Lenten Devotions Archives » Page 6 of 26 | Devotions | Goshen College
The speed and business of everyday life can lead any Christian to forget who they are to be in the world and in relationship with God. As part of the body of Christ, we are to remind ourselves daily of what is our ultimate goal, and what should be the main task of our everyday life—which is to commit our lives in following Christ. In Romans 8:6-11, Apostle Paul reminds us that the supernatural presence of the living God enters our lives once we accept Jesus Christ in our hearts as our Savior and Lord. The Holy Spirit within us is the same supernatural presence that resurrected Christ from the dead—the same rushing mighty wind that filled the place where the apostles were gathered, placed burning tongues above their heads, and allowed them to speak in tongues. It is the same presence that lives within us.
The supernatural power brings us nourishment, healing and power to overcome sin and evil in the world. We will encounter hardships in our lives, but we know that the Holy Spirit within us will strengthen us, so that we will stand firm and face what is to come in the future with courage. If we are standing upon the rock and remember that the Holy Spirit of God is inside of us, nothing can shake our ground, because our hearts will be focused on God. Therefore, if you feel weak, discouraged and spiritually emptied, remember that the Spirit of the Living God is inside of you! The supernatural power of the Almighty is in you! Declare it, believe it, and you will see the Holy Spirit working in miraculous ways within your life.
“Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones, now hear the word of the Lord.” It is one of the most powerful and enduring of all biblical images. The prophet Ezekiel is plucked from his station among the exiles in Babylon and taken up by the power of God on a visionary journey. Through his poetic description we see the piles of bones covering the valley floor. We hear the rattling as they reconnect and become reconstituted bodies. Then Ezekiel prophesies to the breath in the wind and the bones come alive.
Our imaginations are held captive to this image and we dwell upon it. But the interpretation of the vision follows, and should not be neglected. These bones are the house of Israel, those living in exile, mumbling to themselves that their bones are dried up, their hope is burned out, life as they knew it – over. Once a people, now No People. Survivors whose fate seems death-like. They might as well be lying in their graves.
But, like the reconnected and revivified bones, they too may come to breathe again, to believe again, to live again. Plucked from their tombs of despair, these exilic zombies receive God’s breathy resuscitation. They are no longer grist for the boneyard but living signs that God is with them, has never abandoned them.
All of us will die someday. But while we live, we should live as living, breathing beings, with all the rights, privileges and obligations pertaining thereto.
The spirit is life! The spirit that led Jesus into the wilderness for 40 days, the spirit that raised Lazarus to life, the spirit that called the lame man to take up his mat and walk, the very same spirit that leads me in my humble approach to resemble anything pertaining to the word of God. The spirit that bears fruit and bursts with light. That heals, restores and flourishes. The spirit that is sewn in my being, the source of joy, pouring life in my veins. That instills in me movement, purpose, peace and wholeness. That moves through the rivers, stretches down through the roots and soars through the winds. This spirit is overflowing with life and it is with you.
This spirit I speak of, the spirit that moved through Jesus, has not come to take life, but to give it. This spirit resides in the joys of life’s goodness, in the depths of our pain, and at the core of our fulfillment.
My time on earth has allowed me to become more aware of how life-giving God’s spirit truly is. I too, learn everyday of how God’s spirit can be seen and encountered through all things. As we open our beings we see that God is in all. Brothers and sisters, this Lenten season, let us all become more aware of the vastness and wonder of God’s spirit, reveling in God’s life-emitting presence. May God fill us with wonder and meaning as we venture on this journey of living in the moment and choosing to live in the spirit that breathes life! Let us be transformed.
Last night, an hour or so before the sun went down, I went for a walk in the woods across the red bridge on the Mill Race canal.
I hadn’t planned to venture outdoors due to the few inches of March snow that had recently covered the ground. Resentful of the cold temperatures and absence of fresh spring air and new buds, I had been avoiding nature like a sworn enemy.
But I sat in my room with books and notepads and digital devices spread over my lap and strewn around my feet on the floor. Even though books are usually life-giving for me, I felt drained and fearful and empty because all these materials were supposed to be helping me get a job, find a life and develop a plan for post-graduation. Desperately, I was striving to see my own way through life by planning every detail in advance.
It’s so tempting to try to control, to try to grasp the life-binoculars and stand on our tip-toes to see over everyone else, straining our eyes and ourselves to see our own way through life.
After a few hours of searching, I looked up from my Google searches. It was 7:08 p.m. and there was cascading gold light reflecting through my curtains and onto my pillows, books and skin. Seven o’clock, and the sun is still out? Even with snow on the ground, I decided to venture outside to experience the spring sunset.
As I walked in the hush of sun-spotted woods, the silence told me to put my life-binoculars down; to be still and stop trying to see and control and know all the colors and shapes and experiences of my future. Real life, I suddenly realized, was going on all around me. The honking ducks paddling along, the crunch of my stumbling feet on the crystalized snow, the bright orange sun reflecting on a rushing, dark spring creek. I put down those life-binoculars and, behold, I wasn’t only seeing life, I was experiencing it.
Those who claim to see are blind.
Those who are born blind will see most clearly.
Jesus smeared mud on a blind man’s eyes and gave him sight so that the works of God would finally be noticed. All of us who claim to see, let’s close our eyes for a second. And when we open them up again, let’s breathe in, quiet ourselves and refuse to see through eyes of worry and fear. Let’s look at the beauty that’s near us and allow God’s quiet and whispering light to guide us into what true sight is.
I stretch out my arm just far enough to pull down the blind with one finger. As I peek through the slit out the window, I see a familiar sight.
It’s morning again and we’ve been dumped on once more. We are cold. We are tired. We are ready for this long and dreary winter to have its final word.
Ephesians chapter 5 is no leisurely walk in the park. Paul opens by urging the church in Ephesus to imitate God, taking special note of our nature as beloved children. He goes on, however, to outline behavior deemed unacceptable for children of God. Fornication, impurity, greed, vulgarity, idolatry, and on and on Paul goes. In the closing half of the chapter, the church in Ephesus is instructed on how to function as members within a Christian household. Readers today grapple fiercely with these words, constantly asking difficult questions about one’s appropriate place in the world, the Church and the home as a beloved child of Christ.
Yet in the midst of these often unsettling words and these long winter days, I sense that we, as followers and light bearers of Jesus Christ, are called to be fascinating. Verses 8-14 lay out our journey in front of us – a journey from darkness into light. And when I ask myself why it is that I am drawn to the light, why it is that I crave it so, I think: I am drawn to the light because it fascinates me far more than the darkness does. I am drawn to the light not because it badgers me into recognizing my transgressions, but because it shows me something much more beautiful and far more whole than these transgressions.
As we trudge through the final days of winter toward the light and hope of springtime, may we continue to be fascinated by the light of Christ and fascinate others with our encounters.
Rise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you.”
Feeling ambitious one summer, my high school friends and I decided to make sandwiches to feed homeless people in downtown Cleveland. Back then, a lot of the downtown homeless population bided their time at Public Square or were paid minimum wage for overseeing private parking lots during home Indians games.
Our first trip up was fairly uneventful – we quickly handed out our food and left – but it was enough to make us want to do it again. Soon, every Thursday, we were stuffing our backpacks with sandwiches and bottled water to give away.
After several weeks downtown, we started coming across a regular crowd. Over ham and cheese sandwiches we’d talk about life, Cleveland sports’ terrible luck and the weather. July’s intense sun warmed the concrete buildings and city streets, radiating a heat that often lingered past sunset. To keep cool, many found shade on building corners or in cardboard boxes.
One evening I found myself talking to Ray, one of our regular guests. As what often happened, faith came up during our conversation. At the moment, Ray felt like challenging me. Ray asked me if I knew Psalm 23.
“Sure,” I said.
“Well then recite it.”
In the King James Version I had memorized from Sunday school I said, “The Lord is my Shepard; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures: he leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul…” I stopped. What came next? My mind had gone blank.
Ray sat there dumbfounded, looking at me. “Come on,” he said rolling his hands like waterwheels. “Come on!” Impatiently he picked up where I left off. “He leadeth me in paths of righteousness for his name sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death: I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and they staff they comfort me…”
Ray continued reciting the Psalm until the end, where he finished with a confident “and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever!” With that, the words of Scripture came alive! Ray’s internalized Psalm was more palpable, more trusting and more hopeful than what I had yet witnessed. And then I realized that angels had hosted me.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
for his name’s sake.
I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff—
they comfort me.
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
my whole life long.
I have always preferred to identify with the underdogs, whether David, the Broncos or the Green Party. However, that preference may be little more than a wish, particularly in my current context.
I find myself yearning to identify with David, the outcast plucked from obscurity into respect and admiration. However, if I am honest with myself I am likely much more similar to the other expectant sons – prideful, privileged, confident and ultimately mistaken.
I often wonder if an authentic faith can even be discovered within the brick walls of academia or the pew-lined sanctuaries of our churches. Certainly we are not called to own our entitlement in apathetic ignorance. Where do we find a faith marked by sacrificial love and the potential for radical controversy? Are we willing to destroy the foundations on which our privilege is built in order to claim a faith grounded in the knowledge of a stronger love?
Granted, every context, every person, every experience is saturated in perspective, knowledge and value. Nevertheless, I hope we never assume that we are meant to identify with the biblical heroes, but rather are grounded in the complexities of our own realities and that of our neighbors.
It’s been a rough winter.This winter’s record-setting snowfall and sustained sub-zero temperatures were enough to make even the heartiest of Midwesterners begin to reconsider his or her choice of residence.
Yet, no matter how cold it got, we knew that some day, maybe by July, warmth would return to Northern Indiana. We trusted the Earth to continue its orbit around the sun, and with it, we knew the seasons would continue to change.
The Scripture passages this week call us to trust in God’s work with similar certainty.
This week’s theme is “God’s work might be revealed.”
One of this week’s Scripture passages describes David, the youngest of Jesse’s sons, being called in from tending the sheep to be anointed as king of Israel. We are reminded that God’s work may not always be done in a way that we would expect. Nevertheless, God, our shepherd, is actively working through those around us, leading us beside still waters and comforting us in the darkest valleys.
At times, it may feel like signs of God’s work are few and far between. We get wrapped up in our daily routines and our own objectives, becoming blind to the miracles happening around us every day.
Our task in Lent is to pay attention. Watch for signs of God’s work in the world, and bear witness to those encounters with God. As sure as the changing of the seasons, God is at work.
We can only live a few days without water. In a desert, where water is scarce, there wouldn’t be many options for finding water. You would have to go to the well.
When Jesus went to the well, tired and thirsty from his journey, he ended up meeting a Samaritan woman. Samaritan religion and Judaism were fairly similar, but they disagreed about a few key issues. Yet, those disagreements were big enough that when Jesus and the Samaritan woman met at the well, they both started to feel a little uncomfortable.
Jesus had three options in this situation:
1. He could tell the Samaritan woman to leave. He was a man and she was a woman. In this situation, he probably had the authority to do just that. He could deny this woman his company and access to life-giving water.
2. He could have left the well himself. If he didn’t want to tell her to leave or she refused to go, he could walk away from that well, leaving parched and tired.
3. He could stay. He could stay and talk to her. He could stay and preach to her. He could stay and learn from her. He could stay and create community, create fellowship, create a relationship. He could stay and she could stay and no one would have to leave thirsty.
As Christians, we thirst for the living water that Jesus offered the Samaritan woman. We meet at wells like churches, conventions and schools. When we meet, we often meet people who are different from us. We see our different opinions on key issues and we get uncomfortable. What we need to remember is why we came to the well in the first place: we were thirsty. God has granted us not only the gift of living water, but sharing that experience with a diverse group of people. So when we meet at the well, maybe we should stop thinking, “What should I do?” and start remembering what Jesus did.
The life arrived in a box delivered to my front door. There was no way the living being could get out by itself, so I gently opened the package. I found what I was looking for – an apple tree! It was carefully wrapped – the trunk supported by a piece of bamboo and its roots in a moist packing of wood shavings. I was delighted to see this new tree that would be part of my life for decades.
I had just been entrusted with insuring that the tree’s life would continue, so I needed to act. The tree was helpless in that box. I could not make it grow, but I could provide the right conditions (justified) so it could have a healthy life. I dug a generous hole for the roots, carefully arranged the roots in the hole, filled the hole with good soil, and added water. I stepped back and admired this small whip of a tree and knew that it had been ‘reconciled’ to its new home.
I have a love for this apple tree – and the many others I have planted. Because of this love, I prune it (suffering); I stretch its branches so they won’t break under the weight of a full crop of fruit (endurance); I pay attention to the unique shape and health of the whole tree (character); and I anticipate the annual harvest of mouthwatering apples (hope). All these processes needed to happen to this life – an apple tree that appeared to be little more than a stick of wood in the box – to experience a generative outcome.
And the tree has its own ways of boasting – or shouting praise – as it produces buds, leaves and an abundance of fruit year after year!
In the same way, Christ is the orchardist of my life by bringing peace with God to me. Christ’s love is proven to me year after year by reconciling what I was with what God knew I could be. In response I commit daily to ‘shout out’ that love to all I meet.