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- Written by: Don Goulding
Therefore, if you have been raised with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Keep thinking about things above, not things on the earth, for you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God. (Colossians 3:1-3)
A soprano organ note rings clean and true. It is followed by climbing and falling notes that swing our heart with a joyful melody. Simultaneously, a low note reverberates to introduce a different phrase. The two strains soar and dip, independent of each other, to create counter tension. J.S. Bach was the master of this polyphony—layering separate melodies into one piece. His Little Fugue in G minor is a classic example.
The kingdom of heaven plays its perfect music for our earth. The subtle melody carries us into the clouds. Notes climb the scale, peak with a sustained chord, then cascade down again. We drink in the beautiful tune, and lesser cares dissipate into shadows.
A bass tone jumps out from the world to vibrate our chest. A second brazen melody runs forward, drowning heaven’s crystalline refrain. The new phrase is seductive and repetitive. Oddly, its part of the same song, but its melody has little to do with heaven’s theme.
Two melodies, one song, different goals. The notes of God’s kingdom sing of joy, peace, and truth. When I let that chorus move me, the ways of heaven govern. Every Bible promise comes true—salvation, healing, eternal prosperity.
The pounding notes of the world shout “self” over and over. It’s a crude ditty, but it serves a vital purpose. The counter tension of life is carried in the earthly notes. They contrast with the majesty of heaven, intensifying its bliss. Without the abasement of sin, the remedy of Christ would be less euphoric.
Earth’s counter strain is necessary, but it’s not the primary melody. It’s not the music I want my dance to follow. I must separate the two refrains, and focus on the one above.
Prayer: Almighty Jesus, help me move to your melody today.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
We tear down arguments and every arrogant obstacle that is raised up against the knowledge of God, and we take every thought captive to make it obey Christ. (2 Corinthians 10:4, 5)
It was the third time I checked the car for my keys. I groped beneath the seats, looked under the mats, and felt between the upholstery. Nothing. My briefcase, sock dresser, and every conceivable black hole had already been searched.
“Sorry, I won’t be coming,” I informed my next appointment via phone. It was too embarrassing to give the reason, that I’d misplaced my keys—again.
Hours later I wandered into the kitchen for a bite. There, inside the door of the refrigerator, were my keys. I must have left them there during an earlier forage.
It was time for a radical assault against my disorganization. I made a resolution that my keys would either be in use, or in a designated pocket in my knapsack—later dubbed, “their most special place.” Once this new habit became automatic, it freed up mental energies and rid me of the I-did-it-again-lost-key feeling.
The same principle applies to spiritual life. Father gives a most special place for every thought. When trials come, I can say, “This earth is not my home.” At temptations, I fall into worship—“Jesus, you are everything I need.” I counter worry with—“It’s in far better hands than mine.” During idle moments, I praise—“Lord, you are awesome and wonderful, full of grace and beauty.” Once I began these disciplines, I discovered how much life energy I had wasted when there was no special place for my thoughts.
An undisciplined mind is like a bird that flails against the bars of its cage. I continually reach for what lies outside God’s best for me. Instead of bashing and befuddling my head, I need to settle on the perch, tuck each thought into its rightful place, and sing until my Master opens the door.
Prayer: King Jesus, thank you for giving a place for every thought.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
When they had prayed, the place where they were assembled together was shaken, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak the word of God courageously. (Acts 4:31)
Jim and I heard our dying friend moan. I placed a hand on the patient’s head and prayed for relief. The Spirit of Jesus pressed into the hospital room with a tangible wholeness. Tears of joy slipped past my eyelids. Jim had his own puddle going on the other side of the bed.
The Lord’s presence woke the cancer victim enough to squeeze our hands and utter undistinguishable, yet beautiful praises. In spite of encroaching death—or perhaps in celebration of it—the three of us fell into a time of worship.
As our mini church service ended, I turned to the man in the next bed. What could he be thinking of all this … God in his room? My heart was still on fire, and I asked, “What about you sir, do you know Jesus as Savior?”
The geriatric mumbled coarse sounds and stared defiantly ahead. I turned to leave him to his refusal, but I felt an invisible wall block my exit. I asked again, “Do you want to make Jesus your Lord?”
Cold silence followed. He glared from tubes and machines into blank space. After a long while, his lower lip trembled and he nodded, yes. I knew the Holy Spirit had just cracked a tough nut.
I witness the same convicting power of worship in energetic African services and staid American churches. Whether we’re in a cathedral, under savanna trees, or in a hospital room, when we truly worship God shows up, and when God shows up, people go limp in repentance.
I need more repentance power in my life. I want to move through my days aware of my weakness and overcome by God. This is where the kingdom business is transacted. I shed self-absorbed doubt and welcome God’s intervention. A wave mounts, crashes over my heart, and leaves me a dripping heap, but washed and new.
Prayer: Holy Spirit, reduce me with your power and make me bold for you.