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- Written by: Don Goulding
But while he was still a long way from home his father saw him, and his heart went out to him; he ran and hugged his son and kissed him… But the older son became angry and refused to go in. (Luke 15:20, 28)
One night in Chennai, India, we celebrated three baptisms with unforgettable flair. First, we power baptized in the Bay of Bengal. The candidates were held in shallow water and the words, “You are baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” were timed with an incoming wave. The sea blasted over the converts, and I tried to hold on. We came out laughing.
Next, we ignited skyrockets on the beach. Spectacular fireworks are inexpensive in India—the kind that soar 500 feet, and, with chest hammering explosions, burst into crackling zigzags. We sent a colorful declaration of union with God into the heavens, so both the angels and fishermen could rejoice.
We should party more when someone comes to Christ. I notice in the parable above, that both the repentant son and his older brother doubted the legitimacy of the festivities. The father couldn’t wait to put on fancy clothes, a feast, and dance music. Could it be that we’re still slow to celebrate the totality of grace?
If someone threw a party for my homecoming to God, I’m afraid I’d lug a duffel bag of guilt into the revelry. Father would say, “leave it at the door.” I’d hesitate, especially when I heard the protestations of older Christians—you know, those who stayed outside with their accomplishments.
My heavenly Father would insist the duffel couldn’t come in, and then he’d propose a toast. “To the one I lost, but who returned. Your mistakes are forgotten by me and all who are in this room.”
The only proper response to this pinnacle of life is to eat, drink, and laugh for eternity.
Prayer: Father, help me see into the depths of forgiveness, and celebrate.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8) (NIV)
While still in the womb, a human baby develops brain cells at an astonishing rate. By the age of three, we reach the lifetime peak of one hundred billion cells with a quadrillion synapses exchanging information between them. A three-year-old’s head is a busy place. From age three onward the synapses begin to die, and it becomes a race to establish the necessary pathways of information flow with a diminishing number of resources.
My aging brain is an example of ever reducing assets, and yet, a smaller synapse count is offset by acquired wisdom, residing in the healthy connections. Youth has an excess of unformed brainpower, while old age has fewer but more effective mental resources. The bottom line, I must get life figured out before I can no longer noodle on it. Praise God, because he knew I’d be working with less and less, and so he made the answer to fit into my narrowing ability.
In the years my synapse paths were forming, I sampled the gamut, seeking life’s purpose. I researched comparative religions, dabbled in philosophy, and agonized over biblical interpretations. Now, I discover, I must go out much as I came in, with simplicity. I made finding my place confusing, God made it plain.
According to the passage above, we only need to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with him. That’s all there is to it.
So what exactly does he mean by act justly, I want to ask. But no, I don’t need to ask—I know perfectly well what he means. And do I love mercy as my most prized gift? Do I receive mercy from God and give it to others? And finally, do I humble my heart before the Almighty? Do I bow and repent, and simply walk with him?
Life is not some unsolvable mystery. Either I act justly, love Christ’s mercy, and squash my pride, or I don’t. Any child with undeveloped synapses can see whether I do or don’t.
Prayer: Gracious Father, thank you for the simplicity of salvation.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
As he (Jesus) said this, he called out, “The one who has ears to hear had better listen!” (Luke 8:8)
Woe to the over churched. That was me. God saw me sitting in the pew and breathed a razor-sharp message into my pastor’s sermon. The words flew from the pulpit, hit my eardrum, and bounced onto the floor.
I’d been practicing A.S.D. (Auditory Selective Dullness) for years. Raised in the pews, the effervescent words of life were poured over me before they had meaning. Jesus is the blah, and the blah, blah, blah. It’s a malady I fight today.
As I got older, I determined God was for those who shrink from life. I strained for the highest numbers on the fun-o-meter. But such living never brought joy. My truest desires weren’t greeted at the door, let alone invited into satisfaction.
Behind the temporal games, I hid a longing to touch the Progenitor of life. I wondered if the enormous life in Christ lay in grasping the true meaning behind all those churchy phrases—washed in the blood, dead to sin, sanctified by grace. They were so much white noise in a preoccupied head.
On one of those unfulfilled mornings I woke, and there beside me lay the instruments needed to open the tired phrases—a Bible, prayer, and a desperate heart. With the tools, I pried the trampled walnuts until they burst to reveal emeralds of hope, fire-blue sapphires of love, and diamonds of truth. Christ in me was no longer a ho-hum byline, it was my oxygen. The words were the same, but the power exploding out of them woke me from the stupor I’d called life.
From time to time, I still feel over churched, but then I crack open the old terminology for all the brilliant reality it will yield.
Prayer: Holy Spirit, dynamite my crusty heart with fresh understanding.