Post Tenebras Lux

Often times, we reserve our worship and praise for fitting situations. We hold our tongues and songs for mandatory Sunday mornings or praiseworthy “PTL” moments. It is not that our hearts refuse to sing - rather, they hold out on singing. As rebellious, self-entitled sinners, we hold our praise hostage until God’s restorative rain falls on the various droughts in our lives. But Biblical accounts of tough, sweat-breaking worship confront us with this hard truth: worshipping God is easy in abundance. Worshipping God is expected when there is plentiful provision. So if our worship of God is circumstantial, then we must face an uncomfortable question: what or who do we worship in the meantime? What or who do we worship in the desert? In the suffering? In the dry seasons? Just because we stop worshipping God does not mean we cease to worship. “Worship” is what we do eternally because a “worshipper” is who we are intrinsically.

Worshipping a God who gives and provides shows that He is kind and gracious. But worshipping a God who takes away shows that He is worthy. Jesus worshipped with a prayer of thanksgiving when the Father multiplied the fish and loaves for over 15,000 people. And He also worshipped with every exhausting step He took towards Calvary, with every precious drop of blood poured out for us, and with every excruciating second that He stood in our place, condemned & punished on the cross. His worship was costly - which is exactly why it is so convincing. Jesus’ choice to worship in the face of ineffable pain and suffering, through his obedient death, displays just how much worth He placed in obeying His Father and in rescuing us.

“Oh, what a wonderful day to come, When every knee bows before Your name But we will not wait until it does, For here and now shall Your Kingdom reign.”

May we slowly but surely become people who no longer wait to worship. Rather, may we worship as long as the moment is called “now.” For Jesus is risen, now. For Jesus is reigning, now. For Jesus is victorious, now. For Jesus is present, now. For Jesus is faithful, now. May our only circumstance for worship be this blessed reality: that we were once sinners, miserably and hopelessly lost - but now, we have been sought out, forgiven, and found by a gracious Redeemer.

As I look at my own life, I see how easy it is to become enslaved to myself - to my schedules and responsibilities. Deadlines become our masters. Pressure becomes the cracking whip. Our ambitions become our idols. And naturally, we replace God as the center of our lives. We replace God so naturally, so easily, that we often don’t even realize we’ve done it, until it’s too late. Until we feel numb. Until we start calculating every relationship, every conversation, every obligation, to fit into our own agendas. Until we start using the good things that God has given us - like our jobs, friendships, family, health, money, and so many other things - as worthy excuses for why we haven’t been nourishing our souls.

There are some things in life we have no control over. A fatal medical diagnosis. A tragic car accident. Heartbreak in the family. But in our relationship with God and others, this isn’t the case, no matter how much we try to convince ourselves that following Jesus might just be a life of random, spontaneous mind-blowing moments that we can just sit around and wait for. If we’re being honest, it is not God that is absent. It is not He that is silent. It’s us. What’s missing is not God - it’s our intentionality. Our effort. Our follow-through. And what’s ironic is that when we replace our devotional times with God and we begin to feel distant and numb, we are quick to assume that God has turned His back on us. We pray for the “dry seasons” to end, yet we stay away from every God-given spring of life - God’s word, God’s people, and prayer. If we’re being honest, we refuse to give God our time because the payout never seems to be worth our time. So we wait, and wait, and wait - for the numbness to go away. For the dry seasons to end.

But maybe we’ve been waiting the wrong way. Of course we must wait for God to move. We must wait for him to change our hearts. But waiting in the Bible does not mean passively sitting around. Waiting is an active endurance. It is a consistent pursuit, that doesn’t seek a feeling or an experience, but looks forward expectantly to a promise. Waiting is the action of faith. And the beauty of waiting is this: we find that the blessing is not only in the destination - it is abundant in the process. The blessings are found in the waiting. The blessing is not only feeling near to God - it is learning to run to God and depend on Him, even when we don’t feel anything. It is when we open God’s word for the 20th day in a row, even though the past 19 days have seemed meaningless. Waiting is not concerned with results, but with obedience - like a child to their Father. Because we ought to let God produce the results, because He’s probably better than us at that too.

John 5:6 

“Do you want to be healed?”  For the invalid man at the pool of Bethesda, the answer may seem a bit obvious, making Jesus’ question seem a bit... unnecessary? He’s been invalid for 38 years. He’s been regarded as cursed by God for the majority of His life. Does he want to be healed? Just three letters will suffice to answer this question:

Duh.

But underlying this obvious question and its’ seemingly instinctive and obvious answer lies many weighty implications. Being healed means a change in status for this man. It means readjusting to a society that has shunned him for so long. It means returning to an estranged family. It means a complete paradigm shift in lifestyle and function. It means more work, more worry, & more responsibility. 

What about us? What are the areas of our lives where the cross of Christ is inescapably shouting to our weary hearts this very question: “Do you want to be healed?” 

How eager are we to respond:

Duh. 

But being healed means a change in status for us. It means forgiving people who have wounded us deeply. It means loving the unlovable. It means extending grace to those who do not deserve it. It means sacrificial living. It means covenant-loyalty to our covenant-King. It means carrying our cross.

This question is intentionally loaded. The maker of every heart just so happens to be the best heart surgeon in the business. 5 stars on Yelp. So beware how you answer it. But let’s be honest. The truth is that in our selfishness, we prefer being comfortable over being cured. Sometimes, it’s just simpler and easier being an invalid. 

So what will swoon this selfish heart? What will make the payout greater than the price to pay? What will melt our hearts to willingly and joyfully accept the price of our healing?

The price of our healing. We will only joyfully submit to the cost of being healed when we deeply understand what it cost to heal us. 

So what did it cost Jesus to heal us?

Healing us meant the ultimate change in status - that Jesus did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant. It meant forgiving the very people who would wound Him, by bearing their wounds. It meant loving the unlovable and taking on their ugliness to make them lovely. It meant embodying and becoming the extended Grace of God to those who did not deserve it. It meant sacrificing His life. It meant covenant-loyalty to covenant-breakers. It meant carrying the cross, in our place. 

Charles Templeton first professed faith in 1936 and became an evangelist that same year. He was famous for ministering at youth rallies with Billy Graham. In 1957, he departed from the faith and declared himself agnostic. He went on to publish his memoir, Farewell to God: My Reasons for Rejecting the Christian Faith. 

This is the ending from an interview with Templeton when he was in his 80s and suffering from Alzheimers.

“And how do you assess this Jesus?” It seemed like the next logical question—but I wasn’t ready for the response it would evoke.

Templeton’s body language softened. It was as if he suddenly felt relaxed and comfortable in talking about an old and dear friend. His voice, which at times had displayed such a sharp and insistent edge, now took on a melancholy and reflective tone. His guard seemingly down, he spoke in an unhurried pace, almost nostalgically, carefully choosing his words as he talked about Jesus.

“He was,” Templeton began, “the greatest human being who has ever lived. He was a moral genius. His ethical sense was unique. He was the intrinsically wisest person that I’ve ever encountered in my life or in my readings. His commitment was total and led to his own death, much to the detriment of the world. What could one say about him except that this was a form of greatness?”

I was taken aback. “You sound like you really care about him,” I said.

“Well, yes, he is the most important thing in my life,” came his reply. “I . . . I . . . I . . . ,” he stuttered, searching for the right word, ‘I know it may sound strange, but I have to say . . . I adore him!” . . .

” . . . Everything good I know, everything decent I know, everything pure I know, I learned from Jesus. Yes . . . yes. And tough! Just look at Jesus. He castigated people. He was angry. People don’t think of him that way, but they don’t read the Bible. He had a righteous anger. He cared for the oppressed and exploited. There’s no question that he had the highest moral standard, the least duplicity, the greatest compassion, of any human being in history. There have been many other wonderful people, but Jesus is Jesus….’

“Uh . . . but . . . no,’ he said slowly, ‘he’s the most . . .” He stopped, then started again. “In my view,” he declared, “he is the most important human being who has ever existed.”

That’s when Templeton uttered the words I never expected to hear from him. “And if I may put it this way,” he said as his voice began to crack, ‘I . . . miss . . . him!”

With that tears flooded his eyes. He turned his head and looked downward, raising his left hand to shield his face from me. His shoulders bobbed as he wept. . . .