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- Written by: Don Goulding
You yourselves, as living stones, are built up as a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood and to offer spiritual sacrifices that are acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. (1 Peter 2:5)
We descended weightless and wide-eyed into a rush hour mix of yellow tangs, rainbow parrotfish, and comical goatfish with their Colonel Sanders beards. Son-in-law Josh and I SCUBA dived through the fishy playground made from acres of white coral. Branches and arches bloomed from the sandy floor in a turquoise sea.
Enter with me into the microscopic throb of God’s coral reef. Each razor-sharp finger of coral is made up of thousands of empty calcite cells left by polyps, now deceased. Only the colony’s outer layer houses the current generation of polyps, living in their minuscule cup shaped skeletons. These creatures have built on the foundation of their ancestors for hundreds of years, until grand coral cities have formed.
By night, a jelly soft polyp reaches his feathery tentacle out for feeding, and by day, he hides inside his cell. He is unaware of his contribution to a rising sanctuary for all manner of aquatic life.
We Christians also eke out a living, flounder against our weakness, and see little accomplished. We are jelly soft polyps. But now, dear heart, take in this wonder. God adds our meager contribution to that of thousands before us, which will be built upon by those coming after. Together, we rise into a spiritual house, acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.
A deep and awesome miracle is at work here, and you and I are part of it. We don’t see it rise, or how our struggles in life contribute, nevertheless, the temple grows. It’s the true structure, a sanctuary of artistic mastery far more real than this fleshly polyp life would admit. We are more than meets the eye because our contributions tower in a realm yet to be seen. And so we are the holy priesthood of a living sanctuary.
Prayer: Father, I am awed by you, the eternal architect.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
And if I have prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith so that I can remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. (1 Corinthians 13:2)
I ran from place to place and wired explosives. Other people interrupted, but I couldn’t let on what I was really doing. I gave platitudes to keep them content. Breaking from the crowd, I sprinted to the detonation site. Then I woke from my dream, shaken and breathing hard.
“Lord, what does it mean?” I asked.
In the quiet of my prayer closet, the Holy Spirit gave his interpretation.
“Don, you are conspiring to bring explosive change to the people you shepherd. You run around wiring for a new start for your church, instead of truly loving the souls that will be blown up in the process.
“Slow down and care for people, not your programs, or your bigger, brighter future. Because, if you build the greatest ministry in the world, lead thousands to Christ, and witness your land swept into repentance, but don’t engage people with my love, then you’ve done nothing.”
My chin hung to my chest. “Lord, will I ever get out of spiritual kindergarten? Forgive me, yet again. Help me to love whoever will let me. Teach me to know them, enjoy good things with them, and offer your peace for the hurts in their lives.
“Help me to see the individual, and not the crowd.”
Prayer: Patient Savior, walk me into a deeper love.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
But Jesus called for the children, saying, “Let the little children come to me and do not try to stop them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will never enter it.” (Luke 18:16-17)
I pedaled past a line of preschoolers out for a nature walk. They lit up at the sight of a funny man on a bicycle. One little guy leaned out of the line, beamed a smile, and chirped, “Hello there.” His dimpled hand polished off the salutation with a vigorous wave.
It was over before my sluggish brain could push a response past my mouth. A bubble of God’s love had swelled out of that young life and burst onto me. It was a reminder that there is no barrier between God’s heart and a child’s voice.
I want a faith like that tyke. I want to effervesce when the Spirit moves me, and live free from stalling doubts. Why do I hold back to assess the risk? Then the moment is lost.
“Hello there.” “Are you happy like I am?” “Isn’t God’s love great?” Why don’t I spread joy around like a child? Everyone needs a smile and a cheerful word. What can I hope to accomplish by my prudish reservation? The Lord can’t use me to evangelize the nations until I can love like a four-year-old.
Perhaps I could elect senility before it’s compelled by age. I could regress to a less jaded worldview. I’d be silly, laugh at my self-important ideas, and go on the lookout for chances to tickle people. After all, who’s mature if it’s not the soul free from worry? Regression would allow me to move past my constipated pride and sprinkle joy on others.
If I bubbled spontaneous love like that happy preschooler, then I’d know, without a doubt, that I was plugged into God.
Prayer: Father, make me childlike again.