So-Called Faith

There is a story in the book of Ezra that is both a blessing and a burden.  I stumbled upon it a few weeks ago in my morning devotional, and I can't get it out of my head.  The story is about help.

Ezra is on his way back to Jerusalem with the exiled people of God, granted permission to return and rebuild.  The king has signed official letters authorizing the group's safe passage through somewhat dangerous territories, but let's face it - the nations that opposed Israel were still dangerous, and Ezra knew it.  As they journey, he is torn by that very reality.  

I had this group gather by the river that flows to Ahava, and we camped there for three days.  ...Then I announced a fast there at the Ahava River so that we might humble ourselves in the presence of God to ask him for a safe journey for ourselves, for our little ones, and for all our goods.  I was ashamed to ask the king for an armed escort with cavalry to help us against enemy attack on the way.  We had already told the king, 'Our God works things out for the good of everyone who dedicates his life to serving him, but his power and his anger oppose everyone who abandons him.'  (15, 21-22)

So here's Ezra, and he's leading this group of God's people.  If it were just him, maybe the choice of faith would have been an easier one.  It's hard, but not as hard, to trust God for just yourself.  But when you're holding the lives of hundreds of others in your hands, you would never dare make the mistake to be so foolish as to simply go in faith.  What if one among you doesn't believe?

Ezra is torn because he wants his faith to be enough.  He has already made a bold declaration of his faith - God works for the good of His people.  Since I, Ezra, am His people, He works for my good.  It is God who will grant me safe passage.  Yet on the banks of the Ahava River, firmly into enemy territory, maybe it's not so clear.  Maybe there are a lot of unfamiliar places around, a lot of foreign peoples, a stronghold of armies that look more intimidating than he could have imagined them back in exile.  Now, they are reality, and faced with that, the question arises - is faith enough?

It's a question that binds many of us.  I know it does me.  I absolutely believe in God.  I believe in His power; I believe in His promise.  I believe in His glory and in His good.  And I am prone, like Ezra, to make bold declarations of my faith and firmly assert that I trust Him.  Until, of course, I'm deep in enemy territory and those unfamiliar lands, foreign peoples, and plentiful armies remind me I'm kind of through the looking glass, sucked down a rabbit hole into a land where all of a sudden, I question again whether faith is enough.

Is it?  Really.  Is it?

And that's the thing, I think, about God's people.  We are in this weird place where we've redefined faith to mean that we both proclaim that we believe and also ask for help.  We trust in God to do what He promises to do, and then we set about working for it.  Just to make sure.  We put our own safeguards in place while insisting that we trust in God, but our best-laid plans betray us and stand against our so-called faith.

I want to believe God as strongly as I say I do.  I want to trust when there seems no reason to trust.  I want to know in the deepest part of my heart that He is who He says He is and as He promises to be, and I do know that, but I want to live like I know that!  It's awesome to see and to experience and to know what God can do with us, but it's something else beautiful entirely to see and to experience and to know what He is doing for us.  On our behalf.  Just because He promised He would.

It's too easy to say you believe and then to put your own hands to believing, but that's not how faith works.  In moments of doubt, in moments of fear, on the other side of the rabbit hole where you can't help but question whether faith is enough, you have to recommit yourself to believing and reset your heart on the truth.  

Hey, it worked for Ezra.

So we fasted and asked our God for a safe journey, and he answered our prayer.  (23)

If you say you believe in God, then believe in God.  If you come to a place where it's hard to believe, pray until you can believe again.  You don't have to work things together to show God is good; He's taking care of that.  You just have to throw yourself into the good that God is working together and just believe.

That's faith.  And it's enough.

Rahab

I've written before about Rahab, the remnant prostitute of Jericho who faithed her way into the lineage of Jesus.  She is one of the characters we talk about fairly frequently when telling the Bible story.  God used a prostitute, we say.  A prostitute!  If He can use such a woman...

But Rahab isn't the only Rahab in the Bible.  There is another by the same name.  Not a woman, but a demon.

This Rahab is in the book of Job.

Job is speaking with his friends about the futility of arguing with God (9).  As one of many examples of God's incredible power and His so otherness and awesomeness, Job says, "Even Rahab's helpers bow humbly in front of him." (v. 13b)  Then, in the footnotes, lest we confuse such a thing, the translator explains, "Rahab is the name of a demonic creature who opposes God."

It would be an easy thing to confuse.  By this point in the Bible, we have already seen Rahab, the prostitute.  Here, Job is talking about Rahab as being demonic.  So you start to wonder how it is that the saving grace of the Israelite spies, the woman with the scarlet rope, the remnant carefully woven into the genealogy of Jesus has come to be synonymous with the demonic creature who opposes God.  Sure, she had a reputation, but demonic?  That's a little harsh for a common whore.

But the story is backward.  Job is considered by many Biblical scholars to be actually the oldest, most distant-written, book of our Bible, even though it is a full twelve books beyond the story of Joshua in our standard Bible today.  That means that long before the woman Rahab was conceived, the demonic Rahab already had both presence and lore.  Many hundreds of years later, a woman has a daughter...

...and names her after the demon.

No wonder the woman had such a struggled life.

From the very beginning, our Rahab, the prostitute, was set up to fail.  She was set against a reputation that wasn't even her own, at a time when she was probably struggling to figure out who she was going to be.  People saw her in the streets and whispered and pointed, "There's Rahab!" probably before she even slept with her first john.  She had the moniker of a demon; how great a woman could she ever have been?

I can't help but think this is part of the reason her faith was so deep.  Even though she lived in a foreign nation detestable to the Lord, she'd heard the stories.  She knew about Him.  She knew about His power, shown through His people, about the way He strengthened them and guided them and led them through the wilderness.  She could see the promise written on their faces before they even broke into her little town to scout out the territory.  And I can't help but think she was hoping for some of that for herself.

She was hoping there was a God who could redeem her, a God who would strengthen her and guide her and help her get out from under this name that carried so much weight with it.  Maybe she hated her reputation, but with a name like Demonic, what else is a girl going to do with her life?  Then she hears about this God who is coming in His people, and she wants that.  It has to be better than this.  She starts to wonder what her face might look like painted with promise instead of with rouge.

There are people in our lives that seem set up to fail.  The world has come after them from the very start.  Maybe it's a reputation they have to overcome, a name that brands them before they have a chance to make their own name.  Maybe it's a family name that holds them hostage to a preconceived notion.  Maybe it's economics.  Or location.  Or relationships.  Or upbringing.  Or lack thereof.  Or a disability.  Or a disease.  Or a circumstance.  There are things that seem to take hold of some of us stronger than others, and it's tough.  I mean, it's really tough to even dream of being something different.

Yet there is a blessing, too.  For those who cannot be wholly defeated, there is this incredible capacity for faith lurking just beneath the surface.  Even while they're living the less-than-stellar life they seem destined for, they have one eye to the horizon, watching for the sign of the God who is coming.  They are hearing the stories of the God who strengthens, the God who guides, the God who leads and defends.  They are seeing the glow of the God who promises on the faces of His people, and they want that.  They want that so bad.  And they are drawn to it.

Because even the things that hold up their name, even the helpers that keep them trapped in their own Demonic, bow humbly before the Lord.  The very things that seem to be set against these persons are the very things that humble them before God.  Isn't that cool?

Then they find their place in God's story, and it's a good one.  It's an awesome place.  You look at these people and you know where they came from, and then you see them in the story of God - even in the lineage of Jesus - and you just think, wow.  Wow!  A prostitute!  If God can use one even like this...

It's the power of God in story and the strength of God by name, to overcome the name of this world and write a new ending for you.  It's the awesomeness of God to take a woman like Rahab, a woman named demonic, a woman trapped in prostitution because maybe she thinks she's worth nothing better, and introduce her to her Second John:

To the chosen lady and her children, whom I love because we share the truth.  I'm not the only one who loves you.  Everyone who knows the truth also loves you.  We love you because of the truth which lives in us and will be with us forever.  - 2 John 1b-2

And don't we love her?  Don't we love Rahab in God's story? 

What's Your Price?

Recently, a pedestrian was struck and killed by a motorist in Indianapolis.  No one has come forward with information on the driver, who fled the scene, so reward money is piling up.

For me, this raises several questions.

What is the price of justice in our society?  That is, how much reward money must be pledged for someone who knows what happened to step forward and say so?

What is the price of betrayal?  That is, how much money does someone have to offer you for you to turn you back on family and friends that obviously, you won't rat out simply because it's the right thing to do?

And what is the damage to the heart that there is a price at all?  That is, what can you put your trust in?  Can you put your trust in justice?  Or in friends?  Or in family?  Or in trust itself?

Tough questions.

Which is why this story bothers me on so many levels.

There used to be integrity; I'm young enough to remember when that started to trail off.  Somebody somewhere knows the someone who hit this woman walking down the street, but there's no sense of absolute right any more and no commitment to justice.  It's not worth it to this person to come forward and tell what they know.

Who cares about a little old woman any more?

My heart breaks for justice.

And yet, this same person who would not come forward now might possibly consider coming forward when the purse gets big enough.  It's into the tens of thousands of dollars now, and I would be disappointed to see someone come forward.  There was a time in this world where you didn't do things because of what you could get out of them.  Now, we wait until we can suck every last benefit out of everything we do, and then we do what's "right" and call ourselves "noble."  It's despicable.  It's reprehensible.  

My heart breaks for our brokenness.

And there are people in this world who you can trust more with your confidence than with your conscience.  That troubles me.  It bothers me that we're looking for people who will have our backs when we do wrong instead of surrounding ourselves with people who will demand we make things right.  It's nice to have a good friend, and all, but how good of a friend is it who is willing to let you mess up - even mess up big - and get away with it?

My heart breaks for relationships.

I don't know what the answers are.  I'm just asking the questions today.  I am burdened for something upright in our world, and I long for the days gone by when such things seemed so much easier to come by.  I ache for the next generation, and I hope we are able to teach them something.

And I'm wondering what actual good we could do with all of the reward monies in the world if we could just do the right thing with them instead of using them to bribe other people to do the right thing.

Raise a Hand

Sometimes, you just have to raise a hand in worship.  Yesterday, I even opened the moon roof on my car to facilitate such a grandiose display of holy praise.  (The song on the radio said I was raising my hand.  I couldn't sing and lie, could I?)

The question is: does it matter which way your palm faces when your hand is raised in worship?

It does.

Now, I'm generally kind of an out-to-the-side, palm-mostly-toward-me raised-hand worshiper.  It feels comfortable.  It feels natural.  It doesn't feel, you know, forced or fake.  And while I'm worshiping with arm outstretched, I kind of feel like I'm inviting God down into my presence, into my very being.  With that open hand toward me, it is like I am begging Him to come, my hand ready to guide Him into my heart.

That much, I have been aware of for awhile, anyway.  But the other night while worshiping at church, the lady in front of me raised her hands in worship - palms out.

*Distracted*

Because I started wondering what that might mean, what that might be like, what her posture was saying to me and whether I should maybe consider that as a part of my worship stance.

The palm-facing-out raised-hand-of-worship to me said, "Here I am, God.  I come with open hands.  I have nothing and I can take nothing and I defer to You.  I am surrendering myself, offering myself wholly with no pretense and no expectations.  I stand before You, palms outstretched, to show my emptiness, to show my nothingness, and to submit myself before Your throne."

It was an interesting moment.  So of course, I turned my own hands around, just to see what that might feel like.

It felt like surrender.

It sounds silly, I know.  And that's a polite word for stupid.  It sounds like one more thing to think about and remember, one more tiny detail of the ritual of worship as we know it and as we do it, and that's contrary to much of what I advocate.  I mean, Prayse (my second book) is all about ditching the ritual for an honest heart and today, I write about the meaning in the ritual.  I get it.  I'm contradicting myself.  The baseline truth is that I don't like putting any more pressure on myself, or anyone else, to get anything "right" when it comes to God - church, prayer, worship, fellowship, communion, community - these are not things to worry about getting "right" when what we're really getting right is our hearts with God.

But it made such a powerful difference in the way I was standing there that I can't help but share these simple thoughts I have having.  There was a tangible shift in my heart, a physical feeling of something turning inside me as I turned my hand around in worship.  It was awkward.  It wasn't the way my hand would naturally go.  But it changed my heart, and I can't ignore that.

So I stood there in awe of the way God created us, the way we are so wired that such a simple thing could make such a big difference.  I was thinking about the way He has created me, more naturally tuned to open my heart to God and beg Him to enter into it.  I was thinking about the way He created my friend, the woman standing a few rows in front of me, more naturally tuned to surrender herself and show empty hands to the sovereign Lord.  And I was thinking about what it might mean for my life, and maybe for hers, and maybe for yours, if we would all be a little more conscious about living the other way from time to time.

Am I going to raise out-faced palms in worship all the time?  No.  It's not natural for me.  But I believe in the power of surrender, and I am going to start making conscious choices to include that devotion as part of my personal prayer and worship.

Would I expect my friend to turn her hands inward?  No.  It's clearly not natural for her.  But I would encourage her to consider the invitation she is making to God and not just her surrender because there is something good of God in that, too.

It's easy for worship to stagnate sometimes.  It's easy to get caught in the routine of everything.  We stand.  We sing.  We sit.  We stand.  We sing.  We sit.  We know the rhythms of the songs and how many times the worship minister is going to repeat that last chorus.  We know where the drum interlude goes and that the slides on MediaShout are obviously out of order.  We know when we're supposed to clap our hands and when we're supposed to raise them.  And it's easy to get worship mundane and almost miss it.

If you find yourself in one of those moments, I beg you not to give in.  Instead, give over and turn a hand.  Change the posture of your offering to God and see what change it makes in your heart.

It sounds silly (still a nice word for stupid), but it made a difference in me this week.  I'm willing to bet it would make a difference in you.

Big Steps

Life is mostly about the little things, a little step forward every day.  A little bit of faith at a time.  One small step...

But there's also a place for one giant leap.  There's a place for a few huge steps forward every now and then, and I think that is where most of us stumble.  At least, I know that's where I stumble.  That's where I trip over my own feet most of the time.

The little things will eat away at you, but the big ones...those can paralyze you with fear.  The little things are uncomfortable, but the big ones...are agonizing.  Nobody panics much when God says, "Now, take one small step to your right."  But have Him ask you to move 400 miles to your west, and there's the big thing.  There's the fear.

Because when you take the big steps, you're really putting yourself out there.  You're not just moving; you're transplanting.  You're not inching away; you're hopping the fence.  It's not so simple as one small step; it really is a giant leap.  Where you'll land, maybe you can't see that from here.  What awaits you, you can't really see that either.  And perhaps most scarily, from where you came, you can't turn back.

When you're going after the little things, if you try it and you fail, then so what?  Take a step back to your left, and you're home again.  If it's just a little different, and it's not your thing, then go back to what you know.  No big deal.  But set yourself on a trajectory to land in a different zip code (metaphorically speaking, unless God is actually asking you to move to another zip code), and where exactly is home?  How do you go back?  Can you?

Most of the time, you can't.  And I've found that's true even if you fail.  At least for me, on the few occasions in my life that God has asked me to take a big step, I have had a mix of successes and failures.  Pleasing and agonizing results.  Things that worked out well, and things I'd do differently if I could do them all over again.  But I would do them all over again.

Because once I take that step, I often realize I wouldn't want it any other way.  I couldn't go back, knowing what's out here.  Knowing what's over here, what is one big faith-filled step away from where I was, there's no way I would ever be happy going back.  Which is not to say I'm happy taking a big step with a hard landing, either.

So where's the middle ground?  How do you take the big steps God is asking you to take and make a good landing far from home - so that your first memory of your new place isn't that first time you put your foot down and it slipped right out from under you?

You learn to put your foot down on the Promise of God, no matter how big a step you're taking.

Pray, study, discern, decode, figure out what it is God has promised you and set your sights on that.  Use that as the solid ground, the stepping stone on which to rest your foot.  And don't look back.  No pilot ever landed a plane by looking over his shoulder at the horizon from which he came.  No runner ever found the finish line with one eye on the start.  No climber ever topped the mountain by watching the base camp.  In fact, he'd tell you that you can't look down!  You get where you're going by keeping an eye where you're going, knowing where you're headed, and anticipating what it will be like when you get there.  When you know what promise God's asking you to step into, it's a lot less scary to put your foot down.  And it's a lot harder to slip.

But God doesn't always tell you where you're going or why, you might argue.  Valid point, but I never said that He does.  I only said that He always promises.  You don't have to know why; you only need to know who.  In the Scriptures, God may send a man or a woman to this land or to that king or in that direction, and He doesn't always tell them why they're going.  But He tells them, "I am sending you."  That's a promise.  He tells them, "I am going with you."  That's a promise.

He assures them, "I will be with you always."  That...is a promise.  And that's enough to put your foot on.

I'm making a lot of big moves lately, and I have a feeling He's not done calling me to do so.  It's tough sometimes to take the big steps.  They seem so far from home, and I don't seem to know much about where I'm going.  Or really why, in some cases.  Except that there's a promise in there somewhere, and I know Who sends me.  I know Who stands beside.  I know Who is with me wherever I land.  So under my breath, I keep reminding myself - take one giant leap and put your foot down on the Promises.

That's enough to stand on.

So here goes nothing....  Cheers to big steps!