PSALM 113 - God Does It His Way..

He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes of His people. He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children. Praise the Lord!  (Verses 7-9)

He does not withdraw His eyes from the righteous.  Job 36

Pol Pot destroyed twenty-five percent of the Cambodian population in the killing fields of the mid- seventies. In order to establish a peasant society easily controlled by his Khmer Rouge, the educators, doctors, lawyers and business owners were slain either by overwork, execution or starvation. Pol Pot called this his Super Great Leap Forward, an echo of Mao Zedong's Cultural Revolution called the Great Leap Forward. All of Cambodia's cities were forcefully evacuated, foreigners expelled, embassies closed and foreign assistance refused. Newspapers and television stations were shut down, bicycles and radios confiscated in an effort to strip the people of any outside contact. The nation, disbursed, was then coerced into slave labor. "What is rotten must be removed," declared Pol Pot as he executed at least 1.5 million people. The nation has never fully recovered from those years. Land mines still dot the countryside. In the eighties, ninety-percent of the people lived in poverty. They have crawled out of that scenario, but remnants remain. Phnom Penh is home to a vast garbage heap where children play as their family digs through the garbage for food or items to sell. The smell is rancid, the children filthy, their life seemingly hopeless.

A young farmer was sent as a rice expert to Laos, married a Laotian princess, and settled back in the states to live a quiet agrarian life and pastor. But God planted a seed in their hearts. Talked to the couple about Southeast Asia and His concerns for  what He saw there. God had a plan. They were to execute it. So they packed up and moved to Cambodia, thinking they would preach the gospel, maybe. Establish a church. But after six months, the couple was still wondering what the call from God could mean. No church yet. Thinking they'd go back to the States. Farm again. The quiet life. Then a thing happened. A young man was kidnapped. Held for ransom. A prayer meeting was held in which they asked God for help in bringing the young man home. A headstrong woman who didn't know God said she'd ride a motorcycle alone to the drop-off place. She wasn't afraid. It was the stipulation. A woman must come alone. The woman owned a motorcycle repair shop. Tough as nails. She got on her motorcycle and started away. Fear stopped her. An intuition that she needed more than her own gumption. So she returned to the prayer group the missionary couple led. "I can't go there if you don't pray for me." The headstrong prayed over. Now ready. A new Christian on a journey of rescue. When she returned safely with the young man, she also returned a new person. Noticed by everyone around for the change in her life. And then another thing happened. A mother who'd heard this woman was now a Christian brought her infant child to her. "I can't keep her," the young mother cried. "You are now a Christian. You must take care of her." Not possible. So, the lady took the child to the missionary couple. "Here."

Now orphanages dot the countryside in Cambodia. Widows who would otherwise be begging on the streets are given a home, food to eat and children to care for. All the idea of a God Whose eyes don't leave those He loves--widows and orphans in particular. And in the process God reveals His love through Jesus to those who have borne, and still bear, such grief. I love that the Father tapped a son and daughter of His on the shoulder and said, "Go." To a place He could see needed them. Then didn't do what they expected Him to. All because God saw children in need of mothers and the barren in need of children.

This I have seen with my own eyes. I have touched the precious hands of the Cambodian children, braided their hair and danced in their orphanages. I've watched with tearful wonder as they lift their hands in praise to the Father Who rescued them. Many are grown now, participating in their churches and giving to their communities. They are loved and purposeful. And serve other orphans and widows. Indeed our Father raises us from the dust, takes us from the ash heap and makes us royalty. Children of the King of Kings. Only our God could devise a plan so revolutionary and unique. He never closes His eyes to evil. He always brings redemption. And always in an unusual way. The God of the unexpected. He makes a thing happen that changes an entire country. Or one little life.
 

PSALM 113 - HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU, KID...

The Lord is high above all nations, and His glory above the heavens! Who is like the Lord our God, Who is seated on high, Who looks far down on the heavens and the earth? (Verses 4-6)

For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth to give strong support to those whose heart is blameless toward Him.  2 Chronicles 16:9

For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and His ears are open to their prayer. 1 Peter 3

We were newly married and at the park with our good friends, Ron and Barbara. Acting like the kids we still were, we swung on the swings, barreled down the slides and chased each other all over the green grass. Suddenly, Bill, my husband, put his hand to his left eye. Then up to his right. "I've lost my contact lens," he said despairingly." Oh, great. Where?

"Let's look for it," I offered without much more than newlywed naivete that everything will work out because, well,  it's us! Down on our hands and knees, Bill and I searched. I took my position near the swings. Peered into the long blades of green as if looking down from on high into the rain forest or some other messy jungle. And there it was, shining in the sun. Glowing for me as if it had been struck by a sunbeam for me to see. Obvious, even. "I found it!" I screamed with earth shattering glee. I won the day. Heroine of that particular story. I saw what others missed.

Several years later, I lost my wedding ring. Looked all over for it. Made myself an hour late to work, but still could not figure out what I did with it. Hesitantly, of course, I called Bill to tell him what I'd done. I'd forgotten in my rush to get me and our three kids off to school that I'd cleaned the ring that morning. Wrapped it in a towel to dry it. I couldn't remember what happened next, but I had the sneaking suspicion my ring was in the garbage. Told Bill he might want to look there, but feeling also like it could be somewhere in the sewage system of Riverside, Ca. All day bothered by the ridiculous folly with which I'd handled something so meaningful. Then the phone call from Bill. "I got it! I got it!" he was screaming over the phone. "I found your ring!" In the garbage outside. Don't make me explain.

God is looking for us that way. From His vantage point high above everything, He's peering past the stars, gazing through the vaporous clouds, rushing past mountains and oceans, zeroing in on His children. Something lights us up, like the contact lens in the dense grass, we sparkle and He comes in closer to find us. Like the lost wedding rings, He digs through the garbage to rescue us. We are just that precious to Him. And He doesn't rest until we are saved. Can you picture Him on His throne when an alarm is sounded? Our prayers. "Father, help us!" Like a mother awakened in the night to the sound of her crying child, the Lord stands up, alerted. Never mind that He is outside of our known universe, greater than the sum of all of it, managing galaxies and worlds we cannot even fathom. A child of His cried out. So He looks--everywhere--for the beacon that our prayers become. And if we were as cognizant as we should be, we soon sense our Father's face looking closely into ours. Large as my face would look to the contact lens had it the ability to actually see. Tiny me. Big God. His face in mine. "I heard you. What is it you need?" And all of this took less than a second. The moment my prayer left my lips, He'd careened past all perceived obstacles to check on my well being. Not because I have my own righteousness to commend me to Him, but because, through Jesus, I'm His kid. We light up the universe like all the electric bulbs in Vegas set it aglow to such a degree it can be seen from outer space. God can't get far enough away that He's not looking at us.

Who is like our God? No one. The God of the Bible is personal. Relational. Intentional. Involved with world events. Keeping the heavens in place. Yet, walking our roads and eating our food and dying our deaths. Yearning for our love. Jealous over our hearts. Vengeful when we are abused. Shepherding us when we're lost. Attentive to our prayers. Our Father, Who is in heaven, yet only a heartbeat away.

PSALM 113 - A Loaf of Bread, A Jug of Wine and Thou

Praise the Lord!  Praise, O servants of the Lord, praise the name of the Lord! Blessed be the name of the Lord from this time forth and forevermore! From the rising of the sun to its setting, the name of the Lord is to be praised!  (Verses 1-3)

And when they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives.  Matthew 26:30

Passover. The solemn celebration of the angel of death passing over the children of Israel when God's hand struck the Egyptians with the final plague before the Israelites were allowed out of captivity. The joyful celebration of deliverance from slavery. A reflection on the miracles of a mighty God so engaged with and so faithful to His people that He used the nature He created and controls to force the hand of a mighty tyrant. The perfect lamb, slaughtered, its blood smeared on the doorposts of each of the homes of those trusting in the blood to hide them from the enemy who lurked in a deadly scourge over Egypt. And the holy hope of a Messiah, perfect, powerful--For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given. And the government shall be upon His shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and of  peace there shall be no end (Isaiah 9). And each year the Hallel is sung. Psalm 113-118. And so it begins with "Praise the Lord! Forever and ever all day and night! Praise Him!"

Jesus reclined at dinner with the disciples the night of His arrest sharing the Passover meal with them. Their Counselor and confidant. Their leader and Prince. The exact representation of the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father. Who'd calmed the seas once again with a word from His mouth. Who'd rescued the sick and delivered those enslaved by demons. Who'd fed the crowds once more in the wilderness. Made food from nothing. Manna of a different kind. From two fish and five loaves of bread. Jesus spoke a new covenant of love and power. Written this time on hearts, not stones. The Child of Isaiah's prophecy, the God of the Passover Hallel, now sitting as the Lamb of Passover with His closest friends. Now as they were eating, Jesus took the bread and after blessing it broke it and gave it to the disciples, and said, "Take, eat. This is my body." And He took a cup, and when He had given thanks, He gave it to them, saying, "Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you I will not drink again of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in My Father's kingdom." (Matthew 26).

And then they sang this hymn. As they did every Passover. And it began, "Praise the Lord, O His servants!" I'm wondering what went through the mind of Jesus as this took place. In the hours before He fulfilled the hope of Passover to become Messiah, murdered in a cleansing bloodbath outside of Jerusalem, naked and spat upon, the Mighty God of All. The songs of Hallel they'd all sung from their youth. In remembrance of God's mighty deeds. Jesus the very voice that commanded them to be--Frogs, come forth! Rivers, turn to blood! Locusts, come from every direction! Hearing in the melodies and feeling in the lyrics the funeral dirge offered up as praise. Jesus understood what He'd known centuries before in Egypt...there was to be another Lamb. The disciples were lifting their voices to God, thankful for the Passover deliverance, the taste of seder wine still fresh in their mouths. "This is my blood." Sealing a new covenant. Ending forever the need for a perfect little lamb to bleed forgiveness over Israel. Opening up the gateway for entrance into the Father's house--an eternal promised land. The nations between us and home, toppled in the war between our enemy and our Mighty God as the blood of Jesus vanquished the prince of the power of the air. No more Jerichos, no more marching around Mt. Sinai, nor more waiting for Moses to hear from God. The Lamb of God knocked down the door that separates us from the Eternal Father when He rose from the dead. "Come on in!" He cries. "I kicked that door down forever! This is your home now!"

Anticipating the victory, Jesus sang. It was still all before Him that night. The words He'd inspired the psalmists to write, He'd come to embody and fulfill. That one dark night in history. Separated from all the others, a dividing point in time. The Hallel written for such a day as this. It means praise. How fitting that Jesus should join those He loved in singing it together. How fitting that as Jesus sits now at the right hand of the throne of God to intercede for us, we lift our hands and shout from the rising of the sun to its going down, "The name of the Lord be praised!" And the promise? One day Jesus will hand me the bread, "This is my body, broken for you. Take. Eat." I will look into His face as He passes me the cup. "Drink all of it, daughter. This is the blood that bought your freedom." And there will be a twinkle in His eyes as the nectar of that wine sweetens my mouth while we celebrate together in our Father's kingdom.

PSALM 112 - Hanging By A Thread

The wicked man sees it and is angry. He gnashes his teeth and melts away. The desire of the wicked will perish.  (Verse 10)

Such are the paths of all who forget God. The hope of the godless shall perish. His confidence is severed, his trust is a spider's house. He leans against his house, but it doesn't stand. He lays hold of it but it doesn't endure.  Job (13-15)

The thing the wicked man sees is the righteous man's success. His steady heart. His trust in God that can't be moved. The ultimate victory of the one God loves over the adversary of our hearts. When I read this I got a horror story image in my mind of a person so angry that he grits his teeth as his face turns red. Fire comes from his ears and eyes and mouth and melts his face, first, then engulfs his entire body. It's pretty graphic. When the person who turns away from God looks on the simple faith of a child of God, it makes him or her want to implode! How can she believe that nonsense! She's so naïve! Why is he smiling when his world is falling apart? And more maddening still is the inability to dissuade this child of God from his unwavering faith in Christ. To add insult to injury, things pretty much turn out for those God watches over. Even death can't take away their lives.

Let me just say that I understand the skeptic's irritation at my faith. To her it doesn't seem rational. But here is what I've come to learn about my Father. He isn't easy to figure out. Sometimes His plan is indecipherable. I have come to expect God to accomplish His will in the midst of what seems to me to be an organized mess. Really! And, always in my life, at the very last possible minute. But always, my God performs--comes through for me. The ones who forget God don't have that assurance. He's not their Father. Because they rejected the idea of it. So, they are left to what they can understand and design for themselves. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Que sera, sera. Confident only in what he can build for himself, the man without God can only hope he's doing the right thing. Perhaps the house constructed with his earthly wisdom will stand--perhaps when he leans against it, it will collapse. We aren't built to make the decisions only God can, so eventually all will fail. Like the flimsy gossamer of a spider's web, not built to last.

The hope of the godless. Hmm. In what? I've heard, the universe. The vast spiritual force that is what is. Call on it and demand from it what is sovereignly due us. If you speak it out there to the whatever you want to call it, and say it enough, believe it enough, the universe will be obliged to give you millions of dollars, health, power. That's the secret. Hope in the goodness of mankind. I've heard that, also. It fails pretty quickly into cynicism. Beauty, prestige, eminence, intellect, wealth--all fade. None brings fulfillment to that place inherent in a woman or man that was created to believe in Someone bigger than ourselves. And forgetting God assumes you once knew Him. "Forget God!" I'll do what I darned well want to do without Him! Pretty scary stuff to trust only in myself for all I need to navigate this treacherous world. There's no One left to cry out to and no One left to thank. Only me, the universe and trouble. Interestingly, the one who leaves God behind often blames Him when things implode. When the tinselled twinings of her ill-conceived web are ripped by the breezes of adversity and she's left hanging by a thread from a mighty oak in a hurricane. And spider that she is, helpless and vulnerable, she screams in her tiny arachnid voice: "I hate You, God!" just before all hope is lost.

It doesn't have to end that way. Two men were crucified on either side of Jesus on Passover weekend. Both were criminals whose deeds were worthy of capital punishment. One of the men got tired of hearing Jesus and His meek musings..."Father, forgive them for they know not what they do!"  This while He's hanging between the man and another sweating, cringing thief. King of the Jews! Some king! Jesus was bleeding profusely from the beatings, unrecognizable almost as a human. "If you're the Christ, save Yourself!" The thief screamed it. An accusation. "If you're the Christ, save us!" But, of course, the man was making light of Jesus. Just like the soldiers spitting on Him and cursing.

"Shut up! Don't you fear God? This man is innocent. We aren't!" shouted the criminal straining against the horrors of crucifixion on the other side of Jesus. Both saw the same Man. Both were in the same boat. But this man got it. "Remember me when You come into Your kingdom."

"Today you will be with me in paradise." Jesus, looking through the sweat and blood of His death, promising one who'd forgotten God salvation as he hung by a thread.

PSALM 112 - I'm Pumped!!

His heart is steady. He will not be afraid, until he looks in triumph on his adversaries. He has distributed freely. He has given to the poor. His righteousness endures forever. His horn is exalted in honor.  (Verses 8-9)

I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleanness, and from all your idols I will cleanse you. And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in My statutes and be careful to obey My rules. Ezekiel 36  (Italics, mine)

You are a letter from Christ delivered by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on the tablets of the human heart.  2 Corinthians 3

Hilda's heart was the problem. That's what the doctor proclaimed the day before when the tests revealed that without a transplant, Hilda would soon die. She hadn't expected the news to be so dire. At first the prognosis was that perhaps the relatively minor angioplasty procedure would correct the issue of Hilda's unsteady heart. But the doctor hadn't realized the extent to which her heart was diseased. It was beyond repair. The only way for Hilda to recover would be for someone else to die. A donor match. Another heart where hers was.

Our hearts are the problem. They don't work correctly. Hardened by years of doubt and fear, experience their teachers, our hearts need the clogged arteries surrounding them to be cleaned out. The chambers shut down by years of abuse need a transplant. We are beyond repair. Pulsing through us out of tempo is the thickened blood of our over indulgences and the arrhythmia of our deadly choices. If only our hearts beat in a steady thrumming, pinking our cheeks and quickening our pace. If only we had energy for the everyday of living, much less for the battles that sprout in our paths. And so the Great Physician made a plan. To switch heart for heart. Long before surgeons caught on, God knew what it is we need. Open heart surgery. Nothing short of it will make us whole. There is no other way to gain a heart that is steady.

So what is this surgery all about, anyway? How does God actually give us a transplant? Glad you asked. The Old Covenant was written by the finger of God onto tablets and entrusted to Moses as he went down Mount Sinai, glowing with the presence of God, to give the people of God their rule book, so to speak. All that the Lord commanded was summed up in ten tenets. The first, however, proved to be the one they couldn't seem to get past. "You shall have no other gods before Me." If it was impossible for them to love Him, there was no reason to serve Him alone. There, with the heart again. Generations of stubborn resistance to His benevolent will for His people made God promise in His steadfast love that He would, for their sakes, take them into the operating room of His grace and remove the hearts that were so hard. Replace them with the heart of His Son. Give them a new operating system whereby He actually inhabits them by His Holy Spirit. Then all men and women would have steady hearts, beating in rhythm with His. Our only part in the transition? We have to let Him examine our hearts, submit to the surgery and live. Once the transplant is complete, we have new blood coursing through our veins. New minds supplied to the fullest with the nutrients to live a powerful life, able for the first time to actually live out all that God has for us!

So what's our problem? Back to the heart. The wicked, hardened one. It has a very loud mouth. Yelling at us that it's fine like it is. Doesn't need to change! Can't, even! And others with transplants aren't any better than we stony critters. Why, they sometimes have arrhythmia, too! Some malfunctioning hearts are just too stuck in the drama of being sick. Can't imagine the energy it takes to do the right thing anymore. Don't have what it takes to drag themselves to the Doctor. And, anyway, who says that Doctor is the only One Who can fix the problem? Then there are the hearts that will deny, deny, deny that they are sick. Symptoms may abound, but they will aver they are healthy as horses as they cough and spew from shortness of breath and faint for lack of verve. And all the time, the Great Physician offers the answer for free. He foots--footed--the bill.

Following the transplant Hilda received, she had energy she'd forgotten even existed. Her mind cleared, her pace quickened. But most of all, she was able to accomplish many of the things she'd wanted to do before but hadn't the strength for.

Following our transplants, our hearts should beat to the steady pace of God's love. There it is now! Inside of us! Brand spanking new hearts! The breathing apparatus of the Holy Spirit pushing His pneuma into the molecules of our lives. As Hilda will forever be tied to the surgeon who delicately traded her heart for another, we are tied to our Physician. As Hilda is forever grateful to the one who had to die in order for her to live, so are we forever grateful to the One Whose heart purchased our transformation, saving us from certain death. No longer do we need to fear we are unloved. No longer the trepidation of giving to others lest they don't give back. With the blood of our Physician pumping new life into the arteries of our fleshy hearts, we are free to offer up a life spared from the ravages of the disease that ran rampant when the old heart squeezed its poison into our wizened souls. We are in varying degrees of recovery, we Christians. Some were more damaged by the adversarial ways of the old heart than others. The healing process takes some time, just like Hilda's. But if we follow directions from the Surgeon, take a day at a time and learn from Him, our new hearts will pound in an ever more steady tempo. Our spiritual health will be our glory, our love for God our mainstay, our new life our heritage.

PSALM 112 - Is Life A Crap Shoot?

Light dawns in the darkness for the upright. He is gracious, merciful and righteous. It is well with the man who deals generously and lends. Who conducts his affairs with justice. For the righteous will never be moved. He will be remembered forever. He is not afraid of bad news. His heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.   (Verses 4-7)

Comme ci comme ca. Que sera, sera. What goes around comes around. You gotta take the good with the bad. Easy come, easy go. Life is a crap shoot. You are what you think...or eat. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade. Religion is the opiate of the masses.

I've heard several people lately discuss the meaning of life, or rather the meaninglessness of it. Especially in terms of its ups and downs. A few of my friends are influenced by Eastern religious thought. Guided by Buddhist teachings, fascinated by the multitude of Hindu gods. Or just convinced by the vicissitudes of life that it's rather random. That we need a pattern of thinking that will get us through somehow. And that is why we make up God...or gods. To make sense of what is nonsensical and confusing about living on Earth. It seems to them that we chart the course, for the good or the bad. We make lemonade or drink the bitter offerings handed to us by a desultory universe. There might be guiding principles, certainly Buddhism abounds with them, to prod us to live in the moment, to meditate and quiet our busy interior selves down. Hindu gods reveal themselves in yoga asanas. Group chanting makes the experience corporate and soothing. But the expectation isn't that one will find life purpose this way. At least not according to my friends. The purpose is to be able to live in the present - the now. To cope. And if there is understanding of the broader universe, it is in relation to finding the interior strength to live today in a world awash with various pleasures and pain and the peace is an end in itself.

I love my friends, so this isn't a diatribe about Eastern religions. It's only a simple comparison. With my God. With His world view. To reveal there is, in the mind and heart of the God of the Bible to whom I am privileged to relate as Father to daughter, true Light in darkness. True purpose in pain. A plan for each life that is intricately woven into the fabric of  history with an imprint as infinitely unique as is each snowflake--each fingerprint. My God is intentionally relational. He doesn't just spout esoteric one-liners for my edification and His glory. God, my Father, takes my hand and walks with me through this life He's given me. Yes, there are things God desires of  me. Statutes that make me better able to live in the now...and forever. But I'm not left to chant them into my heart or meditate over them for meaning. If I wake to meditate in the early morning hours, I'm speaking to the One True God Who hasn't hidden Himself in the forms of idols nor divided Himself into smaller, lesser gods. I have relationship with God because He loves me...and you...personally. Has known us since before the foundations of the world (Ephesians 1). Life isn't a crap shoot. It sometimes feels like it. Even to Christians, but that is why our hope is so important. Why prayer is more than the rote chantings of religion. It's my heart-to-heart with the One Who controls it all.

So when bad news comes, and it does to everyone, I have an anchor. I know some think I made Him up so I could survive the bad times. My opiate to keep from thinking more deeply about this world and its pain. That couldn't be further from the truth. First of all, I'd never make up a god who is my father. I wouldn't even think to do that. My god would have to be all powerful, therefore vengeful and angry with everything that angers me. He'd give me whatever I asked for. He'd be very small minded because I am. But my God challenges me personally every day, just like any good father. Corrects me. Leads me. Loves me. Sings over me. Holds me. Teaches me. Guides me. Laughs with me. Cries with me. Walks with me. Talks with me. He is not my opiate. He is my iron lung. He is my beating heart. It is He Who whispers in my ear, "Go this way."

What if I am right...and the Bible is correct...about this God? Then every life has purpose and each of us is precious to the God over all gods. He lives to bring  us to Him. Promises that even the bad times work for our good and His glory (Romans 8). Through the death and resurrection of Jesus, we have the Holy Spirit living within us enabling us to navigate the life expected of us by our God. It is an amazing package. Christianity. Why would anyone settle for less? A loving God who deals justly with injustice, Who empowers us to live in a confusing, out of control world, by indwelling our very souls, a Father Whose purpose is to grow us up and bring us home to His glorious dwelling place, and a path that is lit for us as we endeavor to walk it hand-in-hand with Him. If' I'm wrong, I will have lived for more than getting through, because if all the gods are a product of our desiring to cope with planet Earth, mine wins, hands down.