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- Written by: Don Goulding
As he (Jesus) said this, he called out, “The one who has ears to hear had better listen!” (Luke 8:8)
Woe to the over churched. That was me. God saw me sitting in the pew and breathed a razor-sharp message into my pastor’s sermon. The words flew from the pulpit, hit my eardrum, and bounced onto the floor.
I’d been practicing A.S.D. (Auditory Selective Dullness) for years. Raised in the pews, the effervescent words of life were poured over me before they had meaning. Jesus is the blah, and the blah, blah, blah. It’s a malady I fight today.
As I got older, I determined God was for those who shrink from life. I strained for the highest numbers on the fun-o-meter. But such living never brought joy. My truest desires weren’t greeted at the door, let alone invited into satisfaction.
Behind the temporal games, I hid a longing to touch the Progenitor of life. I wondered if the enormous life in Christ lay in grasping the true meaning behind all those churchy phrases—washed in the blood, dead to sin, sanctified by grace. They were so much white noise in a preoccupied head.
On one of those unfulfilled mornings I woke, and there beside me lay the instruments needed to open the tired phrases—a Bible, prayer, and a desperate heart. With the tools, I pried the trampled walnuts until they burst to reveal emeralds of hope, fire-blue sapphires of love, and diamonds of truth. Christ in me was no longer a ho-hum byline, it was my oxygen. The words were the same, but the power exploding out of them woke me from the stupor I’d called life.
From time to time, I still feel over churched, but then I crack open the old terminology for all the brilliant reality it will yield.
Prayer: Holy Spirit, dynamite my crusty heart with fresh understanding.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
I saw the glory of the God of Israel coming from the east; the sound was like that of rushing water; and the earth radiated his glory. (Ezekiel 43:2)
I faced the eastern sky. The confusion of the night was nearly over. There were signs that made hope dissolve into reality. Thin clouds reddened like a bashful girl. They swirled in the clash between the cursed night and the joyous day.
Paul says, “For we groan while we are in this tent,” until “what is mortal may be swallowed up by life” (2 Cor. 5:4).
These blood touched wisps were caught between groaning and singing. Likewise, our groaning awakens our voices for the song to come.
I faced the eastern sky. Now I stared into a red so loud I wondered what more God could say to assure the Son’s coming. Behind me the horizon was black, people slumbered, and evil prevailed. Facing that way provided no indication of the miracle that unfolded, so I set my gaze on the east. I strained toward where the Son was expected, where the lover of my soul would materialize. I stretched toward the promise, and now, there it was, this red groaning sign.
I faced the eastern sky. Logic told me warmth from Sol’s amber beams wouldn’t be felt for a while, but it also said the ruby flower at the bottom of the night meant he was coming. God’s Spirit, pining in me for our broken world, is the red break in the night of my spirit. It’s my guarantee that the Son, even now, rises in the east with a voice like rushing waters and a radiance that bathes the land with his glory.
Prayer: Arise. Arise to shine, Lord Jesus.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear… And which of you by worrying can add even one hour to his life? (Matthew 6:25-27),
I held the penny by its edge to cover up the sun. Then I moved it away from my eye until yellow streaks burst around the edges. My childhood game amused me because I could block the giant sun with a small coin.
Now I’m a grown-up soul, holding the penny of worry in front of my eye and lamenting, “Woe is me, the sun has gone dark.” Limited creature that I am, whatever is held before me consumes me. When some trial becomes the specimen of choice, it masks all view of the blinding goodness of the Lord. In reality, no matter how disastrous my trial appears, compared to Christ, it’s a little penny.
The words of Jesus solve my error of perception. He draws the penny away, saying, “Peace I leave with you…do not be afraid,” (Jn. 14:27).
I repeat that, until the sun blasts around the penny’s edge.
“I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls,” (Matt. 11:29).
Now the penny is looking small, the sun large.
“’Peace be with you…’ And with that he breathed on them and said, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit,’” (Jn. 20:21, 22).
I lower the obstruction and let my arms fall limp.
I falsely inflate my own importance, and therefore, the significance of my hurts. Looking at Jesus, I’m smitten with the reality that life is not about me or my pain. It’s about him—Jesus, bursting with light—Jesus, with love joy that leaves blind spots before my eyes—Jesus, the Commander of the universe, who sings me to sleep.
For now, I must keep the coin of suffering, but there’s no need to press it against my eye and block out the Son.
Prayer: Jesus, help me focus on you, not on trials.