Humility

Humility, by Andrew Murray, is one of the simplest yet most profound books I have ever read. I just keep going back to it again and again. And again. Because understanding what humility is and actually getting to a place where it is the constant disposition (or even direction) of my heart are two completely different animals. Death to self is life in Christ. I know that. But what does that practically look like?

Rest in these thoughts for a bit…

“Until a humility that rests in nothing less than the end and death of self, and

which gives up all the honor of men as Jesus did to seek the honor that comes

from God alone (which absolutely makes and counts itself nothing) that God may

be all, that the Lord alone may be exalted- until such a humility is what we seek in

Christ above our chief joy, and welcome at any price, there is very little hope of a

faith that will conquer the world.” (p. 26, emphasis mine)

“It is a solemn thought that our love for God is measured by our everyday

relationships with others. Except as its validity is proven in standing the test of

daily life with our fellow-men, our love for God may be found to be a delusion. It

is easy to think that we humble ourselves before God, but our humility toward

others is the only sufficient proof that our humility before God is real. To be

genuine, humility must abide in us and become our very nature.” (p. 53)

As I pursue Christ, I pursue humility, for there is no humility apart from Him. He is the very definition of that great aim. He is the impartation of life and the antithesis of pride and death. O, that I may learn to be more like Him and dwell in the rich depths of humility.

My prayer and declaration in this journey…

“How great is God! How small we are! Lost, swallowed up, in love’s immensity!”

(p. 101)

Amen.

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The (American) Bride

Once a daughter, silent sleeping
Woke unto a blissful sight-
That she had grown through wont and weeping
To become a bride of striking might.

Ran she from her ample slumber,
Calling dawn with steady chords;
“Lie we no more, tarry, lumber,
Draw we now our battle swords!”

‘Twas grace that taught her heart to sing,
Selfless love that gave her purpose;
Humility bought that precious ring
For which her heart e’er searchest.

Oh, take my heart and make me better,
Take my heart and make me bold.
Bind my spirit in richest fetter,
And give my hand a ring of gold.

Too long ago, before she slept,
She knew her ardent lover.
Too soon thereafter, ran she off
To the tight grip of another.

Stubborn she, and often selfish,
Trusting not her bridegroom’s way,
Levees built to stay her passion
Long ago had given way.

So, lumbered she, encumbered greatly
With riches, comfort, charm-ed life,
Until the burden proved too heavy
For the bridegroom’s ailing wife.

Never was she meant to carry
Such a load of toil and strain;
But thought she this would win the favor
Of her groom, His heart’s refrain.

Oh, take my heart and make me better,
Take my heart and make me bold.
Bind my spirit in richest fetter,
And give my hand a ring of gold.

Thus she slumbered in her working,
Never peaceful, forging on;
So slowly did she come to realize
She had His true love all along.

And, as she wandered, bleakly peering,
Searching to and tossing fro,
She sensed His ever-lasting Spirit
Lead her where she longed to go.

“Oh! Lead me farther into glory,
Make my face to shine and glow;
Dress me proud in white-washed linen
To match my heart of purest snow.”

Oh, take my heart and make me better,
Take my heart and make me bold.
Bind my spirit in richest fetter,
And give my hand a ring of gold.

Her other lover left her weary,
Proving never to fulfill;
For riches can not reap the harvest;
Riches know not how to till.

Returned she weak and heavy-laden
To He who loved and knew her best;
Ashamed was she, but joyous He
And offered kindly her to rest.

His heart a fount of pure emotion
Yearning for His cherished one;
She now could see with both eyes open;
Her days of slumber now were done.

Professed He to His purest bride,
“I vow to love you always, true.”
And gently hushed in velvet whisper,
She gave her heart and said, “I do.”

Oh, take my heart and make me better,
Take my heart and make me bold.
Bind my spirit in richest fetter,
And give my hand a ring of gold.

The Appeal of Sacrifice

"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

The stirring last would-be words of Sydney Carton, Charles Dickens' damaged hero in A Tale of Two Cities, always bring a twinge of hopeful yearning to my soul. A yearning for a memorial to justice and truth. A yearning for meaning far beyond the natural state of things. A yearning for the eternal.

The opposer of sacrifice is selfishness. Living for myself with the belief that my needs are more important and valuable than your needs. The blood lust for selfishness- looking out for number one- is the mediation my flesh believes will satisfy, when ultimately- always- it fails. Miserably. My flesh believes that entitlement is the answer, because it is something I can create and control. But sacrifice is a much fairer fruit. A much more rare ambition.

And therein lies the appeal of sacrifice. It isn’t easy. It doesn’t come naturally. And it yields many scars that mark this road less traveled. It is a rare gem.

It is Carton's selflessness, his peaceful resignation to take the place of his rival in the grip of a rabid mob that desires nothing but revenge that draws me in. It is a beautiful picture of sacrifice. Walking into the lion’s den with a resolve that chooses not to keep the animals’ appetites at bay but invites the consequence it knows must come. Sacrifice.

“Along the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh.” Carton knew there was no escape, no avoidance of Madame Guillotine. And still he went. To take the place of the man who would live for everything that moved Carton and brought notes of love and purpose to his cold heart.

Would I do that? For my enemy? Would I lay down my life for one I knew would get everything I ever wanted when I would taste none of it?

Or one step further…could I live a life of sacrifice and lay down my life daily for something greater than myself? For my enemy? For the enemy of my Lord? It is my constant prayer that I would. That I would live a life that is not my own and can only speak in roaring tones of the goodness and sacrifice of One who lived a perfect life and sacrificed that I may live. That I may have everything.

We are drawn to sacrificial characters because they represent an elusive, intangible quality that our hearts search for but can not fully comprehend until they meet the Jesus who loves and saves them. That deep yearning for justice and truth that I feel every time I read the final decisive lines of my favorite Dickens novel is simply a yearning for something that I can not create. Or control. It is a desire for the eternal. It is a desire to know the One who sacrificed everything for me and the acknowledgement that I have no noble role to play. My role is sacrifice, because He first sacrificed for me. My role is love, because He first loved me.

The appeal of sacrifice:

“I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of his. I see the blots I threw upon it, faded away. I see him, foremost of just judges and honoured men, bringing a boy of my name, with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place- then fair to look upon, with not a trace of this day’s disfigurement- and I hear him tell the child my story, with a tender and faltering voice.”

Already, but not yet.

Snow on Christmas Eve. Big white, fluffy flakes that I wait for all year. And then it happens. (Along with a glossy coating of ice for good measure, to make sure that 4x drive still works just fine.) Cascading down around my shoulders until a childlike breathless wonderment takes over. That’s what those little downy flakes do to me. Every time. I suddenly turn in to some romanticizing fool who seems to think that even the tiniest indistinguishable flake somehow makes the whole world a little more incredible. A little more intense and passionate.

As I drove through that light Christmas Eve snow in a kind of quiet fascination, I started to think about how the whole earth is waiting in expectation for the return of Christ. Romans 8 tells us that all of creation is literally groaning and crying out for Him to return. To restore and renew all that sin has devastated. To make the truth of the hope we have complete. It’s wonderful and exhilarating and real to me more at Christmas than any other time of the year.

Christmas songs and traditions and scripture make it easy to think about that hope coming to earth as a baby and dying a humiliating death for the prideful sin that cast this world into darkness and futility. That hope that’s returning to restore us with a lavish inheritance to be made perfect in Him. Truth. Full circle and glorious.

Already, but not yet.

Though it’s easier for me to see at Christmas, all of creation is groaning every day. Constantly. Which I don’t often think about unless prompted by some outside influence. It’s not that the world wakes up every morning with an intense longing that it’s never felt before. It’s so easy to think of the sunrise as bringing something new each day. But this yearning never changes. Every second of every day, every tree, flower, shrub, piece of bark, blade of grass and tender ivory snowflake is groaning with an unimaginable intensity for the Lord of the universe to return and restore the perfection of His creation. It never stops. We see it in the wilting of colorful bouquets of wildflowers, the turning of the autumn leaves and in the chestnut acorns that fall off aged oak trees. And we see it in ourselves.

Our very bodies cry out of return of our King. Our Restorer. They (we) long for a day of no more striving, no more growing old, no more growing weary. This expectation is so easy to breathe in and out at Christmas, as we relive the story of our Savior coming as a baby to a broken and needy earth. The whole world leapt for joy with the angels when it recognized its Savior. Its Messiah. Its Emmanuel. Why is it so easy to take for granted once the new year begins?

Which brings me back to my thoughts driving home through that placid blanket of fluffy white reminders. Every aspect of this world cries out for a hope which it knows is sure to be fulfilled on the day when the skies part and Christ returns in glory. How much more should we live lives that eagerly point to and await that day?! How much more should His return consume our thoughts every day, just as it consumes everything around us?!

And it’s always those delicate white flakes that bring me back to the reality of the hope which I have. And the hope to which I cling. That day when we can stop groaning in expectation and fully receive the glorious restoration of our Lord and King! I can’t wait to see the snowflakes that fall after that day...

Luther and Repentance

I got this from the Desiring God Blog. It's always amazing that biblical concepts we take for granted today were not common thought in Luther's time. It's easy for me to forget that. (Hence the whole taking for granted thing.) It's a good meditation. Truth spoken in beautiful words doesn't need much explanation.

Luther's First Thesis and Last Words
October 31, 2008 | By: David Mathis
Category: Commentary

491 years ago today, Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the church door in Wittenberg.

He wanted to debate the sale of indulgences with his fellow university professors. So he wrote in Latin.

But a nameless visionary translated the theses into German, carried them to the printing press, and enabled their dispersion far and wide. Luther ended up with more than he bargained for, but he proved to be no coward in defending the discoveries he was making in Scripture.

First Thesis

The truth of Luther’s first thesis would reverberate throughout his lifetime, even finding expression in his last words.

His first thesis reads,

When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said “Repent,” he intended that the entire life of believers should be repentance.

All of the Christian life is repentance. Turning from sin and trusting in the good news that Jesus saves sinners aren’t merely a one-time inaugural experience but the daily substance of Christianity. The gospel is for every day and every moment. Repentance is to be the Christian’s continual posture.

Last Words

Almost 30 years later, on February 16, 1546, Luther’s last words, written on a piece of scrap paper, echoed the theme of his first thesis:

We are beggars! This is true.

From first thesis to last words, Luther lived at the foot of the cross, where our rebellious condition meets with the beauty of God’s lavish grace in the gospel of his Son—a gospel deep enough to cover all the little and massive flaws of a beggar like Luther and beggars like us.

http://www.desiringgod.org/Blog/1471_luthers_first_thesis_and_last_words/

A work in progress...

(Grace.)

Unchanging nature leads to a provocation of grace-
That which never defers from its natural state of perfection
Need not pour out mercy, as if it had a mandate to do so.
Grace comes as a modest prairie breeze-
Something so quiet yet arresting, not only necessary but certain-
That even on the most pacific day, it is appreciated for itself alone.

The definition of purity.
The very meaning of undeserved and unrequited.
Poured out, overflowing, beautiful and priceless
For all those He has chosen.
It is the meal of fools for those who can not be captured by it,
And the very essence of hope for the living who will endure.


(Response to grace.)

I can not help but be moved by its timely presence.
Gentle, holy and completely disproportionate to my natural state.
Stare at the unseen, and know it for what it is-
Genuine manna from the hand of One who knows not fairness,
For He deals in a currency far more enduring- justice and mercy,
The brothers of grace. None deserved. None given lightly. None withheld.

And this is my response:
To be found on my face, in a repose unearned and unmistakable.
Tears of joy still streaming as incessantly as the first day
They discovered their purpose.
A healing elixir, bringing the old to light and replacing the past.
A new day is born! O, that grace which has not yet met its final act.
When all else has failed, still I cling to this-
Grace has redeemed me and set me free.
My feet know no fetter in the bonds of that most heavenly of gifts.
The blood still covers, still proves to be more than enough.
And I am enraptured with grace, confounded by its workings,
Yet always aware that it is a precious light amidst a world of darkness.
And my response will always be, Amen.

7300 N IH 35

It’s amazing how and when God brings things full circle.

Spring 2004. My second semester of grad school at UT. A time when sports and marketing ruled my academic universe, and my career goals looked more like those of a corporate superstar than a vocational ministry-worker concerned with the restoration of one of the most unchurched cities in America. Not that either of those is necessarily any better or worse than the other. It just further illustrates that in 2004, I had no idea what God had for me in 2008.

I lived in North Austin and would have to drive down I-35 every afternoon to go to class at UT. Not the most scenic of drives, unless your idea of scenic is less Norman Rockwell and more Bennigan’s and Fast Freddy’s Hair Salon. But traffic generally wasn’t terrible that time of day, so I didn’t mind. After completing this often mindless drive for the first seven months or so of living in Austin, I began to be more intentional about noticing my surroundings. Just something to break up the monotony of the drive. Looking for something new every day.

After a short time, I began to use this time to be even more intentional to pray or to listen to God. That’s the great thing about IH 35; I was a captive audience with nothing beautiful or exciting to distract me. (And, trust me, I’m pretty good at getting distracted.)

One day, I looked out the window and noticed a tarot card reader. The building caught my attention, because it looked pretty new compared to the rest of the neighborhood. Also, there was a bright neon sign on the front of the pale stone building. Couldn’t miss it. But, somehow, I had missed it for the previous seven months. As I was passing the building, I heard the voice of the Lord tell me to pray for that place. I felt impressed to pray for the people who worked there, that they would know the Lord and that He would reveal Himself to them and bring them from darkness to light- that He would break the chains that bound them and rescue them from a life apart from Him. I also felt impressed to pray against the darkness that bound that place and that the Lord would be known there. It was a strong impression that I could not ignore.

And so, for the next 5 months or so, that’s what I faithfully prayed, every day, as I passed the little tarot card reader.

Then, something happened one day as I drove past. I was praying my normal prayer, and I suddenly felt a shift in my spirit. I felt the Lord telling me to start praying that His house would be built on this land. (Some of you already know where I’m going with this, and so to you I say, every time I get to this part of the story- even just thinking about it- I get giddy with excitement and teary-eyed and ridiculously joyful, all at the same time. If you know me well, that probably doesn’t surprise you.)

God was telling me to pray that His kingdom would replace the kingdom of darkness in that place and that a building would be built there where people could worship Him. He was telling me to pray for a church to be built on that land.

And so, for the next year or so, I prayed, every time I drove down IH 35, that God would build His church on that land. That His kingdom would come there. That His will would be done there.

At this time, I had no affiliation with the Stone. I had never even heard of it. I was attending another church in a completely different part of town, with no thought of ever having anything to do with this restoration myself. But I was still excited to pray. I remember there being a little “jump” in my spirit. Little did I realize how big that “jump” would feel four years later. (Think sumo wrestlers and trampolines.)

See, at that time, the Lord didn’t need for me to know how intimately I would be involved with this project in the future. He just needed me to be faithful. And obedient. And pray. And I was and did.

And now, four years after God told me to pray for His church to come to that place, the Austin Stone has bought that very piece of property with the desire to build something that will be a tool for city-wide renewal. That very same piece of land I had no connection to but passionately prayed for every day for 18 months, four years ago. And now I get to be a part of seeing that prayer come to fruition. God is amazing! And awesome. And a million other things I can come nowhere close to describing this side of Heaven.

It’s not that I think my prayer was the catalyst that caused us to choose this land. Or that I could somehow influence God’s sovereign and ordained plan for this little piece of earth. But I am thankful that, because I was listening and because I chose to be obedient when I heard God’s voice, I have gotten to be a small part of a huge movement before it was even on the map, so to speak.

That creates more faith and excitement and hope in me than I can even express. It’s pretty darn cool.

There are a few more places around town God has had me praying for for awhile now. A couple of which I have no tie to or personal investment in whatsoever. I can’t wait to see what He’s going to do in those places. Or what Austin will be like in twenty years. Or ten. Or five.

Like I said before, full circle.

New Beginnings

So…I’ve been trying to get this blog started for awhile now but have thus far lacked either the time or energy to do it. The desire to write is never an issue for me, and so I thought that by having a blog (yes, I am finally joining the trendy cool-kids club, or at least trying to…), I would be more disciplined in writing, even if just a little bit at a time. Well, the hardest part so far has proved to be getting started, but now I’m finally taking the plunge.

So here goes…