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- Written by: Don Goulding
Let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water. (Hebrews 10:22) (NIV)
I was awakened in Vajta, Hungary by a midnight storm. Thunder rumbled over the far off sunflower fields to bring a message from God in chest shaking baritone.
“I am out here, with my power and authority to shatter the earth.”
If each bolt of lightning is mighty at one billion volts, then God, who created the phenomenon, is exponentially more powerful. As he spoke across the hills, I went limp before his majesty.
Then the walls blinked with a pair of white flashes, and before my heart could jump, thunder exploded into every crevice of the room. This time, God’s message ripped through my cells.
“Now, I’m right outside your window in all my glory and wonder.”
He is the God of far away, and also the God of frighteningly near.
I often think of God as big and distant. Yet, he went to great lengths at the cross to remove the space between us. He wants to be big and near. But in a love affair of free wills, both partners must consent, and I often don't. It must drive him nuts to have paid so much for intimacy, only to have me push away.
If my frail heart would fully trust in Christ’s sacrifice, I would stand next to God. He wants to permeate my flesh, mind, and spirit. He already suffuses every realm, and so it is I, not him, who must move closer. I’m the standoffish partner, the cold lover.
I’m afraid of the pure burning electricity of God, so I concoct a version of him that is aloof and safe. Yes, God does pulse with white-hot hatred of sin, but I’m insulated from electrocution because Jesus is wrapped about me.
I have no excuses. Nothing prevents me from moving closer to megawatt Almighty. It’s time to take a deep breath, trust the protection of Jesus, and step near. When I do, I’ll find he was already occupying the space, waiting for me with eager joy.
Prayer: Mighty One, strengthen me to move nearer into you.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?”
Because she thought he was the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will take him.”
Jesus said to her, “Mary.”
She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni” (which means Teacher). (John 20:15, 16)
Mary was drowning in a cauldron of confusion. The God-man who had cast seven demons from her now lay crucified in a tomb. So, was Jesus no true king? Was her personal horror about to return?
God heard Mary’s aching heart. He stopped his business across billions of galaxies and snatched the flailing woman from her nightmare. To rescue Mary, he spoke her name through Jesus, the image of the invisible God. That one word contained an explosive message.
“You know this voice and its power. I AM bigger than death. I AM sovereign over your demons. I AM the champion of your heart. Trust me.” All of that was contained in the word “Mary.”
Mary had heard her name thousands of times, but this time, on the lips of Jesus, it pulled her up from the blackest depths to gasp for air. There could be no mistake, it was her name carried on the unique timbre that could only be Jesus of Nazareth—resurrected.
God has been grossly misrepresented by humans that drew their conceptions of him from imagination rather than from revelation. He is often portrayed as distant and capricious. That is as far from reality as you can get, because God celebrates each freckle for every one of his children. The individuality of his love is the defining brilliance of our relationship with him.
This moment, in this place, our Father observes my life and yours. He sees the anguish and hears the confusion. By way of relief, he wraps eternal blessing into a single word. The gift is passed to the Spirit of Jesus, who leans close to our ear, and delivers the package.
God speaks our name.
Prayer: Great I AM, I hear you speak my name.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
But to Adam he said, “Because you obeyed your wife and ate from the tree about which I commanded you, ‘You must not eat from it,’ cursed is the ground thanks to you …” Genesis 3:17
I squatted by a campfire with African refugees in an Ivory Coast shantytown. I drew two parallel lines in the sand to show the gulf of sin. A stick figure depicted man on one side and a radiant cloud represented God on the other. As I added a cross over the gap, my interpreter relayed the gospel.
A Liberian man in his thirties crawled from under the plastic tarp of his hovel to join our group. His living space was one meter high by one meter wide. He made no claim on Jesus that day, but hopefully a seed was planted, because he must have more. I wanted him to understand the offer of salvation, so that his squalor might be replaced by paradise.
As we talked, children played around the ramshackle camp. I asked myself how they could be so nonchalant about their circumstances. But the little ones had no clue they were the poorest of the poor. They were too young to remember anything except fleeing war and bivouacking.
I, too, fail to grasp how cursed is my preliminary existence here on earth, because it’s all I’ve known. I have a hard time imagining life without brokenness. Everything is infected by the curse of Adam. Rivers writhe with microscopic terrorists, animals and humans eat one another, and my own thoughts can’t remain pure. Nothing I experience today will be whole, and still I go on laughing.
It’s okay to be at peace because Jesus has a scheduled plan for remaking heaven and earth. It’s not okay to be content with this life as it is. This is not God’s final work. That refugee man must have more, and so must I.
Prayer: Spirit of Jesus, separate my heart from the corruption of life.