And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this? (Esther 4:14).

Which way would you run?

You might remember this story a decade ago. It’s a tragic story that’s been played out far too many times in this country. On June 5, 2014, Aaron Ybarra walked into Otto Miller Hall on the campus of Seattle Pacific University armed with a shotgun. Within minutes he had killed one student and seriously injured three others. The carnage and tragedy of that story would have been far worse had it not been for the courage of Jon Meis.

Jon Meis, a senior engineering student, was working in Miller Hall on June 5th. As the gunman paused to reload Meis rushed in and took him down. Shortly after that incident Jonathan Parnell wrote a blog post under the title “Would You Tackle the Gunman?” In the all-too-familiar stories of school shootings, analysis tends to plumb the life and psyche of the shooter. Parnell’s focus was different. He raised the question of courage.

Parnell observed that when we read of actions like those of Jon Meis questions surface deep within us. Would I have tackled the gunman? 

What would you feel? Which way would you run? Where does courage come from?

“For Such A Time As This”

In the story of Esther, the best-known verse of the entire ten chapters comes when Esther is confronted with a decisive moment in her life and the courage required to act (4:14). Esther’s cousin Mordecai, with sober language, reminds her of her unique position and the opportunity it affords to save her people. He suggests that her rise to a place on the royal court in Persia was not an accident. “And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?”

That’s usually what we think of when we think of courage: the critical decisive event that requires bold action. We think of the “for such a time of this” moment.

But in his blog post Parnell argued that courage is not a sudden explosion of heroism that we discover in a crisis. Rather, courage is cultivated in ordinary daily life, in repeated and simple acts of sacrifice and service.

Parnell writes: “The big moment of courageous action doesn’t occur in a vacuum, but has behind it tiny moments of simple sacrifice that have been trending in that direction all along. In other words, if we can’t wash dishes and change diapers, we shouldn’t kid ourselves with the idea that we’d step in front of a bullet.” 

The Hand of Providence

Where do you need courage today?

A couple of days ago we observed that God is never mentioned in the book of Esther. Nevertheless, the fingerprints of God are all over this story. God is quietly at work, ordering events, redeeming the crises, using flawed people to accomplish his purposes. This is the providence of God. In her fine commentary on Esther, Professor Karen Jobes explains that “when we speak of God’s providence, we mean that God in some inscrutable way governs all creatures, actions, and circumstances through the normal and ordinary course of human life” (43).    

If we were truly convinced of this, knowing it deep down in our bones, how would it change the way we live? One way is that we might be people of greater courage, less anxious, ready to risk and trust outcomes to our sovereign God.

You may be facing a critical moment in your life right now, a decisive moment that calls for action. You could be at a crossroads in your career, dealing with an illness that will demand a fight, struggling to save your marriage. Or maybe not. You could be at the beach this week, soaking in sunlight and sleeping later than usual. James 1:5 says that if anyone lacks wisdom, they should ask God “who gives generously” what we need. Perhaps the same is true of courage. Ask God for the courage you will need for this day.

Regardless of what this day holds for you, courage will be called for. The kind of courage that calls you to step up and speak up as a follower of Jesus. Live the day boldly – not because you are unusually brave, but because God is relentlessly faithful.      

Prayer:

Gracious God, we ask you today for courage. Some of us are burdened with the weight of life. Others are bored with its routines. Whatever this day holds, make us bold to live as your people in this world, ready for whatever you have for us. Confident in your providential care for us. Encourage us by the gift of your Spirit, we ask in Jesus’s name. Amen. 

. . . if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land (2 Chronicles 7:14).

During the summer after fourth grade, I lived through a miserable week at camp. That wasn’t the camp’s fault, mind you. The camp was a church-related camp, and I was there with a church group. As I recall, there was no lack of campy things to do – the kinds of things a fourth-grade kid would have loved.

None of that mattered. For reasons that now escape me, I didn’t want to be there.

If I had to identify an experience of my life that could be called homesickness, that would be it. I wanted to be home. Nothing the camp offered was remotely interesting to me. The all-consuming focus of my mind that week was the knowledge that every day got me one day closer to going home. I lived for the Saturday morning parent pick-up. My sense of hope was rooted in an event that I could see on the calendar.

Homesick Exiles

Earlier this week we were thinking about the experience of exile. We defined exile as being dislocated, feeling out of place in a strange environment. Exile is being in a place you never wanted to be, a place you never thought you would be, a place you can’t wait to get out of. In the story of God’s people narrated in the Old Testament books of 1 & 2 Kings and 1 & 2 Chronicles, the exile was forced deportation to Babylon after the fall of Jerusalem in 587BC.   

In Psalm 137 we get a picture of how exile and homesickness are inseparable. “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion” (137:1). Exiles can’t help but yearn for home.

Getting home, however, is not the hope of those Judean exiles as they weep in Babylon. We know this from Jeremiah 29. The exiles were told to settle down in Babylon, build houses, raise families, make a life. Yes, the day would come when God would bring them back to Judah, but that day was a long way off.

If home is not the real hope of those in exile, what is? For that we look to a word of promise in 2 Chronicles 7:14. This word of hope was given long before the exile.

Prayer and Promise

When Solomon had completed the magnificent temple in Jerusalem and dedicated the structure to God, God spoke a word to Solomon. God promised that “my eyes and my heart will always be there” (7:16). Solomon’s task was to lead the people to live in covenant faithfulness with God. When the people ignored or broke the covenant, affliction and desolation would come to the land and to the people (7:13). Years later, the exile happened precisely because God’s people refused to live in covenant faithfulness with God.

But God had spoken this promise to Solomon: “If my people who are called by my name will humble themselves and pray . . . then I will hear from heaven and forgive their sin and will heal their land” (7:14).

Hope is grounded in this truth: God hears the prayers of exiles.

The homesickness that often besets us in this life isn’t like a week at camp. There’s no date on the calendar, no clearly defined moment when we know we’ll get home and all shall be well. Our experiences of exile don’t necessarily uproot us from a dwelling place or a familiar setting. Our most painful experiences of dislocation are deeper than that.   

But whatever they are, and wherever we are, God is near. The prayers we speak by the rivers of Babylon, wherever that might be, will be heard. What is asked of us is that we humble ourselves and seek God’s face.

Where are the rivers of Babylon for you today? What kind of homesickness do you sense in your own soul? Find hope in this good news today: God hears the prayers of exiles. 

Prayer:

With our prayer, O God, we humble ourselves and turn to you, seeking your face. You alone are our reason for hope. Even in exile you are present, working all things for our good, taking note of our homesickness and our tears, hearing us when we call to you. Fill us with your Spirit, that we might live this day, wherever we are, in that hope. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.  

He carried into exile to Babylon the remnant, who escaped from the sword . . . (2 Chronicles 36:20).   

If you happen to be reading this early in the morning, you may want to grab that next cup of coffee. What follows is nothing but unadorned Old Testament history. Can there be a better way to start the day? ‘Yes,’ you say – emphatically and without hesitation.

But you might be surprised. None of this is hard to understand, and you just might find it interesting.

The story I want to tell is about how God’s people ended up far from home. In some ways the entire story of the Bible is a story of a people who are searching for home, trying to get back to the place where they were meant to live and flourish.

In Genesis 1 we see that God created a good home for us. Everything we needed was there.

In Genesis 3 we decided that we liked this God-given home, but we wanted to run the house as we saw fit. That’s where we lost home.    

Long after the creation story this experience was repeated in the history of both Israel and Judah. That’s the history I’d like to briefly share. At the very least you’ve been duly warned.

An Experience of Dislocation

In the year 597 B.C. the dominant world power was Babylon. The runner up for that position would have been Egypt. With Babylon to the north and Egypt to the south, the tiny kingdom of Judah and its capital city Jerusalem sat sandwiched in between. Fearing conquest and living in the shadow of Babylonian military might, Judah became a vassal state to Babylon. Judah paid money (tribute) to Babylon, and in return Babylon allowed Judah to survive with the illusion of safety and independence.

At various times Judah grew weary of this arrangement and refused to pay up, appealing to Egypt for back-up if a fight broke out. This didn’t work out to Judah’s advantage and eventually Babylon laid siege to Jerusalem.

During that ten-year siege groups of people were systematically deported to Babylon. The forced removal of people from Jerusalem to Babylon is known to us now simply as “the exile.”

Exile is typically spoken of as a historical event. The experience is usually defined geographically – a forced removal of a population from home or country, leaving the familiar to go to a place not known.

In a broader sense, however, exile is simply an experience of dislocation. In the words of Eugene Peterson, “the essential meaning of exile is that we are where we don’t want to be.”

Two Options for Exiles

This experience of dislocation happens to us in many different ways. Look around. Chances are you’re surrounded by exiles. Somewhere along the way most of us find ourselves in a place we never wanted to be. We didn’t ask to be there, but there we are, nevertheless.

Exile can be professional, the job you need but hate.

Exile can be relational, a strained friendship or stale marriage.

Exile can be financial, the flow of resources slowly becoming a trickle. 

All of this begs the question: if you are in exile, what are you to do there?

Most often the number one agenda for those in exile is escape. Sometimes exile breeds daydreams of getting out of what is and getting back to what was. But you were never meant to live your days preoccupied with how to escape your days. God intends something more for you. God has purposes for you, even in exile.

Rather than plotting an escape God calls you to engage. To this requires a sense of hope. This past Sunday Marnie defined hope as our confidence that God is present and active, always at work, even in exile. Above all we resist the common temptation of exile: Living with bitterness and resentment in the present while we wait for everything to change in the future.

In your own story, what has exile looked like? When and where did you live through a season of ‘dislocation?’ And where did you land between the two poles of escape and engagement?   

Prayer:

You are faithful, O God. At all times and in all places, you remain faithful to your word and to your people. We will not judge by what we feel or see around us. We will not resent the place where we are, even if we can’t understand why we’re here or how we got here. We will live this day confident that you are in it – no matter where we are. Empower us to seek the welfare of the place and people around us today. We pray this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

As Solomon grew old, his wives turned his heart after other gods, and his heart was not fully devoted to the Lord his God, as the heart of David his father had been (1 Kings 11:4).

Not that many of you are dying to know this, but there are three primary ways that preachers become preachers. They take a class in seminary. They practice or “get reps” after seminary (or maybe during the seminary years). And, equally important to training and experience, they listen to other preachers.

For me that third way, observing and listening, has been and continues to be an important way of learning the craft of communicating God’s word. This started during college at the Ingleside Baptist Church in Macon, Ga. I’d listen to pastor Bobby Johns on Sunday mornings, and I began to think, “I’d like to do that.”

As a seminary student I attended a church that was pastored by the most highly esteemed preacher in our denomination. He was regularly on the platform at national meetings. The church he served was large and well attended. He was an especially skilled expositor of the biblical text, and his messages often left me wondering, “How does he do that?”

He was eventually called to another church, larger, more prestigious, a “crown jewel” in the denomination. But within a few years, he resigned. He left the ministry. He left his wife.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who was stunned and saddened by this. I’m sure there’s a story behind all of that that I do not (and don’t need to) know. But the recurring question in my mind was, “What happened to him?” How did this man with such remarkable gifts shipwreck his calling and his family?

If that could happen to him, it could happen to anyone.

What Happened to Solomon

There is no denying that Solomon was a remarkably gifted king. “God gave Solomon wisdom and very great insight, and a breadth of understanding as measureless as the sand on the seashore . . . Men of all nations came to listen to Solomon’s wisdom, sent by all the kings of the world, who had heard of his wisdom (1 Kings 4:29, 34).”

In addition to his wisdom and understanding, he was a successful builder, overseeing the construction of the temple in Jerusalem – a seven-year project that would anchor the worship life of God’s people.

But something seems to have happened with the passing of the years. His “heart turned after other gods.” This is attributed directly to the influence of his many wives, “foreign women” who worshiped gods other than the God of Israel. Solomon accommodated their religious leanings, providing places of worship for them and participating in their rituals (11:7-8). 

Time passed, and something shifted inside Solomon’s heart and soul. The trajectory of his demise was in motion. The Lord announced this saying, “I will most certainly tear the kingdom away from you and give it to one of your subordinates” (11:11).

The same question surfaces. What happened to Solomon? If it could happen to him, it seems it could happen to anyone. 

Guard Your Heart

A heart that turns away from God doesn’t get that way in a decisive moment that can be placed on the calendar. It doesn’t seem to show up out of the blue as if one morning it occurs to us that we’re done with God, done with faith. Quite often, the heart that turns away from God might not entirely reject God. A vestige of belief remains, along with occasional God-honoring practices.

The path to shipwreck is a slow one. We drift. We accommodate. God’s voice is eclipsed by other voices around us.

For good reason, we tend to think of a faithful life as an obedient life. We think walking with God means doing the good and right thing. But plenty of theologians, including the venerable St. Augustine, have observed that faithfulness is rooted first in our affections. What we do reflects what we love. The highest aim of our life with God isn’t compliance with his rules. God wants our heart. Jesus was clear about this: loving God is the greatest commandment.

Proverbs 4:23 tells us to “above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it” (NIV). The NLT Bible says to guard the heart, “for it determines the course of your life.”

One who guards will see potential threat. Where might that be with regard to your heart, your love for God? What competing affections might cause you to drift?

Prayer:

Merciful God, there is so much in this life to love. But our hearts can easily be disordered, our desires misplaced. We confuse the gift for the giver. Help us to guard our hearts that we might be steadfast and faithful in our walk with you, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.       

I have not dwelt in a house since the day I brought the Israelites up out of Egypt . . . (2 Samuel 7:5-7).

At a very early age I learned exactly where God lived.

I came to understand that God lived in the same place where I went to church every week. God’s address was the address of the Baptist church where my Dad preached and where I went to Sunday school and sang in choir. To go to church meant to pay a visit to the house of God. And when you went to God’s house a certain decorum was expected. For one thing, you dressed your best. And above all (I had to be told constantly) you were never to run in church.

It would be a few years before I came to understand God’s house in a more nuanced way. I was never bothered by whether the Methodist church or the Catholic Church in town were also God’s house. I just assumed that God inhabited my church and that the furniture and the carpet and the smell of cinderblock classrooms were part of God’s dwelling place.

A House for God

In the story of David there comes a season when the overlooked shepherd boy is firmly established is Israel’s king. Those days of running from Saul are over. David’s enemies either feared him, or they had just grown weary of fighting him. A period of peace settled on Israel, and David was finally able to think and act like a real King – a man with power and authority and resources. David was in a good place, and this is when he got a brilliant idea.

David’s soul was sensitive enough to be troubled by the discrepancy between the fine paneled house where he lived and the tent that served as God’s dwelling place. Since the days of Moses, the Ark of the Covenant had been housed in a mobile home, a tent that could be dismantled and packed up and then put back together again.

Comfortably settled in his palace of Cedar, David started to feel some discomfort with this arrangement. God deserved a real house and David would see to it that such a house was built.

The prophet Nathan was totally on board. After all, wouldn’t anyone who cared anything about God want God to have a nice house?

The only one who had no interest in the plan, as it turns out, was God.

God On the Move  

Through the prophet Nathan God had a message for David. God wanted David to know that he was getting ahead of himself. Basically, God told David “Stay in your lane.”

God had been doing just fine for centuries and had never needed a house. Rather, God had always been on the move. This is how God works – moving with his people, leading and guiding and correcting when they lose their way.

To be fair, God did have a special place of meeting with his people. God had given detailed instructions for the construction of the tabernacle. And God did allow a Temple to be built – but David would not be the one to build it.

What God wanted David to know would later find expression in the words of the apostle Paul. “The God who made the world and everything in it does not live in temples built by hands.” (Acts 17:24).                

This is good news for you today. God doesn’t hang out a shingle and wait for you to come to his place of business. Your place is his place of business. God is faithful to meet you in that cherished place where you worship week by week, but he is truly at home beyond those walls. God is on the move, going where you go and helping you do what you need to do.

You can find God right where you are and anywhere you plan to be. So today, talk with him freely. Walk with him closely.

Prayer:

Go with us today, O God, and grant that we might find you in the ordinary places where we dwell from week to week. Give us eyes to see how you are at work around us, and by your Spirit do that work through us, we ask in Jesus’s name. Amen.  

“There remains yet the youngest . . .” (1 Samuel 16:11)

What comes to us as an afterthought is always forethought with God.

What never occurred to us was held from eternity past in the inscrutable mind of God as his plan and will.  

Moved by the mystery of God’s ways, the apostle Paul asked, “Who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor?” (Romans 11:33-36).  The implied answer is clear: No one. Ever. The prophet Isaiah gave voice to the same idea, reminding us that God’s ways are not our ways. God’s thoughts are not our thoughts (Isaiah 55:8-9).  

In amazement and surprise we sometimes ask, “Who would have thought?” What we learn from the story of David is that God thought it. God thought it all along.

The One Overlooked

The prophet Samuel wanted to meet the sons of Jesse.

Slightly puzzled, but greatly honored, Jesse was only too happy to oblige. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but like any proud Father he gathered his boys and had them extend a proper greeting and welcome to the visiting holy man.

What Jesse didn’t know was that Samuel was ready to anoint the next King. That was the whole point of his visit to Bethlehem, a visit disguised as a worship event so as not raise Saul’s suspicions. With every greeting Samuel looked at Jesse’s sons wondering if this was the one.

God had ruled out what appeared to be the natural choice, the impressive Eliab. Jesse then had Abinadab and Shammah extend their welcome to the prophet. Nice guys, but no. God had not chosen them. The other sons passed before Samuel, seven of them in all. No word from God. No king among them.

Finally, Samuel pressed Jesse. “Is this it? Are all your Sons here?”

And then . . . the afterthought. The one overlooked. The least likely. Jesse answered, “There remains yet the youngest, but he is keeping the sheep.” Samuel insisted on meeting him. They would not even sit down until he arrived. And when this youngest son appeared God spoke. “Arise, anoint him, for this is he.”

So begins the amazing story of King David. Jesse’s afterthought was God’s forethought.  

Where from Here?   

Sooner or later we all ask ourselves, “What’s next?” or “Where from here?”

We consider our options, make a list, come up with a plan. And maybe, one by one, the things that seem to make the most sense to us simply don’t work out.

This is when – like Samuel and the family of Jesse – we stand and wait.

There is something you haven’t considered, a possibility that seems unlikely. There is a plan that hasn’t occurred to you. There is someone you have yet to meet. God delights in surprising us this way. God chooses what we overlook. Our afterthought is God’s forethought.

This may be true of your future spouse, a job you’re not looking for, a child you will one day adopt, a move you have yet to make. God sees all of this. So be still. Stand and wait. That might be what God is asking of you today. Something that never occurred to you is about to happen.

Maybe there’s a prayer you need to pray today that might go something like this: “Lord, show me what I’m missing. Reveal what I’ve overlooked.” And then be ready to stand still long enough for God to answer.

Remember, what others saw as a ‘kid’, God saw as a king. 

Prayer:

Grant me grace, O God, to see beyond what is obvious and reasonable. Grant to me a holy patience when the best options seem to be going nowhere. Remind me that there is yet the unlikely way – a way of your choosing ad not my own. Help me to stand still and wait on your surprising work in my life, I ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then chose for yourselves this day whom you will serve . . . (Joshua 24:15).

One of my favorite movies is Apollo 13, the story of an ill-fated mission to the moon that gripped the attention of the world from April 11 to April 17, 1970. About a week before the Apollo 13 launch, I turned eight years old. I don’t remember a single moment of those events, and I’m sure the movie version takes liberties with how the story is told, but there’s one scene from the movie that has lodged firmly in my memory.

As NASA mission control is working feverishly to get the crew and spacecraft safely back to earth, there’s a moment when a slight course correction is needed to execute successful re-entry into earth’s atmosphere. The problem is that this course correction must be executed without any help from the ship’s computers. Electrical power must be preserved for re-entry and landing.

Captain Jim Lovell knew how to use an old nautical skill that allowed him to navigate by the stars. But the spacecraft was surrounded by a field of debris that made it hard to distinguish the stars from the trash. Needing a fixed point in space, Lovell chose to navigate by the earth itself (the earth’s “terminus”).

The course correction was successful. Most of you probably know how the story turned out.

Navigating Your Life

Every day we wake up and face again the task of navigating the gift of our life. We do this with a mix of plans and dreams, habits and hopes. Sometimes we realize that a course correction is needed. What is the reliable fixed point by which we chart our days?

How do we distinguish between the stars and the trash?

This was the question and challenge that Joshua placed before the people of Israel as they took possession of the land promised to them. How would they live? Whom would they serve? To what would they look to secure their well being and their flourishing in the home God had given to them? 

Navigating life in the promised land presented them with choices. They could choose to serve the gods of the surrounding nations, or the idols they had known in their past in Egypt. Or they could serve the God who had delivered them from slavery, sustained them in the wilderness, and planted them in the land of promise.

Joshua’s challenge was blunt, simple, straightforward: Choose. Choose this day whom you will serve. This same challenge is placed before you today. How will you answer?

Gonna Serve Somebody

In his recent book, pastor-author John Mark Comer observes that “all of life is spiritual formation.” Spiritual formation, Comer explains, is not just a “Christian thing.” Everyone you know is being spiritually formed.

The question is: What are they being formed by, and who are they becoming?

Today you are being called and challenged to choose. Choose what will shape you. Choose who you will become. In other words, choose whom you will serve.

Joshua doesn’t waste much breath trying to persuade the people to make the “right” choice. He tells them their story, the story of God’s grace in claiming them as his own people. His conclusion is simple: “Now fear the Lord and serve him with all faithfulness.” As for Joshua, he is resolute in his own choice: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15).  

And if serving the Lord is undesirable – then choose. Choose whom you will serve. Because, as Bob Dylan sang years ago, you’re “gonna have to serve somebody” (or something).  

Maybe today there are some lesser “gods” that you need to be done with or “throw away.”

What might those be?

And what would it look like for you to navigate this day (serve) by the fixed and faithful presence of God who made you, claimed you, and holds you firmly in his care?

Prayer:

Merciful God, at creation you endowed humankind with the capacity to choose. We confess that from the very beginning we have failed to be good stewards of this gift. And yet in your grace you continue to place choices before us. We can choose the blessing you offer, or the burdens of going our own way. We can choose to draw close to you, or remain distant. Forgive us for the way we have rejected your invitation to an abundant life. Give us wisdom in the choices we make, that we may be the people you have called us to be, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.    

I, however, followed the Lord my God wholeheartedly (Joshua 14:8)

This week our journey through the Bible brings us to the book of Joshua.

At the core of this book twenty-four chapters, we find the story of how the land God had promised to Israel was divided among twelve families or tribes – who settled where and who got what. Once again, we find the Old Testament presenting us with material that demands a determined reader. This material is a grind, naming obscure territories to describe boundaries that few of us can successfully picture in our minds.

At the center of this less-than-thrilling narrative we come upon Joshua’s old friend Caleb. You may recall that decades earlier Joshua and Caleb had offered a minority report when Israel had the opportunity to enter the land God had promised them. They lost the vote that day, and forty years of wilderness wandering followed.

But now that wilderness season is over. The faithless generation perished in their wandering – but not Caleb. Now eight-five years old, Caleb receives the reward for his faithfulness.       

Wholehearted

What will you be like on your eighty-fifth birthday?

Some of you can answer that question by looking back on it. Others of you are getting close. Still others of you are nowhere close and in no hurry to get there. None of us, of course, is guaranteed an eighty-fifth birthday. Even when that day arrives, what we will be like is not entirely in our power to control. Genetics and circumstances can work on us in ways we never dreamed of and never invited.

At age eighty-five Caleb was thriving. He looked back over his entire adult life without bitterness or regret. He remembered specifically being a forty-year-old spy for Moses, encouraging his fellow Israelites to trust God and boldly take the land that God had promised to give them. Caleb was ignored. Forty years of wilderness wandering followed.

But we do not find Caleb at eighty-five broken down under the weight of resentments and disappointment. To the contrary, Caleb claimed to be just as vigorous and ready for battle at eighty-five as he has been at forty. Men half his age struggled to keep pace with him.

The question, of course, is how he managed to do this.

How did he weather decade after decade of wilderness meandering without shriveling up in his soul or wearing out in his body? The manna and quail diet that God provided can’t be credited with Caleb’s strength. The best clue we have comes from Caleb himself and the recurring phrase he uses to summarize his life: “I followed the Lord my God wholeheartedly.”

With the passing of years, the greatest threat to faith is not a rejection of belief in God. The real threat is following God halfheartedly.

“Now Give Me This Hill Country”

Our culture loves Caleb because he’s eighty-five and still working out, ready to do battle and climb mountains. That’s impressive. But what is even more remarkable is that Caleb has reached eighty-five and he’s zealous for God, robust in faith, wholehearted in his devotion. He never hit a point in that wilderness journey where he simply started going through the motions, tepid and bored in his walk with God, gritting his teeth and gutting it out. 

Forget the number eighty-five. Take a look at your life right now at whatever number God has allowed you to attain – twenty-seven, fifty-four, seventy-three, whatever. Caleb confronts us with this question: Are we following the Lord wholeheartedly or simply checking the box with an hour at church on Sunday morning?

What is the remedy for a halfhearted walk with God? Begin with honest confession. Tell the truth about your heart.

And then ask God what he has for you, what he wants to do through you. And live expectantly. A key to Caleb’s wholehearted commitment to God was that he lived with the conviction that God wasn’t finished with him, that there was yet something God wanted to do with him and through him.

At eighty-five, vigorous and ready for battle, Caleb claimed God’s promises saying, “Give me this hill country.” What promises are you claiming today? What purposes of God sustain you from day to day? What mountains has God placed before you?

Prayer:

Guard us, O God, from a halfhearted walk with you. Keep us from thoughtlessly going through the motions of worship, work, or relationships. Engage all that we are, the whole heart, and use us for your purposes in this world, we ask in Jesus’s name. Amen.    

As I was with Moses, so I will be with you (Joshua 1:5).

Every death leaves a hole somewhere, in someone.

An empty chair at the table, a vacant place in the bed, one less cup of coffee to be poured every morning, a phone call that no longer needs to be made or will no longer be received.  Absence: invisible and yet as massive as a glacier and every bit as heavy. 

The weight of absence sat heavy upon Joshua’s shoulders, the same shoulders upon which Moses had often placed his hands.  Moses was dead and the people were grieving.  There was no question among them that Joshua was the new leader.  Everyone knew that Joshua would assume the role that had belonged to his beloved mentor.  But who would fill the void?  

It was hard to imagine that Joshua, or anyone for that matter, could occupy the emptiness left by the loss of Moses.   

Moving Out of the Shadow

There had always been Moses.  The plagues unleashed against their Egyptian oppressors, the parting of the sea, the water from the rock and the manna on the ground, the tablets of the Law; Moses spoke with God face to face and then spoke God’s words of instruction to the people.  Every significant moment in recent memory was connected with Moses.  His absence left more than hole.  This loss was more like a canyon.

God spoke into this chasm and the words echoed deep in Joshua’s soul, clear and unmistakable.  “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you.” 

Moses threw a long shadow, but these words of promise forged the conviction that would move Joshua out of the shadow of Moses and into the bright sun that made the shadow.  Behind Moses there was God.  Yes, leadership among the people was changing, but God was not.  God would continue to do through Joshua all that had been done through Moses.

As Then, So Now

In her message at Grace Church this past Sunday, Marnie introduced us to this transitional moment in the biblical story by observing some of the similarities between Moses and Joshua. They were both called by God to lead; they both crossed water miraculously; they both stood on holy ground in God’s presence; they both sent out spies to explore the land.

However, the real point of continuity in the story has little to do with either of these leaders. The thread that holds these stories together is God. What we’re seeing as we move from the “five books of Moses” into the book of Joshua is God at work: God leading, providing, speaking, rebuking, protecting, blessing. What God did once, he will do again. This is the assurance spoken to Joshua. “As with Moses, so with you.”

Transitional moments like the one we read about in the opening chapter of Joshua can be unsettling, disorienting, and even threatening. In such moments, we seem inclined to look back and yearn for days gone by. If only we could go back. If only things could be like they used to be. We’ve already seen how the Israelites pined for Egypt when their freedom took them to a hard place in the desert.  

That’s one of the worst things that can happen to a church or to any person who seeks to truly live by faith. The “going back” makes faith unnecessary. But God speaks a promise to Joshua that we need to hear. What God has done once, he will do again.   

Is there a season in your past that you tend to glorify or idealize? What was it about that time that makes it so special in your mind? Can you look ahead and claim the promise made to Joshua?

What God did then, God will do again.

Prayer:

Almighty God, just as you guided your people through the wilderness with Moses leading the way, guide us in our journey as we seek to follow you and fulfill the calling you have given to us. Remind us daily of the truth spoken to Joshua, that we may live our days with more than memory and story – but with vision and expectancy as you continue to work among us, we pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Then Moses climbed Mount Nebo . . . there the Lord showed him the whole land . . . “I have let you see it with your eyes, but you will not cross over into it.”  And Moses the servant of the Lord died there in Moab, as the Lord had said (Deuteronomy 34: 1, 4-5).

The Hebrew Bible – what we typically call the Old Testament – opens with five books that are known as “the books of Moses.” This week we’ve been looking at the last of those five books, the book of Deuteronomy.

The book of Deuteronomy is Moses’ farewell sermon to the people of Israel. Here at the end of his journey what we learn is this: There’s something more important than getting out of the desert. As hard as the wilderness is, as much as we complain in those long desert seasons, getting out is not the point.

Throughout decades of wilderness wandering there had always been the hope of a promised land. Moses had trudged through the desert clinging to that hope, assuring the disgruntled masses that their journey was going somewhere. Someday they would make their way out of the desert to a land of milk and honey.

God kept the promise – but Moses never saw it fulfilled.

The Pain of Nebo

As the book of Deuteronomy closes, Moses is once again climbing a mountain to meet with God. He climbs the mountain alone, a solitary figure ascending with God, ascending to God. Only this time he will not be returning. He will not make the climb back down to speak God’s words to the people. 

From the top of this mountain God allows Moses to see what the past forty years have aimed at.  Moses is shown what his heart has yearned for, what his mind has dreamed of. Moses is shown what he will not be allowed to have. His eyes see the Promised Land, but he will not enter it.  One impulsive act of disobedience and this is his sentence (Numbers 20:12).     

Except for the death part, some of you know exactly what it’s like to be on Mount Nebo.  You know what it’s like to want something, to plan and dream and work and pray for it – and oh how you’ve prayed – only to have it denied you: A promotion, a family of your own, plans for retirement, a winning season, children who call you occasionally. Sometimes we stand on Mount Nebo and see what will not be. 

The Saddest Ending

But the ending of the Moses story reveals a tragedy far greater than what happens on Mount Nebo. The greater tragedy is what happens down below and in the land that God’s people eventually enter.  God had told Moses, “Once you’ve died and these people enter the land, they’ll start chasing other gods.  They’ll keep repeating their same stubborn faithless mistakes” (Deut. 31:16). And they did. Seems the desert had taught them nothing.

That Moses dies on Mount Nebo without entering the land is a major disappointment, but it isn’t as tragic as it seems. Moses ends his days in God’s tender presence, buried by God. Not so bad, really. What’s truly tragic is the other ending.

Tragedy is getting what you’ve always wanted and then forgetting the God who gave it to you.

Wilderness storms have a way of hitting us with a furnace blast of deprivation. Our lives are parched, and we keep moving forward in the hope that this storm will soon end, that God in his mercy will lead us to that for which we so deeply yearn. But mercy doesn’t always come to us as escape. The mercy of the desert is that we learn what it means to keep company with God. We walk through each barren, scorching day knowing that God guides our steps.

In the end, every wilderness place is about getting more of God. That’s the point. There in the barren stretch, God shapes us into a people who will bless the nations. That was the plan all along. In the end, that’s what living is all about.  In the end, that’s all that matters.     

Prayer:

“Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.  Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.  Teach us to number our days aright that we may gain a heart of wisdom.  May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us.”  Amen (Psalm 90:1-2, 12, 17).