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- Written by: Don Goulding
… you are a letter of Christ, delivered by us, written not with ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on stone tablets but on tablets of human hearts. (2 Corinthians 3:3)
The tablet of my heart seems like an impossible medium for Christ’s grand communication. How can he write anything in this infinitesimal space? My heart is a mere speck, a bit of grime stirred from the dust of the world and not fit to herald the King’s proclamation.
It is a wonder we are God’s letters of Christ. We are placed into the world to communicate his love and forgiveness. He could approach each human directly, like when he spoke to Moses from the bush. I believe he prefers a magnetic pull. He allows us to prove we are attracted to him as he is to us. Rather than a burning bush, he draws us near though the Bible, nature, and his most compelling medium—human heart tablets.
As a letter of Christ, the worst thing I can do is dress up my tablet. Pretending self-sufficiency writes a lie on my heart. Instead of reading, this messed up ninny has grace from Jesus that you can have too, they read, this saint has his life all together—something you’ll never attain. Others are deceived into thinking I belong to God because I earned something they can’t.
The truth is I am a mote hovering in the radiance of Christ’s glory. It is a testament to his grace that the Lord seeks out flecks like me. He converts a dust floater into a museum quality object of beauty. Onlookers gasp. The wonder is not in the speck, but in the light that strikes it. Laud the white-hot pure light, seen only where it ignites the lint.
Prayer: Spirit of the living God, may everyone I meet today see you on my heart.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been forcefully advancing, and forceful men lay hold of it. (Matthew 11:12) (NIV)
Seven thousand curious Indians sat before the stage in Ranipet to hear the Americans. A local pastor grabbed my head and rattled my brain as he shouted prayers in Tamil. For what—the demons out? the Spirit in?—I don’t know. When I stepped onto the stage, the interpreter and I got into a holy groove until I went inflammatory.
“None of the Hindu gods have died for your sins.”
He shook his head in refusal to interpret those words. My statement may have incited a riot and prevented the gospel from going out. Because of his wisdom, more than two hundred souls responded when we later gave the invitation.
The gospel is like dynamite. It must be strategically placed to do the most good. Deployed at the right time and place, it blows apart every unholy attachment. Jesus put it this way, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace but a sword.”
My faith is inspired by those who suffer the temporal devastation of gospel dynamite, and still, they light fuses. The family of a colleague in Nigeria was abducted for being Christians, yet he continues to preach the good news. I was adopted by a Christian village in Pakistan that was burned down by neighboring Muslims, yet they press on telling their hostile countrymen about Jesus. On a subsequent night at the Ranipet festival, my interpreter was struck on the head by a rock. With a palm over his cut, he carried on speaking to the one thousand children gathered around us. Persecution bounces to the feet of these disciples where it fertilizes a ruthless conviction.
Following Christ is not a sappy, weak willed affair. The gospel is perilous to our earthy holdings. Only courageous people lay hold of it and dynamite their hearts free of every entanglement except Jesus.
Prayer: Lion of Judah, blast away everything that weakens my faith.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a huge millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the open sea. (Matthew 18:6)
God is dangerously protective of children. I didn’t want to mislead any of the eight hundred black-haired cherubs who sat crosslegged before our stage at a primary school in Ranipet, India. They nested against each other in a long narrow room—rows of bright eyes amidst a sea of blue gingham uniforms. The pure face energy put me beneath God’s throne and I knew without a doubt he guarded these innocents.
Our evangelism team leader concluded the program with an invitation to receive Christ.
“Stand if you want Jesus,” he shouted. “One, two, three.”
Every head jerked about to see what they were supposed to do. At first, no one stood. Then, after more translation, everybody stood. The principal told them all to sit while another teacher tried to get only those who wanted Jesus to stand. But it was a Christian school and they all wanted Jesus, or already had him, and still wanted him, so were they to stand or sit?
I was transported to the throne room and felt heaven’s mirth at our situation.
Jesus paid a horrific price at the cross to save us from consternation over the right way to return to God. Stand for Jesus, say a prayer, turn around three times—it doesn’t matter, as long as we come through Jesus. To say otherwise is to doubt Christ’s sufficiency and ability to see into the heart.
The sublime reality is that God is holding a wide-open Jesus fest and every humble soul is welcome.
Prayer: Lord, keep me from the sin of complicating the gospel.