...and the meditation of my heart

This morning, as I sat with the Lord, Psalm 19:14 came to mind:

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart

    be acceptable in your sight,

    O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

It's a familiar Psalm, and one that I often pray. And I often pray it because, well, let's face it, the words of my mouth get me into a lot of trouble. At best, I'm painfully direct, and at worst I'm disrespectful and self-righteous. Sometimes the things that come out my my mouth offend my very own ears, so I'm sure that they are not acceptable in the sight of the Lord. Nevertheless, redemption is woking its way to my tongue, and little by little, I find myself speaking with greater care. 

This morning, I was drawn to the second phrase of this prayer: "and the meditation of my heart." As I am learning to submit to the Spirit-lead censorship of my speech, I am becoming more aware of the thought patterns from which my words proceed. Are my thoughts, my inner musings, my mental tapes pleasing to God? Are they acceptable in His sight?

Oh how I long for sanctification to seep beyond behavior modification and move deep into the inner-workings of my heart and my mind! Jesus once reprimanded the Pharisees because they had perfected their outward allegiance to the Law without having surrendered the motives of their hearts. He tells them that they are like cups that are clean on the outside but dirty on the inside. 

The Psalmist was insightful with this prayer. It's not simply what comes out of us that matters. God sees my thoughts. And that's an interesting use of words, isnt it? The Paslmist doesn't ask for his words and thoughts to be acceptable in God's hearing, but in God's sight. For God, words are visible. Just as the WORD took on flesh and dwelt among us. 

God isn't simply hearing my thoughts, He's seeing my thoughts. What does He see today?

Does He see a troubled, anxious child, fretting over things despite her Father's promise to meet her every need? Or does He see a content daughter, fearless, and hopeful for the future?

Does He see unkind thoughts towards another that He deeply loves? Or does He see compassion, generosity of spirit, and grace?

Does He see scheming and calculating over a problem that seems insurmountable? Or does He see a confident faith that rests secure in every circumstance?

Father, I want my thoughts to be acceptable to you. When my mind is spinning out of control, when I'm stewing over an issue, when I'm angry and hurt, will you turn my heart to you so that the things I think are pleasant for you to see. And when I'm filled with excitement, resting in Your peace, or overflowing with gratitude, take joy, my King, in what you see. 

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Let the Little Children Come

I was seven years old when I first heard his voice.

I knew his name, I'd heard most of the stories in his book, and I understood that without him I'd be lost. I loved him and I somehow knew that he loved me. But I had so many questions.

My Sunday School teachers had faithfully explained that in order to go to heaven, I had to invite Jesus into my heart. So every night, before I drifted off to sleep, I prayed a Sinner’s Prayer. It wasn't that I didn't trust Jesus to respond to the prayer--I knew that he was always good. But even at the ages of 5 and 6 and 7 I was aware of depravity in my own tiny heart. Each time I prayed that prayer I questioned my sincerity. Did I really mean it? Was I truly sorry for my sins? Had I used all the right words? How could I be sure that my prayer had worked? These questions haunted me most nights as I anxiously hugged my pillow.

Then one weekend I was invited to go to a friend's lake cabin. I have no memories of that time at the lake except the conversation that took place in the dark room as we slowed our breath and waited for Mr. Sandman. When my nightly questions came, I spoke them out, posing them as if, perhaps, my sweet friend might also have the same questions. Though I imagined I was speaking to her, she never replied. Eventually her gentle snoring indicated that she had already succumbed to sleep. But my questions kept surging on, like a tide that could no longer be restrained.

Do you believe in Jesus? Was he really the son of God?

Do you know that he died on a cross? That was almost 2000 years ago, but somehow it still matters today. Why does it matter?

They say he came back from the dead. That part is important. But why?

I think he loves people. I think he even loves me. I think he loves me even though I’m wicked. Is that true?

The questions came in their regular way, but on that night, the strangest thing happened. Each time I asked a question, an answer was spoken to my heart.  Satisfying answers, which I repeated aloud so that my ears could hear what my soul finally understood.

I did not know at the time from where the answers had come. They came from inside of me, and yet they were separate from me. But I knew they were right and true. It was only years later, as I told this story during a Bible study, that I realized that the Lord himself had spoken.

I never prayed the sinner’s prayer again. I slept that night with assurance.

I went home and told my dad that I wanted to be baptized. On Father’s Day 1978, wearing a white eyelet dress with a red satin sash that was sewn by my mother, I made a public profession of my faith—a faith born out of questions.

As I grew in knowledge and understanding, I found that the scriptures actually confirmed what I had experienced. For Paul wrote in Romans 10:9-10, “that if you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved; for with the heart a person believes, resulting in righteousness, and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation.”

Being born into a Christian family, there wasn’t a day in my life that I didn’t know the name of Jesus. I believed before I could understand the significance of my belief. But in speaking out my belief—in confessing it, even to a sleeping friend—my salvation finally became a reality to me.

In his grace, Jesus revealed himself to me. He promises to be found by those who seek him with their whole heart; I sought him with my whole seven-year-old heart. It was an earnest quest, and Jesus showed himself faithful. Which is why I am especially moved by the Biblical accounts of Jesus welcoming the little children. I know from personal experience that Jesus still speaks to children.

I may not have understood everything at the age of seven, but Jesus made sure that I understood enough to not only be saved, but to certain of my salvation. He has proved faithful to me ever since. I am not saying that my faith walk has been flawless, but it has been consistent. I've had many questions and doubts along the way, but those no longer scare me, for my faith was made sight in a night of questioning. 

The difference is now I recognize his voice when he answers.

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See

"How do you see me, Lord?" I prayed.

It seemed like a self-serving question, but it was an exercise recommended by my daily devotional, so I decided to play along. I really wasn't expecting any great revelation. I had looked in the mirror that morning. I know what I look like, and frankly, it's not much.

Surprisingly, almost immediately a long-forgotten memory sprang into my mind.

As a young girl, my mother sewed most of my clothes. While she was a skilled seamstress, I hated having to stand for fittings. I was often shivering while she pinned partially pieced-together garments around my tiny frame. Sometimes I got poked. And no matter how rich the fabric, nothing looks pretty inside-out with chalk markings all over it, so it was hard to imagine exactly what she was creating. But in the end, I always loved the dresses that my mother made for me, and they always fit me like a glove.

When I asked the Lord how he saw me, I saw an image of me as a child being fitted for a new dress. I immediately felt all of the old uncomfortable feelings--the cold, the scratchy seams, and the fear of being pricked. But when I looked up to see my tailor, I saw Jesus in the place of my mom.

Then, in my mind's eye, the little me walked over to the mirror. But instead of seeing a wee lass covered in goose-bumps, in the reflection I was a fully clothed grown woman. I was taller than I am in real life, I was well dressed, comfortable, and warm. I wore brown boots, and strangely, a sword was strapped to my side. I looked both feminine and strong.

God sees me as a child that he is ever-fitting for his service, ever-clothing in his righteousness, ever-dressing in his love. But he also sees me as a capable warrior, equipped with his mighty word. He sees me as both smaller and larger than I see myself. More than anything, I got the overwhelming sense that he likes what he sees.

I like what he sees, too.

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The Body of Christ

In essentials unity.

In non-essentials liberty.

In all things charity. 

~Augustine

I'm a denominational mutt. I've been Baptist, Presbyterian, Lutheran, Non-denominational, and Pentecostal. During college, I had a stint at the Episcopal church, but went to Sunday evening services at a wild Charismatic church. And no, I don't have commitment issues. My family moved a bit while I was growing up, and my parents just looked for a local Bible-believing church and put down roots. Then in college I got engaged to a Lutheran boy with Pentecostal tendencies who was directing a children's choir in an Episcopal church. I guess he's a mutt, too. 

And after tasting the many expressions of Christian faith, I am overwhelmed with LOVE for the whole body of Christ--in all its shapes and colors. 

I love liturgy, and my heart swells when I sing, "Lord to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life! Alleluia." before the reading of the Gospel in the Lutheran church. I cherish the rich heritage and I embrace the old green prayer book with great respect.

I remember with joy my formative years in the Presbyterian church. I am the sole person in my family that has only been baptized by sprinkling. I was seven years old and convinced that I wanted to make a public profession of faith. And though most of the churches I have attended since that time baptize by immersion, I've never felt the need to do it again. If its good enough for the Presbyterians, its good enough for me.

And how the Baptists love to sing those mighty old hymns! By the age of 12 I had memorized all 4 verses to most of the hymns in the red book, and I could play many of them on the piano. Whole sermons are put to music, and the beauty and truth of those words still resonate in my heart. 

The church our boys grew up in is Foursquare, and self-described as "mildly Pentecostal." That is to say, our church believes in the use of all the gifts of the Spirit, but they rarely practice the gifts in the Sunday services. You know, things are done in an "orderly" fashion, as the apostle Paul suggests. 

But in each of these churches, the Gospel is preached. The Bible is recognized as the inspired Word of God. Jesus is worshiped. Truth  is taught. Love and grace abound. Which is why I grew up believing that the Body of Christ is a wonderful thing! Like a quilt, rich in textures and colors, it is the different fabrics that makes it beautiful. If all the patches were identical, it would be a pretty boring quilt. And I believe with all my heart that no one denomination could possibly express the fullness of Christ on its own! We need each other in order to show the world the glory and greatness of our King.  

But today I am saddened as I read Twitter feeds where two prominent American Christian leaders are setting up camps to oppose each other--over non-essentials. People, this breaks my heart! What does this say to a world that desperately needs to know that there IS a Savior? What does this say about the transformational power of the Gospel? What about, "They will know we are Christians by our love?"

My dear brothers and sisters, will you join me in praying for the American Church? Pray for unity in essentials, liberty in non-essentials, and charity in all things! 

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Why not rather be wronged?

Ah, the sweet grace of conviction. Though it comes with a sting, the initial twinge fades quickly, leaving a space for grace in its wake. Confession flows from my heart reflexively--I'm eager to be rid of the poison of my sin. Repentance is a different story. How I do I walk it out?

I have recently been convicted of a negative and critical spirit. I am so grateful for the grace that revealed it, and I have confessed my negativity and criticism as sin. But the sinful behavior in which I have participated has created some residual complications. Though my sin is forgiven, there are challenges in moving forward. How do I navigate them in a way that allows God to change me. How do I cooperate with his redemptive process?

The first step is staying sensitive to the holy spirit. Because I have cherished my sin for months (yes, I have been negative and critical habitually), I can easily fall back into that sinful pattern. The moment I am convicted, I need to choose confession and repentance AGAIN. To repent literally means to turn and go the other way. When I feel the urge to engage in negative and critical thinking, I can ask the Lord to help me to turn and go the other way: With his help, I can choose to dwell on whatever is right, whatever is noble, whatever is pure, whatever is good. Believe it or not, we are not victims of our own thought patterns! With God's help we can change them.

I have not only been critical in my thinking. Sadly, I  gave word to those sinful thoughts. I said things I should not have, and my words have been destructive. Sin makes a mess, and while God faithfully forgives my sin, he often uses the consequences of my sin to refine and purify me--which, though painful at the time, is his grace-filled way of making me more like Jesus. In other words, he forgives the sin, but leaves the mess that it created. Then he patiently shows me his plan for dealing with the mess and invites me to engage in the process--not as a means of penance, but as an opportunity to walk in righteousness.

And so, with my figurative broom in hand, I am seeking his wisdom for how to move forward through my mess. I can't un-say the things that I said--you can't un-ring a bell. But I can acknowledge to the hearers that I regret saying them. Here is the tricky part: while my thoughts and words were critical, they were not untrue. In fact, the things of which I was critical remain unresolved and bothersome. But that is not the point! The point is, God wants to free me from thought and speech patterns that are corrupting my soul and pushing me toward pride and self-righteousness. He wants to teach me to extend grace in the midst of wrongdoing, and not just when others have cleaned up their act! The Lord has challenged me with this:

Why not rather be wronged?

I Cor 6:7

In his letter to the Corinthians, Paul admonishes believers for suing one another in public courts of law. He is appalled at what this sort of behavior is doing to their testimony. He is disgusted that they are more interested in their civil "rights" than their moral obligation to love and forgive. So finally, in an exasperated tone he asks this question: Why not rather be wronged?

Oh how that rubs against the flesh, the flesh that resists being wronged in any way. But Paul insists that it is preferable to accept being wronged than to sinfully pursue my "rights." What about liberty and justice for all? What about calling others to account? What about speaking the truth? What about God's standards or righteousness?

I'm sure Paul knew all about those things when he penned these words. And still he penned them.

Why not rather be wronged?

Jesus said it another way: 

“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, do not resist an evil person; but whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. If anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, let him have your coat also. Whoever forces you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to him who asks of you, and do not turn away from him who wants to borrow from you.

The challenge begins in choosing not to retaliate in the midst of being wronged, but It doesn't end there. The real challenge is realizing that demanding my "rights"--even when I have the right--can be wrong.

We have reduced "turning the other cheek" to simply ignoring bad behavior and not hitting back. In fact, "turning the other cheek" was much more than a refusal to retaliate--it was acceptance of yet another blow. To prefer being "wronged" to having "rights."

And so this is the path of repentance for me. To shut up even though the injustice remains. To choose to accept future injustices rather than insist upon my rights. To willingly be wronged--which is not the same thing as being victimized, for a victim has no choice in the matter. Rather than "sue" my brother--rather than verbally abuse and discredit those believers with whom I have a dispute, I am called to turn the other cheek.

Lest you think I am being spiritually superior or disgustingly unselfish, let me assure you that everything in me wants to justify my negativity and criticism as merited. And as if that were not sick enough, I have not even alluded to the possibility that I could actually be mistaken in the matter. What if my criticisms are not justified? What if they are, in fact, slander? What if I am not being "wronged" but am actually IN the wrong? All the more reason to pursue the path set out before me. For if I choose to turn the other cheek, and find a kiss in the place of an expected blow, will I not see all the more clearly the error of my ways?

So prayerfully, I inch forward, rejecting the critical thoughts and choosing pure thoughts instead. I entertain the idea that though I feel like the one who has been wronged, it is possible that I am deceived in the matter. I turn the other cheek--anticipating the possibility of a sting, but trusting that God's grace is greater. And when I sense the flesh spurring me to demand my rights, I will ask myself this question: Why not rather be wronged?

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Forgiven, again

Just when I think I'm growing; just when I think I have finally grasped something about what it means  to belong to Jesus; just when I think that maybe I'm actually doing that thing he made me to do, I fall face first into the reality of my own brokenness.

I trip over an eagerness to please.

I stumble over misplaced trust.

I am overtaken by a critical spirit; I criticize myself most of all.

I am too easily wounded; too easily discouraged; too easily paralyzed.

I am steeped in awareness of my own sin; bogged down by the burden of my selfish motives; drowning in despair over yet another failure.

Flat out guilty, I ask Jesus if he will forgive me.

He says, "yes!"

(He always says, "yes.")

Then he lifts my chin and waits.

He's waiting for a willing heart. He's waiting for renewed trust. He's waiting, not for perfection, but for acceptance of his grace, his goodness, and his mercy. He's waiting for them to seep into my soul.

I unwittingly resist because I want to somehow be worthy. Or close to worthy. I'd like to find something in myself that merits this unrelenting grace. This goodness that never ends. This mercy that never asks, "Really? Did you have to do THAT again? When will you learn?"

He knows I may never learn. And still he forgives.

Finally his love wins out, breaking down the barriers to my brokenness, filling in the cracks with the salve of his his grace. Goodness and mercy follow me, no matter how often I tell them, "Go away! I'm not worth it!"

And then the joy breaks through, like the first beams of the rising sun. The joy of a soul set free, a heart bathed in redemption. Gratitude overwhelms as I once again grasp the truth of the gospel: I am forgiven.

Finally, I lift my eyes to meet his gaze. No hint of condemnation, no shadow of disappointment. Just delight in a daughter he adores.

I will never understand why he loves me, but I am so glad that he does. 

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Wonderful Grace of Jesus!

I love that moment when, after flailing around like a drowning child in a vast ocean, I finally latch on to the life ring: the wonderful grace of Jesus.

All-sufficient grace for even me (for even me!)

He is SO good! And no matter how often I blow it; no matter how great the offense; no matter how long I tarried in my wayward state--his grace is still enough.

Broader than the scope of my transgressions (sing it!)

The old hymn, a family favorite, marches through my head and ministers to my heart; words that confidently proclaim a truth that I cannot fully comprehend, even though that very truth is active in my life, renewing my mind, filling my spirit. After announcing the enormity of his grace, it concludes with this exhortation:

Oh magnify the precious name of Jesus

Praise his name!

How else could one respond to the Wonderful Grace of Jesus?

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