but after a short space of fair weather, he immediately vanishes out of your sight, passing from winter into winter again. So this life of man appears for a little while, but of what is to follow or what went before we know nothing at all. If, therefore, this new doctrine tells us something more certain, it seems justly to deserve to be followed.  

How dark and bleak. And how tragic. One brief moment of existence, “but of what is to follow or what went before we know nothing at all.” Why go on when every breath we draw is taking us into an uncertain, terrifying future? 

I think of friends and neighbors around me, living “without hope” (Ephesians  2:12), “passing from winter into winter again,” not knowing what is to follow. But, thank God, by His mercy we can be "born again into a life full of hope. through Christ’s rising again from the dead! We can now hope for a perfect inheritance beyond the reach of change and decay, kept in Heaven for us. In the meantime we will be kept by the power of God operating through our faith, till we enter fully into the salvation which is being held in trust for us at last” (1 Peter 1:3-5).

This is indeed “the doctrine that tells us something more certain” that “seems justly to deserve to be followed.” Heaven is “kept” for us and we are “kept" for heaven. It’s an open invitation; the door is wide open. Bede tells us that King Edwin entered in and many of the people of North Umbria with him.

Jesus said,, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25,26). This is the unshakable guarantee, the rock-solid assurance, the blood-bought promise. “Everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.” 

Do you believe this? There is nothing “more certain.”

David Roper
2.13.22

Staying Put

I’ll stay where you put me; 
I will dear Lord
Though I want so badly to go.
I’m eager to march with the rank and file, 
For I want to lead them, you know.
I long to keep step to the music loud,
To cheer when the banner’s unfurled,
To stand in the midst of the fight straight and proud,
But I’ll stay where you put me, dear Lord.

In Homer’s version of the Odyssey, battle weary Odysseus sets sail for Ithaca after long years fighting in the Trojan War. He forsakes the voluptuous sea nymph, Calypso to go home to his wife Penelope and her needlepoint.

In a modern sequel to The Odyssey, Nikos Kazantzakis has Odysseus returning home and staying long enough to slay Penelope’s suitors, but he cannot cure his restlessness, and soon sets sail again for parts unknown. 

Kazantzakis echoes our nagging yen to move on.

 Certainly there may be good reasons to move to another place, but simple restlessness—“looking for a greater challenge”—is not one of them. Long ago I recognized my discontent for what it is: a longing for that elusive “something more”—that hunger for God himself that will not be satisfied until I reach my final home.

I met an old fellow some years back—Ralph was his name—who managed a backcountry ranch. I asked him if he ever thought of moving to a less remote place. “Why would I do that,” he drawled, “when I’m already where I want to be.”  

There’s a good deal of wisdom in those words, especially when we know that our present place is the place God has put us and thus is the place we want to be. We can "stay put” until he tells us it’s time to move on. 

"Oh restless heart, that beats against your prison bars of circumstances, yearning for a wider sphere of usefulness, leave God to order all your days. Patience and trust, in the dullness of the routine of life, will be the best preparation for a courageous bearing of the tug and strain of the larger opportunity which God may some time send you" —L.B. Cowman

David Roper

War and Peace

 “The sole cause of wars and revolutions and battles is nothing other than desire.” —Plato (5th Century BC)

“It is insatiable desires which overturn not only individual men, but whole families, and which even bring down the state. From desires there spring hatred, schisms, discords, seditions and wars” —Cicero (1st Century BC)

“What causes fights and quarrels among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you? You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask” —James (1 Century AD).

What causes revolution, war, schism, discord, sedition, border disputes, racial tension, marital spats, sibling rivalry? Why can’t we get along?

Ancient wisdom answers: Conflict stems from “desire,” a Greek word (hedone) from which we get our word “hedonism.” Hedonism is the belief that pleasure is the highest good. Taken to its extreme it is a relentless pursuit of personal pleasure without regard for others.

There is nothing intrinsically wrong with pleasure. “Pleasures are shafts of glory,” C. S. Lewis said, intimations of God’s goodness and love, serendipitous occasions of his grace. Pleasures only become troublesome when they're snatched in the wrong way, or at the wrong time. 

The worst of it comes when the pursuit of pleasure puts us in conflict with another human being similarly inclined. Two drivers converging on the last parking space at a crowded mall comes to mind. One or the other is thwarted, a frustration that can escalate into lethal rage. “You want something, but don’t get it, (so) you kill,” James writes. The unguarded pursuit of pleasure leads to terrifying violence. James does well to warn us.

James’ solution is profoundly simple: When in the pursuit of pleasure you collide with someone pursuing his or her pleasure, rather than insist that your needs be met, stop, step back and “ask (God)." Bernard of Clairvaux wrote long ago, “What will you do if your needs are not met? Will you look to God to meet your needs? God promises that those who seek first the kingdom and his righteousness will have all things added to them” (from On the Love of God).

One proviso: We cannot dictate the time or terms of our satisfaction. It may be that God will give us what we desire straight away, or he will give it later. Or he may ask us to forgo the thing we sought, but give us the pleasure we sought apart from the thing we were seeking, for lasting peace and joy, of necessity, exist apart from natural causes.

Whatever, our Lord gives a “greater grace” (4:6), greater than any outcome we snatch on our own.

David Roper
1.31.22

Jacob’s Ladder

Jacob was on the lam, fleeing from Esau’s fury, and came to “no particular place,” as the Hebrew text suggests. As night was falling, he cleared a spot in the rubble-strewn ground, and found a flat rock on which to lay his head. He soon lapsed into a deep sleep in which he began to dream. In his dream Jacob saw a stairway, rising from the stone at his head, connecting heaven and earth.

The traditional ladder is such a favorite image it’s a shame to give it up, yet the picture of angels in ungainly apparel scrambling up and down the rungs of a ladder leaves much to be desired. The term usually translated “ladder” actually suggests a stairway or stone ramp like those that led to the top of ziggurats, the terraced pyramids raised to worship the gods of that era. The ziggurat with its steep stairway was a symbol of man’s efforts to plod his way up to God. It was hard work, but there was no other way to get help when you needed it (see Genesis 11:1–4).

It’s odd how that pagan notion has found its way into our theology. Some early Christian writers used the ladder as an analogy for spiritual progress, tracing the steps of Christian faith from one stage to another, rising higher by self effort. Walter Hilton’s literary classic The Ladder of Perfection is based on that notion. The  old camp-meeting song “We Are Climbing Jacob’s Ladder”draws on that association. And who can forget “Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin? In each case the emphasis is on the ascent of man.

What caught Jacob’s attention, however, was the fact that God had come down the stairway and was standing next to him, for that’s the meaning of the preposition translated “above” in 28:13. (“And behold, the LORD stood beside him,” The same Hebrew word is translated “nearby” in Genesis 18:2 and  “in front of,” in Genesis 45:1.)

God was standing beside  him. The God of Jacob’s father, Isaac, and grandfather, Abraham, was in this lonely place with him, contrary to Jacob’s expectations and far from the traditional holy places he normally associated with God’s presence. “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it,” Jacob declared with wide-eyed, childlike astonishment. “This [place] is none other than the house of God.”

Jacob got the message, but God was taking no chances. He highlighted the picture with a promise that would sustain Jacob through the weary days ahead: “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go . . . I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised” (Genesis 28:15).

His promise is our promise as well. “God has said, ‘I will never leave you; I will never forsake you’” (Hebrews 13:5). He is present with you today—in the lonely place where you find yourself sequestered. Our Lord is with you every moment of every day. There is no moment when you are alone. You can say of every site and circumstance, “Surely the Lord is in this place.”

G. K. Chesterton was asked by a reporter what he would say if Jesus were standing beside him. “He is,” Chesterton replied with calm assurance.

David Roper 1.19.22

Adapted from the chapter “Jacob’s Ladder” in The God Who Walks Beside Us 

Grace Upon Grace (Upon Grace)

He said to me, "What do you see?” I said, “I see a lamp stand of gold, with a bowl on the top of it, and seven lamps on it, with seven lips on each of the lamps that are on the top of it. And there are two olive trees by it, one on the right of  the bowl and the other on its left.”  And I said to the angel who talked with me, “What are these, my lord?” Then he said to me, “This is the word of the LORD to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the LORD of hosts.   Who are you, O great mountain? Before Zerubbabel you shall become a plain. And he shall bring forward the top stone amid shouts of ‘Grace, grace' to it!" (Zechariah 4:2–7).

Zachariah envisioned a menorah with a receptacle at the top to catch the oil that dripped continuously from two olive trees that flanked it.

"What is this?" Zechariah asked. This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: "Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit." 

Zachariah was called to encourage Israel's governor Zerubbabel and those associated with him who were rebuilding the temple in Jerusalem, a structure that the Babylonians had reduced to a "great mountain" of rubble. "Carry on," Zechariah insists, "for the Spirit of God is an indefatigable source of strength and energy."

Thus, in like manner, you and I can tackle mountains great and small, not by our own strength, but by the ever-present resources that flow from the Spirit of God. "if we burn steadily through the long dark hours, it is because we have learned to translate into living beauty those supplies of grace which we receive in fellowship with Jesus" (FB Meyer).

What mountain (or mountains) do you face this morning?  A difficult encounter that looms before you? A relationship that has been reduced to rubble? A painful, sinful habit you've tried again and again to surmount? 

So carry on. The Spirit of God is with you, an unfailing, ever-present source of grace. "For from his fullness [you have] received, grace upon grace, upon grace, upon grace, upon grace, upon grace, ad infinitum" (John 1:16).   

David Roper 

1.16.22

It’s Impossible! (Thoughts on the New Year)

"Thus says the LORD of hosts: 'Old men and old women shall again sit in the streets of Jerusalem, each with staff in hand because of great age. And the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in its streets…’ Thus says the LORD of hosts: 'If it is marvelous (impossible) in the sight of the remnant of this people in those days, should it also be marvelous (impossible) in my sight,' declares the LORD of hosts?’" (Zechariah. 8:4–6). 

Jerusalem had been reduced to a pile of rubble and yet, as Zechariah assured God’s people, the city would be built again: old men and women would gather in the parks and squares of the city to kvetch and kibitz; children would play in the streets. 

"Impossible," Zechariah's detractors muttered.

But we should never allow reason or common sense to tell us what God can or cannot do. He is the God of the impossible, the one who created perfect order (cosmos) out of primal chaos (Jeremiah 32:25). Nothing is impossible for him to do! (cf. Genesis 11:14; Job 42:2; Matthew 19:26).

He can reclaim a life that is ruined beyond reclamation. He can find a prodigal that is irretrievably lost. He can soften a heart that has hardened into stone. He can heal a church that is beyond repair. 

Indeed, "you will see greater things than this,” Jesus said (John 1:50). There is nothing that the LORD of Hosts cannot do! 

Got any rivers you think are impossible?

Got any mountains you can’t tunnel through?

God specializes things thought impossible;

And He can do what no other power can do.

David Roper
1.2.22

Looking Up

 "Poor little bird, you can't fly!"   "No, but I can look up!" —George MacDonald

My voice You shall hear in the morning, O LORD;In the morning I will direct it to You,And I will look up. —Psalm 5:3

For years my morning routine was the same: I completed my morning ablutions, snatched a cup of coffee and my iPad and got my news brief for the day. Then I settled in to meet the Lord.

No longer. I'm learning—first thing—to "look up.”

Looking out and about is unnerving: our world is circling down the drain. Pundits and prophets report the end of civilization as we know it and the scene on the ground confirms it. The world’s in a hand basket, as old folks say, and we have a pretty good idea where it's going.

Given the spin we're in, it's better to "look up," to lift up our voices first thing in the morning and "direct" our thoughts to the LORD; to take the worries off our minds, where they have no business being, and put them into his hands where they belong. 

And then, with hearts at rest we can sally forth to meet the day, or shelter safely at home.

There's an old saying: “To make a beginning is the whole," and worship is the best way to begin. Perhaps I can do no more this year—my sphere of influence is small—but I can certainly do no better. 

David Roper

1.19.20