Absolute Rest for Your Soul

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30 

These words follow a prayer in which Jesus praises His Father for revealing the secret things of God, not to the wise or accomplished, but as to children, meek and unspoiled. This wasn’t meant to exclude anyone. Assuring the hope of the Gospel for everyone, Jesus begins His invitation with the most inclusive words: “Come to me, all…”

The great proclamation of rest and release is one that most believers have memorized and clung to with deep hope. It is the exhale, the sigh of relief, the respite from strife. So easily applied to our own daily struggles, the words give us permission to take a timeout. No matter the nature of it, work is hard. It weighs us down, whether physically or mentally. We all need a minute or two to rest our weary bones, to cease from the struggle. We can’t hold up under the pressure of what we’ve brought on ourselves, and we need God to give us a break.

Wait. Is that what Jesus said? Maybe, right now, that’s what you need to hear, and that’s okay. But it’s much, much more. It’s so grand and glorious that we have to step back and view it from a broader plain. Its promise is rich and eternal, and we can’t process it as simply a way to get through our current insufferable predicament. Its message carries us beyond the physical and mental, to the spiritual. We must, to find absolute rest, believe the instruction completely and apply it comprehensively. 

The first people to hear the bidding to come and rest were steeped in the tradition of God’s covenant with Israel. Imagine their burden. All they knew was to follow the law. All of it. Every degree that to us seems to demand the impossible. It was, for the children of Israel, a heavy burden, too great to bear. But then this Teacher, or Prophet, or Son of the Living God— if He was to be believed—came with something new. Something unheard of. In essence, Jesus told His listeners to stop struggling. No need to keep trying to work it out. He was about to take care of it once and for all.

Did those who heard this news understand the fullness of the repose that was about to be given to them? It was a gift, not to be earned, requiring nothing except to come and rest.

Now, perhaps we have forgotten what those souls of Israel once knew. We can’t truly grasp what it was like to live under the burden of the law. But we do know that the law points us to Christ. We know the cross and the empty tomb. We know redemption. We have a Savior. And we can rest in Him.

Can we ask God for rest from what this world bombards us with day to day? Of course. But it’s not everything. In comparison, it’s really not anything, for this world will soon pass away. It is the burden of sin that’s too heavy, the yoke of the law that’s impossible for us to bear on our own. But the way of Jesus is light. His yoke on us is that we simply believe. His heart toward us is gentle. He rescued us by becoming a humble servant. That’s where we find rest for our souls, our eternally free, unchained souls. If we don’t have to work for it, what reason could there be not to rest in it? The yoke and the burden are no longer ours. They are His. Praise God and breathe that long awaited sigh of relief.

 

Do We Still Need the Ten Commandments?

 First published January 2019

An article I read last week told how prominent pastor Andy Stanley declared that churches should no longer erect monuments of the Ten Commandments because the old covenant does not apply to Christians. After reading the article, and many of the heated comments that followed, I considered my own feelings when the Ten Commandments were removed from the sanctuary at the church I attend.

The lovely banners—five commandments on one and five on another—were handsewn by some of the older ladies in the congregation. The monuments were erected over the side doors near the front of our large sanctuary. They hung there for years. Then one day they were gone, replaced by modern wall décor reading on one side: LOVE GOD You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your mind. Matthew 22:37. On the other side: LOVE OTHERS Love your neighbor as yourself. Matthew 22:39.

I smiled at the change, considering it good to remove the old banners and replace them with the simple, two-part New Testament command of Christ. Afterall, we are a church built on the gospel, not the law. We know we can’t keep the law, that our only hope is in the One who came to fulfill the law. We know that living by this new covenant command will guide us to keep the Big Ten: (Yes, I’m paraphrasing.) Don’t accept any gods other than God, don’t establish idols, don’t use God’s name in vain, set aside a day for rest and worship (Yes, I go to church on Sunday.), honor your parents, don’t murder, don’t cheat on your spouse, don’t steal, don’t tell lies about people, don’t yearn for other people’s stuff, privileges, talents, or blessings.

But if we’re no longer obligated to keep the Ten as our code of conduct, does that mean we can forget our history? Are we to denounce the validity and lasting measure of the entire work of the Holy Scripture? The words newly poised in our sanctuary were all we needed to obey the ten laws that used to hang above us. But should those old laws be forgotten, stowed away like an out-of-fashion historical document?

I’m not sure that’s what was suggested in the article I read, or that I was able to grasp Andy Stanley’s full intent in what he had to say about the Ten Commandments. I’m quite sure others who read the piece were left with a blurred perspective. To put it in biblical terms, the article sowed discord among the brethren.

The pastor’s suggestions, whether good or bad, were directed at the church. For decades, the Ten Commandment have been forcefully removed from public view in court houses, schools, and other places. I’d rather see them removed from a gospel-centered church than a courtroom. Whether Jew or Christian, citizen or foreigner, these ten laws God handed down through the ancient Hebrews formed a foundation of civility and order, rightness in community, and respect for proper governing. Our country was built on such laws, and they benefit any civilization wise enough to adopt them. Even the atheist, who may choose to omit the first four commandments for lack of acceptance, will find a better life by obeying the last six. The unbeliever must realize that to break one of these outdated commands will, even today, bring detrimental consequences.

As a New Testament Christian, I’m not required to live by the old law or even know it in its entirety. I won’t attempt to recall every rule pertaining to meat, or fabric, or what course of offering amends what type of sin. But it seems living by the Big Ten should be easy enough for a Christian. Well, maybe not. Maybe we don’t live in a polytheistic culture, but we still put other things ahead of God. Maybe we don’t erect golden idols, but we stare into the glow of our TVs and PCs and smart phones. What about the Sabbath? It’s a source of contention for some believers. Jesus is Lord of the Sabbath. Enough said.

My offenses and misperceptions are covered by the righteousness of Christ. Even so, I’ll strive to follow Him, which means some things are just wrong, no matter what covenant you’re under. I should hope that any church building void of a display of the Ten Commandments is filled with members who have etched those ancient decrees on their hearts.

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The Selfless Gospel

 

And my selfish pursuit of survival.

Here’s what I needed: To be rescued from among the fallen, reconciled with God, restored to a condition worthy of eternity in Heaven, and redeemed from unavoidable death.

So I turned to Christ to rescue, reconcile, restore, and redeem me. I needed it. I wanted to possess it. And in my quest for self-preservation, I obtained it. I’m a selfish being.

Here’s what Christ needs: Nothing from me or anyone else.

But he offered to rescue me. He became my reconciliation with God. He gave me His righteousness, and therefore passage to eternity in Heaven. He redeemed me from the death I couldn’t escape.

Here’s what it cost me: Nothing.

Here’s what it cost Him: A trade of glory for flesh and gravity. The cross. The strong grip of death apart from the loving presence of the Father.

Here’s what I gained: Knowledge of God. Fellowship with others like me and inclusion in Christ’s church. Awareness of life as it’s meant to be. The ability to follow God. The experience of His glory. Overwhelming identification with His grace.

Here’ what Christ gained: The approval of His Father. The church. The right to redeem the entire earth over which He will soon rule unchallenged. The crown of the One True King. Glorification.

Did he do what he did to accomplish this goal? No. It was all His before He spoke the world into being. He is—His Gospel is—completely selfless. Here are a few other things He gained: Hatred. Mocking. Widespread, blatant disrespect. Apathetic, half-hearted consideration. Adamant refusal.

Even my own selfish need for His selfless gift wasn’t really selfish at all. If He hadn’t pointed out my need, I never would have known. In a way, my selfishness is rooted in His selflessness. If He didn’t show up, I wouldn’t have looked for Him. As it is, I gave up clinging to what I thought I knew about life to obtain…life. And life is in Christ.

Another one of those paradoxical truths? God’s glory gained by selflessness. My redemption realized out of a selfish need to live and not die. The rhythm of salvation. The poetry of grace. God came down to live a simple human life in an ancient land and then he died on a cross. And then He conquered death. And then I accepted His astonishing remedy to cure what I didn’t know was wrong with me until He told me. For His glory, for my life, I’ll take it. What else can I do? There is no other way.

And this is the testimony, that God gives us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life. I John 5:11-12

The Selfless Gospel

 And my selfish pursuit of survival.

Gospel blog #7

Here’s what I needed: To be rescued from among the fallen, reconciled with God, restored to a condition worthy of eternity in Heaven, and redeemed from unavoidable death.

So I turned to Christ to rescue, reconcile, restore, and redeem me. I needed it. I wanted to possess it. And in my quest for self-preservation, I obtained it. I’m a selfish being.

Here’s what Christ needs: Nothing from me or anyone else.

But he offered to rescue me. He became my reconciliation with God. He gave me His righteousness, and therefore passage to eternity in Heaven. He redeemed me from the death I couldn’t escape.

Here’s what it cost me: Nothing.

Here’s what it cost Him: A trade of glory for flesh and gravity. The cross. The strong grip of death apart from the loving presence of the Father.

Here’s what I gained: Knowledge of God. Fellowship with others like me and inclusion in Christ’s church. Awareness of life as it’s meant to be. The ability to follow God. The experience of His glory. Overwhelming identification with His grace.

Here’ what Christ gained: The approval of His Father. The church. The right to redeem the entire earth over which He will soon rule unchallenged. The crown of the One True King. Glorification.

Did he do what he did to accomplish this goal? No. It was all His before He spoke the world into being. He is—His Gospel is—completely selfless. Here are a few other things He gained: Hatred. Mocking. Widespread, blatant disrespect. Apathetic, half-hearted consideration. Adamant refusal.

Even my own selfish need for His selfless gift wasn’t really selfish at all. If He hadn’t pointed out my need, I never would have known. In a way, my selfishness is rooted in His selflessness. If He didn’t show up, I wouldn’t have looked for Him. As it is, I gave up clinging to what I thought I knew about life to obtain…life. And life is in Christ.

Another one of those paradoxical truths? God’s glory gained by selflessness. My redemption realized out of a selfish need to live and not die. The rhythm of salvation. The poetry of grace. God came down to live a simple human life in an ancient land and then He died on a cross. And then He conquered death. And then I accepted His astonishing remedy to cure what I didn’t know was wrong with me until He told me. For His glory, for my life, I’ll take it. What else can I do? There is no other way.

And this is the testimony, that God gives us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life. I John 5:11-12

The Crutch of Religion, and What We Really Want

Anyone landing on this blog can surmise that I’m a Christian. Well, I hope they can. I don't try to hide it. But if you’re not of that persuasion, truth is, my faith is no more real than yours. Even if religion is not for you, we are no different. I believe in something. You believe in something. God. Prophets. Positivity. Energy. Nature. Money. Power. Politics. Science. Culture. Entertainment. Relationships. Self. My faith drives me, moves me onward. It sustains me. So does yours.

I’ve embraced something worth living for, worth dying for. And maybe you've made the same commitment. Maybe not. When it all proves too much of a task, you might want to let it go. At times, I feel the same tug. We really aren’t any different. We’re human beings foundering in chaos, clinging to something we hope will save us, or else, denying we need saving. Either way, you and I are the same.

The Christian holds to the promise of eternal life through the forgiveness of sins and the grace offered by the gospel of Jesus Christ. The Muslim accepts one God, creator and sustainer, and wholly surrenders to God’s will. The Jew believes in the one true God of the Universe, giver of the law. Other world religions build their faith on the natural inclination of mankind to offer worship, to find purpose. Even the non-believer desires something that lasts, views life with longing eyes, seeks the meaning of it all, even if it ends in discovering there is no meaning at all.

So, my faith isn't any different than your faith, or lack thereof. We all search for  something. In my case, I took up Christianity and stuck with it. It’s a faith group, a belief system. One anybody can join. Just find yourself a good church and plug in. But if you prefer, find a good mosque, or synagogue. Or get yourself a little Buddha statue. Or something. Or worship the moon. Or join in a social movement and see if that does it for you. Plenty of those to choose from right now.

Sarcasm? Little bit. I don't mean to poke fun at religion. Here’s the thing: Clutching the crutch of religion, in the end, makes little difference. It might offer peace of mind, a better life. And moral boundaries are good for the individual and for society. But any belief system can get you there. As it is, my ideas of good and bad and right and wrong might pit against yours at start a disagreement. Or a war. It’s been known to happen.

However, while my religiosity is no better or worse than yours, the One who called me to faith is different. The power of the gospel saves a soul from hell, redeems a generation, rescues a planet, and provides a way for all people everywhere to realize true freedom, to live unburdened in the presence of their Creator. No cost. No sacrifice. The cost has been paid, the sacrifice made. The calling? I’m no different than you, except that I answered when He called me. Think He isn’t calling you?  If you’re reading this, maybe He is.

What we all want, whether we admit it or not, is love. We want to feel it and express it. But it’s always an unfulfilled dream away. It doesn’t live up to our expectations. It’s fleeting. It does not satisfy.

Only one love doesn’t disappoint, no matter who you are. Regardless of your religion, your dislike of religion, the object of your affection, or the surety of your well managed plans, this is it. As the saying goes, we’re all in this together. And this is all that matters:

 

 In this way the love of God was revealed to us, that God sent His only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through Him. In this is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins.

 I John 4: 9,10

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.

John 3:16,17

The Quantifiable Gospel

Little games present themselves on a popular social media site—one I’ll not name. It’s the site where some people scroll at length when they ought to have their face in a book instead. No, I’m not bashing social media. It offers valuable information, contact with friends, opportunities for marketing, videos of adorable animals, and glorious pictures displaying the splendor of our world. It also provides a platform to share our convictions, whatever they may be.

But back to those games—innocent little quizzes designed to help you learn more about yourself. They’re laughable and rarely accurate. Nobody’s gullible enough to take them seriously. I admit I’m more an observer than a participant, so I’ve never clicked on such a quiz. But I have been amused by the results quantified for some of my friends. Then I scroll on and snicker at a kitten smacking a Rottweiler’s nose. I don’t like Rottweilers.

Neither do I appreciate it when a simple game meant for entertainment perpetuates a common misunderstanding of the gospel. So, I wasn’t amused when I noticed a quiz titled, “Are you Going to Heaven or Hell?”

One of my online friends had taken the test and the results totaled about 120 deeds under “sins” and 500,000 or so “good deeds.” This meant my friend was well prepared for eternity. Good outweighed bad and the gates of Heaven were opened.

Promptly considering my own life, and the lives of the Christians in my real-world circles, I concluded 120 sins was probably a low number, and 500,000 good deeds seemed a stretch. Using these quantities, 4,166 good deeds were needed to cancel out one sin. Of course, it’s not to be taken to heart. Christians who know anything know their salvation is not based on works, but on the finished work of Christ. But that harmless little quiz might give somebody the idea their long-held belief that good people go to Heaven was right after all.

Before I’d moved past my indignation over the “Heaven or Hell” quiz, another post shared on social media muddied the matter even further. This one came from a teacher of the Word, from a supposedly trustworthy site aimed at Christian edification. The quiz—however misleading it might have been—was just for fun. But this devotional piece was meant to reach into the minds of God’s elect, the ones saved by grace.

The lesson of the day: your salvation is not assured. If you sin, you need to get saved again. Do we live a cycle of sin—repent—get saved—sin—get unsaved—repent— get saved—sin—get unsaved, and on and on until we die? If this is how to quantify the gospel, then on any given day I could get hit by a bus and go to Hell because I sinned just before stepping into the street and I didn’t get a chance to repent.

That’s not the gospel I know. It carries the same fallacy as the quiz. One suggests your good deeds will get you into Heaven. The other claims that even though you've been redeemed, your bad deeds might keep you out of Heaven. Both hang on the deeds of the one seeking salvation, rather than on the unmerited favor of the giver of salvation. 

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. Ephesians 2:8,9

I’m not very good at math, so I’m sure I’d get it wrong if I tried to cancel out my bad deeds with good ones. And while I know when I’ve sinned it might take me a few minutes, or longer, to allow the kindness of God to lead me to repentance. And a bus might hit me. I’m glad the gospel is quantified in the simplest terms. The good deeds and the bad don’t figure into the equation. Neither does the up-to-date repentance ledger.

That doesn’t mean I can forget about good works and confession. It means my good works grow out of love for my savior. It means I confess with thanksgiving because the price for my sins was paid once and for all. To add to the gospel is to subtract from it until all you have is a knock-off. An imitation. Here’s a calculation shared among Christians who meet in the cyber world and in the church building, and if the gospel must be quantified, this is the only solution:

Jesus + nothing = everything.

Contemplate the good and the bad going on in your life. God cares and so should you. Repent of your sins as soon as you can. That’s what you’re supposed to do. But don’t give up your freedom in Christ to live in fear of not bringing enough to the equation, because there is nothing you can bring. If you’re His, He’s got you covered.

“Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life. He does not come into judgment,                                but has passed from death to life.” John 5:24