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- Written by: Don Goulding
In the same way, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of Godʼs angels over one sinner who repents. (Luke 15:10)
Gaunt buffalos flaunted their holy status by heedlessly blocking rickshaw traffic. Arching palms cordoned flooded rice paddies, and in the center of it all, a purple and red tent fluttered over hundreds of worshipers in Andhra Pradesh, India.
Dani noted that during all our time in India she never saw duplication between saris. On this day, the ladies didn’t hold back on their vermilion, chartreuse, and tangerine. Worship music pulsed with the rattle of metallic shakers and the thromb of a lap drum.
“You, and not the many shrines around you, are the temples of God. Let Jesus cleanse you now, so God can enter his temple.” As I spoke, the Holy Spirit ignited the crowd.
At the invitation, the entire congregation came forward and mouthed prayers of repentance. Tears ran and they pressed up on their toes, closer to God. There is nothing so pure, so attractive as a repentant heart, and here were hundreds.
Repentance cracks a whip that purges my temple of pride. It drives out the rabble of self-rule to leave me cleansed, quiet, and sacred again. It’s into this space that the Spirit of Jesus rushes.
Humility, not great features, and brokenness, not firm skin, are the marks of true beauty. The repentant heart is an irresistible attraction to jubilant angels. The human that admits errors and lays down earthly claims is such a rarity that Yahweh ranges the earth seeking them. When he finds these precious ones, he proclaims a celebration in heaven. And I know he found plenty in India that day.
Prayer: King Jesus, make me beautiful in your sight through repentance.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is Godʼs power for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. (Romans 1:16)
“Stomp ‘em boys. Go win today because of what’s in here, in your heart. Do this for your team and your school. Shoot, do it for the whole town.”
I’m bored with those sports movies where the underdogs make their big comeback. They’re so predictable. At halftime, the coach delivers a pivotal locker room speech, then the players storm the field to victory. But no matter how impassioned the coach is, the pep talk sounds hollow.
“Spill your blood for this sport and this game.”
That’s pretty thin compared to the truly inspiring message in the gospel.
To tell someone God loves you so much he died for you is by far the best possible news to deliver. Christ’s resurrection is a message of ultimate love demonstrated with power. No other faith, empowerment seminar, or locker room rally is even in the same league.
When people are enabled by the Holy Spirit to grasp the truth of the salvation offer, they beg to be told what to do. That’s what happened on the day of Pentecost, and it still happens today, when the gospel is explained.
In my business days, I traveled annually to Washington DC to lobby for our industry. I dreaded it when I was called on to speak to congressmen and their aides. My voice trembled and I could barely get the facts out.
Then I stood on a festival stage in India before seven thousand skeptical Hindus, and I was on fire to tell them about my Lord. What makes the difference is the message. There is soul rending, heart exploding power in the message of the gospel. And the delivery can come from any fumbler such as me.
Prayer: Holy Lord, allow my voice to spread your beautiful message.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. (Galatians 2:20)
We camped in Africa’s Zambezi Valley as hyenas yipped about their devilish pranks, lions roared with proud grunts, and crocodiles held their deadly silence. But the creation that arrested my attention was a curious tree. Clumps of pale-green leaves looked tired amidst the canopy. Fat shoots ran down the original trunk and fanned to the soil. Two trees melded into one.
Our host explained that it was a strangler fig. It began as a common acacia, but a fig tree grew around the host, taking over nutrients and water until it assumed the shape of the old tree. The strangler became a verdant habitat for everything from honeybees to monkeys.
I used to be a homely acacia. I had a second rate existence. Then the Spirit blew his seed into the axis of my branches, the hollow point of my greatest need. The gospel germinated and roots drew up truth. A new form of life grew on top of the old. I still have my unique shape, but now my days are full of abundance.
Tufts of the original me poke out. They agree in theory that the fig self is better, but they won’t volunteer for the upgrade. Each branch, every leaf must be choked, then regrown. Fear must expire under the strength of trust, and hatred must die by the hand of love. It’s a slow but needed strangulation of a lesser me.
The fig me stands tall and majestic, but there’s no room for pride in the fruit, or in the habitat for the hurting. The new life of the fig is the life of Jesus and the boast is in him.
Prayer: Jesus, take over and live strong.