I will be spending the next two days (today and tomorrow, Dec. 14/15) on a prayer and planning retreat as I look toward leading Creekstone into 2012. Pray for me if you think about it—not only that I would be given a clear vision for the ministry and receive wisdom for leadership, but also (and primarily) that I personally would come alive to the wonder of the gospel like never before. I hope to share some of the fruit from this time in the coming week.
Paul Miller, in his book, A Praying Life, says something that rings true in my experience. He describes the disconnect that takes place when my heart gets out of tune with God. He says, "I continue to perform and say Christian things, but they are just words." That is the place of revival. Running on empty. Living an "externally religious" life. What do I need in that season? Simply confess my the icyness of my affections and know the heart of God, whose love and grace expressed in the cross will begin to melt my cold heart. It may hit all at once or take place over time... but the music of the gospel will melt the ice and warm my heart. At that point, my faith is not just words. Rather, it hears the music, dances and sings.
Paul Miller, in A Praying Life, writes:
"Power in prayer comes from being in touch with [my] weakness. To teach us how to pray, Jesus told stories of weak people who knew they couldn't do life on their own. The persistent widow and the friend at midnight get access, not because they are strong, but because they are desperate."
If you are wondering how you can pray for Creekstone over the next few weeks, here are some suggestions:
A team of students and staff from Campus Outreach will be serving in South Africa doing campus ministry from this Wednesday through early July. Please pray for traveling mercies, a fruitful time sharing the wonders of the gospel and for a deep work of the Spirit to take place in their lives. Click on the photo for a larger view.
Could it be, that we have come to see the essence of the Christian life as "following Christian principles," rather than prayer (relationship, communion, dependency)? So, except where Christian principles conflict with worldly principles, there is little difference in the way a believer and nonbeliever lives: both function as independents/adultlikes/self-confidents/self-reliants/judges, not asking about everything, and not thanking for everything, but assuming or willfully doing. If a believer is not living and working out of communion with Jesus, as a Jesus-dependent, s/he operates by the same human power as a nonbeliever: wise in our own eyes, leaning on our own understanding. Because there is so little of Jesus in us, so little of His power, there is little to wow, compel, the nonbelievers around us. We are boring believers, offering nothing to nonbelievers except the promise of Heaven.
I don't think the early believers lived like we live today. How can we change, and have a contagious Jesus-dependency like they had? Impossible. We are powerless to change ourselves. But... we can ask to be changed. Whatever it takes, Lord, to get us from where we are to where we need to be to see nonbelievers coming to You like they did in the early Church. Take our health and our wealth and our careers and do with them, whatever it takes, to get us to the kind of Jesus-dependency that will wow, compel, and bring glory to You.
This is an excerpt from my book of exegetical prayers, The Bronze Serpent, which is being revised for publication.
“Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” 1 Peter 5:5b
My God and my King, how beautiful is humility. How glorious is the scene of my Savior emptying himself of divine rights and privileges, taking on flesh and sacrificing himself as a substitute for sinners like me on a cross. It is the ultimate expression of humility. The conscious, volitional, purposeful lowering of himself to serve and bless. To wash dirty feet. To hang and bleed. To suffer and save.
Humility is beautiful and glorious. But it is also powerful. When my mind and heart begin to absorb the implications of the price of my redemption, my knees give way and my hands rise in worship. Jesus, the humility you displayed in my salvation motivates me with a deep, spiritual urge to experience the emptying of self for the sake of another.
And yet, like putting on a shirt that is way too small and that I cannot pull over my head, humility does not seem to fit my heart. Father, I realize that it is because my flesh is so big-headed and proud. Even my insecurities are, at the root, expressions of pridefulness. Wanting to be someone and having a name. Desiring the praise of men. Demanding my rights. Gossiping out of jealousy. Scheming a way to get noticed and recognized. Worrying about what people think about me.
Abba, my proud heart repulses me—especially the insecurities. I can identify with Paul when he cried out, “Who will save me from this body of death?” And then, as if pulling all of his mental faculties together and grasping for one last theological straw, he finds the cross. “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord… there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus!” That is what I need. Yes, apart from Jesus and the sweet aroma of the gospel, I am a stinking corpse. But you have delivered me from myself. In the gospel you have declared me to legally righteous and personally loved.
Yes, grace flows downhill. You give grace to the humble. To those who know they are proud and hate it. To those who know they don’t measure up and in their weakness cry out for mercy. Grace is given to the publican who looks for a substitute, not the pharisee who is pleased with himself. As David experienced in his own brokenness, “A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”
So let me wear the robe of humility. Shape my heart so that it will fit and that I will gladly adorn a lesser concern for self and ever increasing delight in the cross. Teach me to wash feet. How to love and forgive and listen. Teach me how to die so that I might live.
As I die to self-righteousness and self-importance and self-concern, will you show me my heart, that I may be humbled. But as you humble me by revealing my sin and need, will you give me the faith to look to Jesus and to believe that he is the propitiation for my sins. There is no more justice to serve. No more wrath to endure. The price is paid. Grace flows downhill. Oh, may I remember this!
I want to remember today that I can't change or fix anyone. And neither can anyone change or fix me. That is the role of the Holy Spirit alone. But I can pray. I can ask. In my weakness, I can go to the Father, my strong Abba. He is able to do "immeasurably more than all I can ask or imagine" (Ephesians 3:20). When I look at myself, I realize that change in my life most definitely will require supernatural intervention. Yet, I need to remember that my desire for change is not that I will be accepted and forgiven if I change, but that because in Jesus I have already been accepted and forgiven before any change ever takes place. "So, in light of the gospel, change me, Father. By the power of your Spirit indwelling me, enable me see my sin for what it is. Enable me to savor your grace. And enable me to love well."
