- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?”
Because she thought he was the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will take him.”
Jesus said to her, “Mary.”
She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni” (which means Teacher). (John 20:15, 16)
Mary was drowning in a cauldron of confusion. The God-man who had cast seven demons from her now lay crucified in a tomb. So, was Jesus no true king? Was her personal horror about to return?
God heard Mary’s aching heart. He stopped his business across billions of galaxies and snatched the flailing woman from her nightmare. To rescue Mary, he spoke her name through Jesus, the image of the invisible God. That one word contained an explosive message.
“You know this voice and its power. I AM bigger than death. I AM sovereign over your demons. I AM the champion of your heart. Trust me.” All of that was contained in the word “Mary.”
Mary had heard her name thousands of times, but this time, on the lips of Jesus, it pulled her up from the blackest depths to gasp for air. There could be no mistake, it was her name carried on the unique timbre that could only be Jesus of Nazareth—resurrected.
God has been grossly misrepresented by humans that drew their conceptions of him from imagination rather than from revelation. He is often portrayed as distant and capricious. That is as far from reality as you can get, because God celebrates each freckle for every one of his children. The individuality of his love is the defining brilliance of our relationship with him.
This moment, in this place, our Father observes my life and yours. He sees the anguish and hears the confusion. By way of relief, he wraps eternal blessing into a single word. The gift is passed to the Spirit of Jesus, who leans close to our ear, and delivers the package.
God speaks our name.
Prayer: Great I AM, I hear you speak my name.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
But to Adam he said, “Because you obeyed your wife and ate from the tree about which I commanded you, ‘You must not eat from it,’ cursed is the ground thanks to you …” Genesis 3:17
I squatted by a campfire with African refugees in an Ivory Coast shantytown. I drew two parallel lines in the sand to show the gulf of sin. A stick figure depicted man on one side and a radiant cloud represented God on the other. As I added a cross over the gap, my interpreter relayed the gospel.
A Liberian man in his thirties crawled from under the plastic tarp of his hovel to join our group. His living space was one meter high by one meter wide. He made no claim on Jesus that day, but hopefully a seed was planted, because he must have more. I wanted him to understand the offer of salvation, so that his squalor might be replaced by paradise.
As we talked, children played around the ramshackle camp. I asked myself how they could be so nonchalant about their circumstances. But the little ones had no clue they were the poorest of the poor. They were too young to remember anything except fleeing war and bivouacking.
I, too, fail to grasp how cursed is my preliminary existence here on earth, because it’s all I’ve known. I have a hard time imagining life without brokenness. Everything is infected by the curse of Adam. Rivers writhe with microscopic terrorists, animals and humans eat one another, and my own thoughts can’t remain pure. Nothing I experience today will be whole, and still I go on laughing.
It’s okay to be at peace because Jesus has a scheduled plan for remaking heaven and earth. It’s not okay to be content with this life as it is. This is not God’s final work. That refugee man must have more, and so must I.
Prayer: Spirit of Jesus, separate my heart from the corruption of life.
- Details
- Written by: Don Goulding
Look! The Lord is coming from his dwelling place;
he comes down and treads on the heights of the earth. (Micah 1:3) (NIV)
During the beginning phases of revival in the Makonde district of Zimbabwe, the Lord spoke through this verse in Micah. About every ten kilometers, the green-brown savannah is broken by sizable hills called kopjes. For generations, natives worshiped ancestors from these high places. The Spirit of the Most High revealed that dark forces administered misery from these strongholds, and it was time for a purge.
For the next several months, prayer warriors made the rounds to climb the kopjes, throw down false altars, and reclaim the surrounding villages for Jesus. Demons fled and the Spirit of God restored hearts and called new believers.
There is a personal application for the reclamation of high places. When I look across my life, what dominates? Where do my thoughts run to most often? Those are my high places. They might be wholesome, like family and ministry, or sinful, like addiction and anger. Wholesome or sinful, it doesn’t matter because God alone belongs on the sacred high places. It’s time to purge these centers of worship, and reclaim them for God Almighty.
I bow my heart before the Savior. I know the primary focus of my devotion has not been on him. Something else is on top of my kopje. Holding this high place before him, I acknowledge the desecration.
“Please God, cleanse this place and name it as your own.”
Then I wait in silence.
In the spiritual realm, a low rumble begins.
The mountains melt beneath him
and the valleys split apart,
like wax before the fire,
like water rushing down a slope. (Micah 1:4) (NIV)
My heart is reduced to nothing but Jesus, and he seals my altar with his name. It is confirmed, my high place belongs to the LORD Most High. Righteousness and peace return to their rightful places.
Prayer: Mighty Redeemer, reclaim the high places in my heart.