A Good Word from Micah

Quick question: when was the last time you heard a sermon from the little book of Micah? Or from any of the minor prophets? Just wondering.

I was reading Micah this afternoon in my quest to read through the Bible in a year (this year, I’m reading from the New English Bible). I’ll admit that most of what I read today wasn’t the most happy-go-lucky sort. After all, God was speaking through these prophets to a wayward and rebellious nation who refused to repent and come back to the God who had brought them out of Egypt and through the wilderness to their promised land (not that there are any parallels to this country, right?) But not all of it was dark and gloomy.

Here’s one section I read that I hope will uplift and encourage you as it did me.

Where is the god who can compare with you—
    wiping the slate clean of guilt,
Turning a blind eye, a deaf ear,
    to the past sins of your purged and precious people?
You don’t nurse your anger and don’t stay angry long,
    for mercy is your specialty. That’s what you love most.
And compassion is on its way to us.
    You’ll stamp out our wrongdoing.
You’ll sink our sins
    to the bottom of the ocean.
You’ll stay true to your word to Father Jacob
    and continue the compassion you showed Grandfather Abraham—
Everything you promised our ancestors
    from a long time ago” (Micah 7:18-20).

Note: I quoted from The Message a) because Bible Gateway doesn’t have the New English Bible as a translation and I was too lazy to type the whole thing and b) because Eugene Peterson’s rendering is pretty powerful in and of itself.

 

Tuesdays Are Still Good

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Tuesdays are awkward. They’re those misfit days between the dreaded Mondays and the (I think) vastly overrated Hump Days known as Wednesday.

But for me, Tuesdays are my favorite. That’s because Kairos is on Tuesday.

I’ve been involved with Kairos for 8 years. I’ve volunteered as a greeter for almost as long. I’ve seen lots of people come and go and been through quite a lot in that timespan.

The attendance numbers have soared way up, plummeted back to earth, then achieved a sort of happy medium. The teaching and music have remained consistently good.

The latest series was Letters to Me. It was based on the idea of what you might tell your younger self if you could somehow get hold of pen, paper, and a time machine. Or a 1985 DeLorean.

Probably, you’d tell yourself to avoid some people. You’d tell yourself not to do some things and not to go certain places.

I love the idea that there’s nothing in your past that is irredeemable. There’s nothing God can’t use and nothing God can’t turn into something good. Just ask Joseph. Or Jacob. Or Abraham.

My favorite line from Kairos is the one that says that God can take that worst moment of your life, the one you swore up and down that you would never tell ANYBODY about, and make it the very first line of your testimony.

If you’re ever in the Nashville area on a Tuesday night, check out Kairos. It’s at 7 pm in Hudson Hall at Brentwood Baptist Church, located off I-65 exit 71. It’s kinda hard to miss.

God willing, I plan to be there for at least the next 8 years.

Frump Girl and God’s Grace

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Ian Miller: I know this great place… Zorba something… anyway, I’d love to take you there if you’d like to go.
Toula Portokalos: Uh, that place, Dancing Zorba’s…
Ian Miller: Dancing Zorba’s!
Toula Portokalos: My family kinda owns that place.
Ian Miller: [looking at her closely] I remember you. You’re that waitress.
Toula Portokalos: Seating hostess.
Ian Miller: I remember you.
Toula Portokalos: Look, I was going through a phase. . . up until now. I was Frump Girl.
Ian Miller: I don’t remember Frump Girl, but I remember you. (from My Big Fat Greek Wedding).

I love that last line. What Ian is saying is that he saw past the awkwardness and the insecurity to the inner beauty waiting to be revealed. An inner beauty that he had a hand in unveiling.

Sometimes with God, I feel like saying, “God, remember me? That promise-breaker? That doubter? That worrier?”

God’s response would be, “I don’t remember Promise-Breaker or Doubter or Worrier, but I remember you.”

You might remind God of a past addiction to pornography or alcohol or status. You might throw in adultery (like David), or deceit (like Jacob), or outright lying (like Abraham). You might show God Polaroids of the wreck your life used to be. God doesn’t see that.

What does God see?  Thanks to the cross, God sees you as though you had never sinned, never broken a promise, never doubted, never wavered in your faith at all.

He looks at you and sees the finished product, the stunning reveal. He looks at you right now and sees Jesus in all His perfection and glory. And He likes what He sees.

Better yet, He’s wildly in love with what He sees.

I know the mirror’s not a fun place to look at 5:30 am on a Monday morning. There can be some scary critters looking back.

But remember God not only has claimed you and renamed you, but He has redefined your past. Once you were an enemy, now you are an heir and a child of God. Your past no longer dictates your future. God does.

Just think about that and see how it changes your week.

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That Ol’ Rascal Jacob

My name is Jacob, and I’m a con-man.

My name literally means heel-grabber, because I came out of the womb grabbing onto my brother’s heel, jockeying for position and power even then. I am a trickster, a deceiver, a huckster, a manipulator, a snake-oil salesman. I’ve been called other names that I don’t care to repeat.

I have a brother who hates me because I conned him out of a birthright and a blessing. Now I get the inheritance and he doesn’t get jack squat and he ain’t too happy about it. His words were something to the effect of, “Next time I see you, I’ll kill you.”

I have two wives because my father-in-law got me at my own game. He promised me Rachel, the pretty one, if I worked for him 7 years. But when I pulled the veil on our wedding night, it was Leah, the one with the great personality. I had to work 7 more years to get Rachel’s hand in marriage.

Now, I’m on my way back to meet up with my brother. I don’t know if he’s gonna want to shake my hand or slug me in the jaw. I know which one I’d do if I were him.

Then I get jumped out of nowhere. I’m wrestling this guy who’s way stronger than me. It’s all I can do to hold on. He says, “Let me go,” but I hold on with every bit of fight I got left in me.

He barely touches my thigh and it goes out of socket. I’ve never hurt so bad in all my born days, but still I hold on.

He says, “Lemme go,” but I say, “Not until you bless me. Not until you tell me who I really am underneath the three-piece suits and well-rehearsed lines and the lies and deceit. Tell me who I really am deep down inside.”

He says, “You are no longer Jacob, con-man, but Israel, a prince of God. Out of you will come a great nation.”

It turns out, this man was God himself. I was wrestling with the Lord Almighty. I will never walk right again, but I know who I am now and who I belong to.

I think that’s a fair trade, don’t you?

Yours truly,

Israel

I am Jacob

I am Jacob. From the very first moment I took a breath, I’ve been a deceiver and a trickster. Even as I came from the womb, I was jockeying for position. My name means heel-grabber and that’s what I am.

I can con anyone. I can talk you out of your life savings for a bowl of chiken noodle soup. Just ask my brother. I am the used car salesman that makes used car salesmen look bad. I am the epitome of the snake oil peddler.

But here I am out in the desert, all by myself. I’ve disappointed my father and broken my mother’s heart. I’m sure my brother hates me and will probably try to kill me the next time he sees me. All my schemes have left me empty and broken inside and I have run out of plans.

Suddenly, I’m wrestling this Man. I can tell from the start that He’s much stronger and faster and smarter than I am. It’s all I can do to hold on. And that’s what I do– grip tight and hold on for all that I’m worth.

He barely touches my hip and it comes out of joint. I’ve never known such searing pain, but still I hold on. Even when he tells me to let go, I hold on.

“I won’t let go until you bless me. I won’t let go until you can see past my deceit and treachery and find the real me. I won’t let go until you tell me who I really am underneath my house of cards that’s falling down all around me.”

He says, “You are Israel. You are a prince and you are the one who has struggled with God and man and prevailed. You are no longer your deceitful past. You are now Mine.”

I see now that it’s good to lose every once in a while. It’s good to wrestle with a God that’s stronger than me, strong enough to take care of me, strong enough to carry me when I’m weak.

I’m learning that God has had a better plan for me than all my conniving and manipulation. I’m learning that love sometimes has to wound before it can heal, and sometimes it has to give you scars before it can make you whole.

My name is Israel, and I will probably never walk right again. My source of strength has become my weakness, but I’m finding out that’s where God’s power really shows up.

My name is Israel and I’m learning to dance with a limp.