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- Written by: Don Goulding
So then, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; what is old has passed away - look, what is new has come! (2 Corinthians 5:17)
God spoke to Moses from a burning bush, and he spoke to me through a manzanita bush. No fire or words came out. Nevertheless, Yahweh imparted truth through a shrub in California’s Sierra foothills.
Some past calamity, perhaps a drought, had starved the branches into gray skeletons, and yet, life sprang from the heartwood. Mahogany-red growth pushed its way around the dry bones. Each branch bore the two faces of a harlequin—ashen death on one side, and deep red life running parallel on the backside.
The bush was all the more wondrous because it held death in juxtaposition with life. God honored this heroic plant by giving it the ultimate color treatment—sage-green leaves set against cinnabar branches, and pink flowers dangling like Chinese lanterns.
That bush was a picture of my life. I ran my fingertips over the twists in the velvety trunk and expected a nature trail placard with my name on it. My past is a petrified record of reaching for temporal increase, resulting in gray death. Jesus touched my heartwood, and new life grew around the ruins of my sin. Like the bush, I became an amalgamation of death and life sharing the same body.
I envy the infant that dies before he learns wickedness from this world. He moves from creation to paradise with no evil thought tainting his soul. But the manzanita tells me that life overcoming death is more beautiful than untested life alone. God’s will for me, therefore, is that I should be made out of good overcoming the evil in me. It’s a painful, and at the same time, glorious fate.
Prayer: God who speaks into my life, let the new overtake the old.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
But while he was still a long way from home his father saw him, and his heart went out to him; he ran and hugged his son and kissed him… But the older son became angry and refused to go in. (Luke 15:20, 28)
One night in Chennai, India, we celebrated three baptisms with unforgettable flair. First, we power baptized in the Bay of Bengal. The candidates were held in shallow water and the words, “You are baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” were timed with an incoming wave. The sea blasted over the converts, and I tried to hold on. We came out laughing.
Next, we ignited skyrockets on the beach. Spectacular fireworks are inexpensive in India—the kind that soar 500 feet, and, with chest hammering explosions, burst into crackling zigzags. We sent a colorful declaration of union with God into the heavens, so both the angels and fishermen could rejoice.
We should party more when someone comes to Christ. I notice in the parable above, that both the repentant son and his older brother doubted the legitimacy of the festivities. The father couldn’t wait to put on fancy clothes, a feast, and dance music. Could it be that we’re still slow to celebrate the totality of grace?
If someone threw a party for my homecoming to God, I’m afraid I’d lug a duffel bag of guilt into the revelry. Father would say, “leave it at the door.” I’d hesitate, especially when I heard the protestations of older Christians—you know, those who stayed outside with their accomplishments.
My heavenly Father would insist the duffel couldn’t come in, and then he’d propose a toast. “To the one I lost, but who returned. Your mistakes are forgotten by me and all who are in this room.”
The only proper response to this pinnacle of life is to eat, drink, and laugh for eternity.
Prayer: Father, help me see into the depths of forgiveness, and celebrate.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8) (NIV)
While still in the womb, a human baby develops brain cells at an astonishing rate. By the age of three, we reach the lifetime peak of one hundred billion cells with a quadrillion synapses exchanging information between them. A three-year-old’s head is a busy place. From age three onward the synapses begin to die, and it becomes a race to establish the necessary pathways of information flow with a diminishing number of resources.
My aging brain is an example of ever reducing assets, and yet, a smaller synapse count is offset by acquired wisdom, residing in the healthy connections. Youth has an excess of unformed brainpower, while old age has fewer but more effective mental resources. The bottom line, I must get life figured out before I can no longer noodle on it. Praise God, because he knew I’d be working with less and less, and so he made the answer to fit into my narrowing ability.
In the years my synapse paths were forming, I sampled the gamut, seeking life’s purpose. I researched comparative religions, dabbled in philosophy, and agonized over biblical interpretations. Now, I discover, I must go out much as I came in, with simplicity. I made finding my place confusing, God made it plain.
According to the passage above, we only need to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with him. That’s all there is to it.
So what exactly does he mean by act justly, I want to ask. But no, I don’t need to ask—I know perfectly well what he means. And do I love mercy as my most prized gift? Do I receive mercy from God and give it to others? And finally, do I humble my heart before the Almighty? Do I bow and repent, and simply walk with him?
Life is not some unsolvable mystery. Either I act justly, love Christ’s mercy, and squash my pride, or I don’t. Any child with undeveloped synapses can see whether I do or don’t.
Prayer: Gracious Father, thank you for the simplicity of salvation.