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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.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
But may I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. (Galatians 6:14)
Jesus walked toward crucifixion. He accepted his day of agony knowing it bought an eternity of joy for millions. In his mind, he held the image of a sea of worshipers before his Father’s throne—and he opened his hand for the nails.
My crucifixion doesn’t include nails and a cross. The things of the world are crucifiers to me. My crown of thorns is imperfect health. My forty-nine lashes are injured relationships. My cross is a sacrifice of temporary pleasures. As incomparable as those are to what Jesus suffered, they are, nevertheless, my crucifixion.
My suffering is nothing like Christ’s, and neither will my glory be like his, but one thing is the same. I must respond as he did. He didn’t preoccupy himself with escape. He kept moving toward Jerusalem, even though he knew the cross waited.
What about me? Do I accept my mild crucifixion, or do I panic and scramble away? Embracing suffering is not popular theology—at least it’s not popular with me. But, rather than run away, I must, like Jesus, keep my mind filled with the glory ahead, through every current hardship.
By the time I showed up on the earth, the work of paying for sin’s debt was complete. There was nothing left for me to do except bind myself to what Jesus finished. That’s why I begged forgiveness, swore allegiance, and was baptized in water—to unite myself to the work of Jesus. There’s only one thing more I can do out of gratitude. Mimic his life. He gave up temporal distractions so he could grow God’s kingdom. That’s my role model.
I want to grasp the depth of what Jesus did for me. His sacrifice was too terrible for a mere shallow appreciation. And the only way into that knowledge is if I accept my mild crucifixion.
Prayer: Jesus, help learn about your love through my brief trials.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
By all these things, I have shown you that by working in this way we must help the weak, and remember the words of the Lord Jesus that he himself said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ (Acts 20:35)
A two inch bitterling swims among freshwater mussels to spawn. This sly minnow knows the mollusk shells will protect her eggs from predators. She selects an open host and inserts her breeding tube. The eggs settle between the mussel’s internal organs and the mother swims away. Next, a male bitterling releases his sperm, which are drawn into the mussel to fertilize the eggs.
At first, the bitterlings appear to be self-serving opportunists taking advantage of mussels. But the mussels see it differently. They eagerly await the arrival of bitterlings. The moment the fish show up, the mussels release their own larvae into the water to attach to the gills. After hitching a ride, the larvae drop to the ocean floor and develop a new neighborhood of mussels.
Like the bitterling and the mussel, God’s creatures provide symbiotic and contributory relationships at many levels. It keeps our planet ticking. Why is it, then, that humans so readily take more than they give?
The Holy Spirit is effervescent life in my heart. New bubbles form, which presents a problem. My blessings swell beyond my needs and I have to relieve my bloat by giving to others. I can give large things and small—earn a wage and economize to fund missions, help with chores, work with my hands, teach, administer, give cookies, counsel, smile, hug, or pray. Hoarding gratifies for a fleshly minute, while giving satisfies for a spiritual eternity.
It’s the ultimate symbiotic relationship—there are people in need, and I have a need to give.
Prayer: Jesus, change me from a taker into a giver.