Jesus in the Forest Preserve

My visit to the forest preserve was a kind of pilgrimage. I had not been to Green Valley in over two years. That first time I had come seeking answers for a major decision. This time I had decisions to make, too, but I mainly just wanted to enjoy some time with God in his creation.

Escaping the 90-degree heat, I walked further into the trees than I had gone before (I was prepared this time with bug spray). As I rounded a bend, suddenly I was struck by the thought: I want to meet Jesus here. Not just sense his presence, but see him walking in the forest preserve with me. I paused and swept my gaze through the trees. I longed to encounter Christ in a new way, to be closer to the dear friend I still felt I knew so little.

Then I heard a sound behind me. I glanced back to see a man coming steadily up the path. I didn’t see his face, but immediately I thought, that isn’t Jesus. Jesus wouldn’t be balding or wear a burgundy polo tucked into jeans. As this man passed me another appeared ahead, in a black-and-white-striped shirt. Then a third middle-aged white man passed me. I didn’t make eye contact with any of them. You’re not Jesus, either. I felt a little silly.

But then an even more surprising idea hit me: What if I were Jesus? No, of course I could never claim to be all he is. Yet if I was looking for Jesus on this forest path, maybe the people I passed were looking for him too. Maybe, just maybe, when they looked at me they could see a little glimpse of Jesus. Maybe I would even be one of the few representatives of Jesus they would encounter.

This is a solemn recognition. There is no way I could bear the image of Jesus on my own. I needed, I realized, desperately to remain in Jesus, to be filled and captivated and motivated by him, so I could even begin to represent him to others. I needed to be alert to see and hear and receive from him, however he chose to reveal himself—in creation, in Scripture, in prayer, in the people I encountered. A fresh picture was emerging of my call and purpose.

After this I began to make eye contact with everyone I passed, and to offer some greeting. Who knows what they might be looking for, or what they might see?

Around another bend I paused again, now to watch a chipmunk scurrying through the leaves. I wondered how many humans had actually stopped to attend to, not just glance at, this chipmunk. Still he seemed oblivious to me as long as I stayed quiet. I considered that this animal could live his whole life and never care whether any person listened to him. Yet how many people are crying out daily for someone to pause and attend to them? How many—from those who spill countless words to those who barely open their mouths—are truly listened to as their soul desires?

If I can pay attention to the forest, and even more devote endless hours to considering my own inner discussions, how can I not open myself to listen to and value the people around me? This is a key part of my calling, one precious way I can represent Jesus.

In The Art of Pastoring, pastor David Hansen emphasizes that Christian leaders are to be parables of Jesus. A parable meets people where they are and points to a greater reality. It tells a story about truths others don’t yet know in terms they understand. We cannot show all that Jesus is, and we are not the centerpiece or the goal or the one others should cling to. We are ambassadors for Christ, servants carrying out the will of our Master. And as we focus on him, spend time with him and submit to him, we are transformed into his image. We reflect his glory (2 Corinthians 3:18).

Walking the forest preserve has never led me to all the answers or clarity I crave. Yet it has helped me gain a stronger sense of the purpose I should have wherever I go. I am to abide in my God, so others can see him in me. If my silence, my words, my welcoming gives them some glimpse of Jesus, then I am inhabiting the life to which I am called by love.

Dear Church: Get Desperate (Part 2)

As we look at our unique challenges, North American church, we need to keep in mind challenges facing our sister churches worldwide. Look at Syria: Despite being one of the Middle Eastern countries most closed to Christian influence, in recent years “Protestant churches became more involved in outreach and the traditional churches experienced a revival” (Open Doors, “Future for Syrian Christians Appears Bleak”). Both Syria and Iran, two countries facing the most extreme oppression and persecution, stand out as places where people are seeking to learn about Jesus, read the Bible, and grow spiritually. In Syria and Iran, people are desperate. They are suffering, yet the kingdom is advancing. Leaders are remaining in seemingly hopeless situations to continue caring for their hungry flocks, because they know people need the church.

I don’t want to speculate much on our future, church of America, on how the freedoms we take for granted might be—are being—chipped away. What we need to know is that each of us needs God, needs his Word, needs the gospel, needs the community of God’s people, just as much as someone in Iran or Syria. Each of us should desperately run to God and to his church, and as a body we must desperately seek to participate in the growth of God’s kingdom in our world.

This is not a desperation of hopelessness or recklessness. We must not despair of the future or of the potential for change for the better. Rather, we must despair of finding true hope and answers outside of God and his work. Politics, ethics, education, business, media—these are all parts of God’s good creation and must be engaged redemptively. Yet each system can also fail us and be used against us. We must remember that salvation cannot lie in any human institution. Our only hope, the world’s only hope, is the good news of Christ, and God has entrusted that news to the community of his people, the true church, which is built by God.

We need to remember that we are in a war. Victory has been secured, but still around us people are dying—spiritually, emotionally, physically. Secondary issues, disagreements, and excuses often distract us from the urgency of the mission; as Salvation Army social justice leader Danielle Strickland states, “I’d like to see one hundred percent mobilization, based on giftedness and full on commitment by everyone to the mission field. . . . I think if we were really going into battle . . . we’d stop looking at who’s to the side of us and start looking frontward at the battle, grabbing whoever we’re next to and not caring whether they’re black, white, male or female!” (quoted in Jo Saxton, More Than Enchanting, p. 23).

As my pastor preached recently, each individual should know that the church will be okay without you. But it will be better with you. God’s plan of reconciling all things will be accomplished if we are faithless, North American church. But it will be so much better for each of us if we are faithful. As a whole, and for each member, we need to maintain a vision of mission that is most effective when every part is joined, holding on to one another and looking frontward together.

Please, church, let’s not let each other fall back into complacency or trying to struggle alone. Don’t lose your hopeful desperation. I need you. You are beautiful.

 

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. If you speak, you should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If you serve, you should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen. (1 Peter 4:10-11)

Dear Church: Get Desperate (Part 1)

In the spirit of the new IVP book Letters to a Future Church, I’ve composed a letter to the church in North American. Check out http://www.ivpress.com/promo/letters-to-a-future-church/ for more about this book, videos, and powerful letters from readers.

Dear Church,

I hope you know how beautiful you can be. You are beautiful when you celebrate and serve together, when your members linger after a weekly service—not just as a social group, but because you need each other. Because you long to share the love of God that overflows in each heart, because you hunger for fellowship, because you see how God is manifest beautifully when his people join together.

It hurts me to see when your members flit from one congregation to another, when they show up last minute and leave as soon as possible, when they get momentarily excited but fail to commit. It hurts to see people sit or stand passively through songs and sermons that proclaim the most wonderful, startling truths—what we call the gospel—and then walk away to mundane, individualized lives. As if their life did not depend on this gospel, as if worshiping and learning together were only a nice highlight to the week. I wonder: do today’s generations know how to need the church? How to be the church?

Perhaps as individuals we need a greater desperation to be functioning parts of the body. Perhaps as a body we need greater desperation to join together and to pursue the mission God entrusted to us, seeking his guidance and enabling.

In my own relatively brief life, there have been seasons when I was painfully frustrated and confused. In these times I learned to seek after God desperately—praying, fasting, retreating, seeking counsel from wise friends and leaders. As I struggled with loneliness and insecurity, one woman advised, “Single person, run to the church.” Since I’ve been separated from family and the communities I used to know, my local church has truly become a home, a lifeline. I admit it: I am a mess on my own. I believe that for each of us as one of God’s people, we should be defined by these burning needs and desires: for God, and for his church.

A great challenge, I think, is to continue seeking and hungering even when life seems more secure. How do I, and we as a whole, learn to radically rely on God every moment, whether we think we have things under control or not? Individually, if we do have family, occupation, and comfort sheltering us, do we still run to the church, remembering that we need the body and the body needs us? How do we embrace our weakness, whether we appear put-together or we feel we have nothing to offer, and truly let God’s strength be perfected in us? Is our effectiveness dulled if our desperate seeking wanes?

Smashing Snakes: Hezekiah Becomes King

According to 2 Kings 18, Hezekiah became king of Judah when he was 25 years old. This stands out to me because I will be 25 in a few weeks. Now there’s probably little chance of me becoming king of anything. Regardless, I believe the Bible carefully records stories of past leaders in order to teach readers in every generation about God, his ways and plans, human nature, and life in this world.

 

The record of Judah’s kings pretty consistently alternates between those who did right and those who did evil. Hezekiah’s father, Ahaz, did particularly detestable evil. But of Hezekiah we read, “He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD. . . . There was no one like him among all the kings of Judah, either before him or after him.” Three long chapters of 2 Kings are devoted to Hezekiah, more than to most kings. What made Hezekiah so unique?

 

First, like all the good kings, Hezekiah did “as his father David had done” (18:3). God chose David as the model leader because he was “a man after his own heart” (1 Samuel 13:14). Hezekiah must have heard about his ancestor David and determined to follow his example, holding fast to Yahweh and not ceasing to follow him (18:6). Also, Hezekiah “kept the commands the LORD had given Moses.” He stayed true to the patterns handed down for centuries, trusting that God knew what was best. Unlike his father, Ahaz (see my previous post on altars), Hezekiah did not try to overturn godly traditions and standards to set up his own self-serving system.

 

While he maintained continuity with good from the past, Hezekiah also challenged harmful and wicked traditions. He stands out as the one to finally remove the high places, where the people offered sacrifices to false gods and in conflict with the system of worship God had provided. Even through the reigns of many good kings, like Hezekiah’s grandfather, Jotham, “the high places, however, were not removed.” Somehow Hezekiah had the courage to go against deep-rooted patterns that had been tolerated or supported by leaders and popular opinion for centuries.

 

Even more remarkable, Hezekiah smashed a bronze snake called a Nehushtan. How does smashing a snake mark a good leader? To understand this reference we have to look back to Numbers 21, where God instructed Moses to make the bronze snake to place on a pole because the rebellious Israelites were suffering from real snakebites. In God’s forgiveness, whoever looked at the bronze symbol would survive. Apparently “Nehushtan” was preserved as a reminder of God’s mercy and justice. Yet ironically the people had forgotten the original meaning and had begun treating the snake as an object of worship.

 

As a king who held fast to the Lord and took seriously God’s commands, especially the many clear injunctions against idolatry, Hezekiah recognized when an originally positive entity had become twisted and abused beyond all redeeming value. The bronze snake was tool that served a purpose in its time—and its memory and symbolism would continue to play a part in God’s salvation story (see John 3:14-15). However, in Hezekiah’s time the physical object was no longer used as God had intended. It apparently was not enough to critique this behavior and try to restore the original purpose; it was time for the relic to be demolished.

 

This is just one of many stories that shows how adept humans are at creating idols. Even structures or tools that God has used in the past can be misused and given reverence they were never meant to receive. A good leader, like Hezekiah, knows how to hold on to tradition and godly standards while also confronting patterns that no longer reflect God’s desires and requirements. Hezekiah was not afraid to break down old institutions when they were out of line with the nation’s purpose and identity as God’s chosen people.

 

Even as a new, young ruler, Hezekiah knew when to let go, when to tear down, and when to hold fast. He made mistakes during his 29-year reign, and faced incredible struggles and unbeatable odds. Yet through it all, Hezekiah distinguished himself as one who trusted in Yahweh, the God of Israel. Therefore “the LORD was with him; he was successful in whatever he undertook” (18:7). Hezekiah left a legacy for all generations of what it means to do “right in the eyes of the LORD.”

Holy Saturday

I wrote this post two years ago, but it remains one of my favorites.

When I was growing up, I thought of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter as the three most important holidays of the year. Christmas was a huge event, of course, but basically each of these three involved one special day that spilled over into the week (or weeks) around it. As I got older I gradually understood more about Holy Week, the heart of the Christian calendar. It wasn’t until a few months ago, when I began reading a book called Living the Christian Year, that I discovered that the weekend of Easter is traditionally called the Paschal Triduum.

The Triduum, or three days, cover from the evening of Maundy Thursday to Sunday. They represent the climax of Jesus’ earthly ministry. From Ash Wednesday, through the weeks of Lent, past Palm Sunday, anticipation builds for the dramatic events of Good Friday. But then, after remembering the wondrous agony of the crucifixion, we have one day of silence. After Jesus is taken from the cross and before the stone is rolled from his empty tomb, there is a Sabbath where his body lies in the earth.

For many of us who don’t attend liturgical services, we treat this weekend as any other holiday. We are focused on Easter, preparing for Sunday services and meals, collecting eggs and candy, decorating with flowers and pastels.

Now I don’t think any of these things are bad or harmful. I have always loved Easter because of its correlation with the season of spring, its celebration of new life and beauty. This is a time for joy and hope that is irrepressible and odds-defying. Yet I think we are in danger of cheapening this joy and celebration if we rush past the events that bring us to the need for Easter.

For the first disciples, the Sabbath after crucifixion day must have been the worst day of their lives. Gone was any hope that Jesus would be rescued from agonizing death. After the turmoil and uncertainty of the previous days, they had long hours to think over all their disappointed dreams of a victorious Messiah. Hours to dwell on how, in his darkest moments, they had abandoned and denied their Master. For us the shadows of Friday and Saturday are eclipsed by Sunday’s sunrise, but Scripture seems to indicate that few of Jesus’ loved ones had clear hope that he would rise before the sun.

The value of observing Holy Week is that we are able to relate in some small way with the work of our Savior, and with those who shared his earthly life. Holy Saturday is important because it invites us to descend into the depths of pain and darkness. Like the disciples, we must wait, thinking about unfulfilled hopes and recognizing the sins that have dragged us from following faithfully. Jesus also waited on Saturday, though he knew what was coming. In his wisdom God allowed this day of silence before Christ was revealed victorious. Saturday proves that Jesus had really died and makes the resurrection more dramatic and miraculous.

Even more, I think, we need Holy Saturday because during much of our lives we can identify well with disappointment, loss, waiting, mortality, feeling weak and uncertain of the future. During some seasons we know these realities better than we know glorious triumph, celebration, or clear understanding of how the past and future converge. This Saturday, even as I enjoy life with my family and all the gifts God has given me, I feel weight from the past year, weariness from struggles and perplexity about the future. I see suffering around me, and with all creation I groan, longing for something new.

Easter is a day of triumph and life. But we cannot celebrate unless we recognize that there is a very real bondage of death and sin that all creation, including ourselves, needs to be freed from. In the work of Jesus we find true salvation, true life that never ends, a reality that changes us from the inside out and is changing our world here and now. As we look upon the risen, glorified Christ, we rejoice that he has conquered once for all. But we also realize that the victory and renewal he bought has not been fully consummated. Our bodies, though wondrous in many ways, still grow weary and weary us. Our societies and cultures, the entire creation around us, are still broken and tainted by sin and suffering.

At the resurrection human history entered into a new era, which Christians remember by observing the first day of every week as sacred. Still, in some ways we remain in a period of waiting. We wait for the resurrection of our bodies and the renewal of all creation, for the final consummation of all that Good Friday and Easter represent. Unlike the disciples on that dark Sabbath, we have bright hope for the future and a clear mission for continuing Christ’s redeeming work while we live in him as his body on earth. But we still need hope, because what we long for most remains unseen.

This Easter, I don’t want to leave Jesus on the cross and rush ahead to the happy conclusion. I want to stand at the cross awhile and mourn what my sin has required, what my God was willing to do for me. Then I want to take to my heart the battered body of my Savior, bind it with herbs, and see it laid in the tomb, silent and surrendered. As the stone is rolled in place I realize that because he has taken that bed in the tomb, I will never need to lie there. I contemplate that each of his wounds was received for my healing. I lay down my fears, my failures, my rebellions, hurts, and burdens.

With mere hours before Easter day begins, I remember that in the face of all the pain and darkness in the world and in me, the sun will still rise. Every power of sin and death that I laid at the cross is confined to the grave. With one mighty heave of a stone, we will see that the grave itself is defeated forever. The Savior who emerges in splendor is one who has entered every depth of pain, carried every burden, been stricken with every wound—and risen victorious.

Where Is Your Worship? A Tale of Two Altars

The whole chapter of 2 Kings 16 is devoted to King Ahaz, one of the worst rulers of Judah. Unlike many of David’s descendants, Ahaz decided to follow the examples of the kings next door, in Israel, and of the pagan nations. When Judah was attacked by Israel and Syria, Ahaz appealed not to God but to the king of Assyria, whose power was rapidly expanding.

Of all Ahaz’s failures, the one that gets the most attention in 2 Kings involves two altars. Ahaz had gone up to Damascus to meet his new ally, the king of Assyria, who had just defeated Syria. That was where Ahaz saw it. You would think the pagan altar in Damascus would have become a symbol of weakness, of a religion that was not able to save its adherents spiritually or politically. But something about the Damascus altar intrigued Ahaz. He had to have it for his religious collection.

The story continues downhill as Ahaz sends “detailed plans” of the altar to Uriah the priest in Jerusalem. As Uriah obeys we see that even the spiritual leadership of the nation has become corrupted, or is at least too afraid to stand up to the pluralistic young ruler. Uriah builds a new altar based on the one in Damascus. Enamored with his brainchild, Ahaz not only mandates that all the traditional sacrifices be offered on the new altar, but he moves the old bronze altar, made by Solomon, from its place “before the LORD” and off to the margins.

As I read the story recently, these verses cut me to the heart. Ahaz orders that the resources of the nation, the worship and gifts of the people and of their leaders, be poured out daily on the new structure he has devised. “But,” he continues, “I will use the bronze altar for seeking guidance” (16:15).

Notice, Ahaz didn’t throw out the old bronze altar. He didn’t deny the reality of Yahweh, God of his ancestors. He rearranged the temple court—partly to impress the king of Assyria—and dismantled items that had been used for decades in worship. But Ahaz never abandoned the temple or the sacrifices required by God.

As removed as we are today from Ahaz’s context, the kind of impulse this king gave in to is still very real. The main temptation for most of us who have been taught about God, who have participated in worship and fellowship with his people, is not, I think, to totally reject the faith. Often it is closer to the temptation that Ahaz’s father and grandfather fell under: though overall they “did what was right in the eyes of the LORD,” they never tore down the high places throughout the land that continued to draw people into false worship. It was easy for the people to join the practices of their pagan neighbors, and the leaders of Judah were unwilling to confront the infection head on.

In some ways Ahaz just took the pattern further, totally embracing the ways of those who did not exclusively follow Yahweh. He gave in to another temptation that is common even among God’s people: to push the true God, and true whole-hearted worship of God, to the margins.

How often have we, like Ahaz, poured out our resources, energies, attention, on lesser things? How much do we focus on what our own fantasies devise, on copying the behaviors of those around us, on justifying our actions by comparing ourselves to others who seem better or worse off? At the same time, how easy is it to use God on our own terms?

Like Ahaz with the old altar, we want God to give us guidance when we have specific decisions or requests. We want his blessings and comfort and words to pop out just as we think we need them.

Most Christians have never made a conscious choice, like Ahaz, to push the true God to the side and to construct our own religion. But I have been challenged to honestly look at my life and ask how often I have been off center. How much are my worship and attention truly directed to God, and how much they are feeding my own ideas and desires, or simply following the examples of others?

As we consider what God has done for us in Christ, we should become more and more repulsed and saddened by the possibility of acting like Ahaz. How can we maintain our own high places or carry our offerings to any other, when Jesus has given himself as the perfect sacrifice? How can we set up anything that detracts from God and from pure, unceasing worship on the terms he requires?

God is never our magic 8 ball, to be shuffled to the most convenient place in our schedule and budget and heart. All our devotion, all our abilities, rightly belong to him, day after day. We can only receive the guidance we need when we live worshipful lives centered in him.

Thank God for his mercy and for the ministry of our one High Priest that enables us to live as true worshipers. “How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that led to death, so that we may serve the living God!” (Hebrews 9:14).

Happy Epiphany

I wrote this post for the Taylor University website my senior year of college. As the Christmas season officially draws to a close, we remember all God has given us and look for how the eternal is invading our world this new year.

Today (January 6) is Epiphany, the holiday that celebrates the coming of the Wise Men and that marks the end of the Christmas season. I wish that more Christians observed the traditional church calendar; I love the idea of setting aside specific times for the whole Body to think about particular ways God has acted in history. Though of course the events of the Incarnation and Jesus’ life should be real to us every day and constantly inspire us to worship, reflect, and rejoice. As I’ve been reminded in multiple ways, the message of Christmas is not just for a few over-packed weeks of the year.

I thought it was cool that my assigned reading for today included a chapter about the birth of Jesus, including the Magi and the star. This book pointed out that Christians tend to treat these stories as mythic, surrounding them with layers of idealized tradition.  The symbolic power of the Christmas star is especially popular. But what’s exciting to me is that, like other parts of the story, the star combines imagery and symbolism with historic reality.  There is evidence of major events in the night sky during the time of Jesus’ birth.  Even more, the star connects with a prophecy in Numbers 24:17 made by the pagan Balaam about an international ruler from Israel.  People from a variety of cultures, including the Magi, knew about this prophecy that connected a king with a star.

We talk today about God guiding us to himself, just as the star guided the Magi.  It’s exciting to think that all of us at Taylor were supernaturally led here and will continue to be led as we seek God and the truth. It’s also amazing to think of how God works in particular ways in space and time, using specific people and tools we might not expect. The Incarnation – the whole “Christmas story” – speaks of the union of the supernatural and eternal with the physical and temporal.  On this Epiphany, and throughout the year, I hope we can be continually overwhelmed by the knowledge that something far bigger than us has invaded our individual lives, meeting us where we are and calling us to follow the Light. Let’s keep seeking Him together!

Bringing Our Thanks

This post was written in 2009, but I found it worthwhile to revisit (and only three people have viewed it so far, so I feel justified in reposting). Have a blessed Thanksgiving.

 

I recently discovered a valuable book called Living the Christian Year: An Introduction and Devotional Guide by Bobby Gross (InterVarsity Press, 2009). One of the readings Gross uses for Thanksgiving week is Deuteronomy 26:1-11. This passage contains God’s instructions about firstfruits, an offering sample of everything the Israelites would cultivate once they entered the land of their inheritance. The people were to put the firstfruits in a basket, bring it to the place God chose “as a dwelling for his Name,” present it to the priest at the tabernacle, recite a “creed” of thanksgiving for God’s saving work and finally celebrate with family and with Levites and foreigners who lacked their own bountiful land.

The ancient world of the Torah often sounds strange to me, but I’ve begun to appreciate more how with these laws Yahweh was designing a culture that revolved around the one true God. First at the center of the Israelite camp, then in the tabernacle and temple in the land, was the place of God’s Name or presence, to which the people had to repeatedly return. The constantly rising smoke from the altar reminded them that life and livelihood belonged to God, and that they were sinners depending on God’s forgiveness. Each year as they sweated to break the soil, intently watched the sky for rain and gathered family and neighbors for the harvest, they knew that the first of everything they produced would be presented to the One who had given them the land and had made their work effective.

Another passage for Thanksgiving week in Living the Christian Year is Luke 17:11-19, the story of Jesus healing the ten lepers. I’ve found the connections between this narrative and the Deuteronomy passage compelling. Jesus performs a remarkable saving work for ten men, as they obey him and the law by presenting themselves to the priests at the temple. But only one man, a foreigner no less, goes to the right place to voice his thanks and praise for God. He returns to the one who made the promise and who worked its fulfillment. He joyfully lays himself, his restored life, at the feet of the Jesus—God’s Name dwelling among humankind.

Last Sunday my pastor also used this story. He described how in our neediness we often take the broken pieces of our lives to God, but as soon as he restores us and makes something new we take the result and rush on to continue in our own strength. This is why we need gratitude; we need the reminder of offerings and firstfruits.

Everything I’ve accomplished this year, everything God has produced in and through me, all the healing and redeeming he’s done with the broken pieces of my life—this is what I want to bring back before God. I want to put my life in a basket, to consider carefully all his fulfilled promises and immeasurable blessings. I want to lay it all down, lay down my self—past, present, future—at the feet of my Savior, with songs of remembrance, praise and thanksgiving. As we look ahead soon to the Advent season we contemplate our desperate need for a God who dwells among us and receives as his own all who will humbly come. And we are grateful for the gift of an invitation to give thanks.

Solomon’s Dream: The place for the Name

The story of Solomon’s dream in 1 Kings 3 is one of a kind. In this account God states that there had never been and never would be any human like Solomon. Yet the more I study this brief but rich passage, the more I see that is timeless and relevant far beyond Solomon’s life.

One thing that stood out to me on my latest reading is how the people of Solomon’s day were worshiping God in the high places. Solomon joined with them: he “showed his love for the LORD by walking according to the instructions given him by his father David, except that he offered sacrifices and burned incense on the high places” (3:3).

To understand why this was a problem, we can go back to Deuteronomy 12. There, in the wilderness, God told the Israelites that when they entered the promised land they were to destroy completely all the high places where other nations worshiped their gods. Instead of embracing pagan worship patterns, Israel was “to seek the place the LORD your God will choose from among all your tribes to put his Name there for his dwelling. To that place you must go; there bring your burnt offerings and sacrifices” (Deut 12:5-6).

God wanted a central location where his people could deliberately bring all their required and voluntary offerings. They needed to worship in his way, not anyway or place they pleased. In addition, a single worship site promoted national identity and local community. The place of sacrifice was also the place of celebration. Parents, children, servants, and local religious leaders would all travel to the sanctuary and there feast together “in the presence of the LORD your God . . . and you are to rejoice before the LORD your God in everything you put your hand to” (Deut 12:18). Annual holidays, seasonal changes, economic success, and milestones like the birth of a child or recovery from sickness were marked by visits to the sanctuary.

God wanted preeminence and participation in every aspect of his people’s lives. Now, while under the new covenant we are free to worship anywhere, God’s character and heart remain the same. We must still worship on his terms—which are through Christ, in the Spirit and in truth—and we must still offer our whole lives, rejoicing before him in all we do. And perhaps more than before God calls us to unity and communion throughout his holy people.

Back to Solomon: there’s disagreement over when the book of Deuteronomy was available in its current form. It’s reasonable to think, however, that God’s instructions about one chosen place were in some way part of the decrees and commands “as written in the Law of Moses” that David charged Solomon to keep (1 Kings 2:3).

Why Solomon kept worshiping at the high places is up to speculation. This account specifies that the people went to such places “because a temple had not yet been built for the Name of the LORD” (3:2). Still, David had brought the ark of the covenant to Jerusalem with God’s blessing, and the tent of Yahweh was there or nearby (2:28). Maybe Solomon wasn’t fully aware of God’s instructions, or maybe he wanted to make a good impression on the people by worshiping conspicuously at what was considered the “most important high place.” Perhaps he rationalized his actions by focusing on his generosity and piety in offering a thousand burnt offerings.

What we do know is that Solomon loved the Lord. He showed this love by living out the instructions his father had given, which were to observe what God requires and walk in obedience to him (2:3). He showed his love by seeking God with lavish sacrifices.

And the Lord loved Solomon. When Solomon was born, even though his very existence served as a reminder of his parents’ sins, God sent word through the prophet Jeremiah to name the baby Jedidiah—loved by the LORD (2 Sam 12:24-25). God chose Solomon over all his older brothers to carry the Lord’s blessing and rule his people.

Yahweh showed his love by appearing to Solomon at the high place. God didn’t rebuke Solomon, saying, It’s time for you to start keeping my command to worship where I want. He didn’t say, You’re setting a dangerous precedent for all future kings here (which he was), or even, Go home and build my temple. Instead, God gave the king one of the most remarkable instructions in history—the same kind of invitation Solomon gave his beloved mother, Bathsheba (2:20), and King Xerxes later gave Queen Esther whom he delighted in (Esther 5:2-3).

To this young king, who apparently felt daunted by his duties, who not only had recently lost his father but who had big shoes to fill, God showed his grace and love. “Ask for whatever you want me to give you.” God respected the lonely weight of Solomon’s position, as well as his judgment to make his own request. This to me is a beautiful story of God meeting Solomon where he was, accepting his love and offerings despite his disobedience (willful or ignorant), and generously inviting this young man into his own relationship with the God of his father.

The end of this account could not be more fitting. Solomon awakes and returns to Jerusalem, where he stands before the ark of Yahweh’s covenant and sacrifices burnt offerings and fellowship offerings (3:15). Though we’re not told that God said anything to him about where to worship, after encountering God for himself, Solomon does things God’s way. And he follows the offerings with a perfect way to commemorate God’s gracious gift: he gives a feast for all his court. God-centered, communal, celebratory worship. A wise choice.

No Compromise: Single and grateful

I thank God for my single friends. I’m thankful for the non-single, too—but the unmarried especially encourage me that God’s timing is perfect, and that he wants to use and bless me as I am.

It’s commonly acknowledged that people in our culture are tending to get married later in life. Yet it’s still easy for twenty- and thirty-somethings to look more at the friends who are happily paired, and at the lack of eligible prospects. I think this is even more evident in the church, and particularly if you’re involved in Christian higher education (I’ve started just assuming that people I meet in my grad program are married, or at least attached).

One of my friends talked with me recently about the shortage of prospective Christian men. She said she’d been praying for her future husband, but she felt intimidated that so many other godly female friends were doing the same. Her comment still makes me laugh: “Why can’t they pray for something else for a while? Like a puppy?”

I’m not sure if single Christian men feel the same about their options. But it does seem that mature young people passionate about God—especially men, and especially if they’re focused on ministry—don’t stay single long. True, many are called to be single for at least a season, and yes, I know a number of godly single men I highly respect. Yet there is a reality that the higher your standards, the more limited the field.

Marriage and starting a family are natural desires that can be very God-honoring. Yet women can be easily tempted to place too high a premium there (again, I can’t speak much to men’s experience, so I’ll focus on insight from women I know). When you want something disproportionately, you are more prone to compromise to get it. This shows up in the men we choose and how we act even with “quality” men. Some young women use physical intimacy to attract and hold a man, perhaps going further then they and even their partner initially intended. Some even try to get pregnant or see a baby as a route to relationship, instead of as fruit of an already committed relationship sealed by marriage.

Perhaps even more insidious in Christian circles than physical compromise is that involving personality and the soul. Some women buy into the message that they are meant to please and serve their husbands—without mutuality. They may bury their dreams, gifts, ideas, and passions to support those of a man. Now, I want to affirm the countless strong women who have backed their husbands without seeking the spotlight. People’s callings look different, and submission and sacrifice can be beautiful, rewarding choices. Yet much violence is done to women’s souls when they are told that happiness means simply attaching themselves to a man—especially a man who can think and dream and lead and minister for both of them.

However, women who have a strong sense of purpose, who are independent and driven and embrace their gifts, can, I’m told, be intimidating. Some women stay single because they don’t find many men who can meet them on their own terms without feeling threatened. I know several women who’ve found fulfilling relationships later in life, partly because in their maturity both partners are secure in their own identity.

I have heard arguments, from inside and outside the church, that women sometimes should just tone themselves down. For a school group I was recently asked to find my personality in the Keirsey Temperament Sorter. The website has some interesting articles about temperament and relationships. One suggested that my personality can naturally limit my approachability, so I should work on not being too intense or reserved. There is validity in such suggestions; I think a natural part of growing up, becoming more confident in myself and my identity in Christ, includes becoming more inviting and skilled in relationships. Sometimes each of us has to consciously check aspects of our personality that may not serve us well in certain situations.

At the same time, while a well-balanced personality may be healthy, God doesn’t ask us to deny our wiring. We can make efforts to connect with people better, but in the end our true personality is what those people will have to live with if the relationship continues. Misrepresentation or suppression from the outset leads either to excess conflict down the road, or a lifetime of suppression.

Beyond personality, true companions should know and respect the gifts, goals, and calling of each other. If my intelligence or vision are too intimidating, I would rather stay single my whole life than cover them up. I know we shouldn’t go around advertising all our qualities, or even share our ACT scores on a first date. But a healthy relationship should entail accepting each part of a person as you get to know them better, and not projecting your insecurities on them.

So I’d like to tell my single friends, as well as idealistic singles I don’t know, how much I appreciate you. We need to hold on to God’s best and encourage one another. I won’t even get into the benefits of singleness, which my friend reminded me of tonight, but I believe we are in a good place—if we are trusting God’s will. I’m praying for you, and for sisters and brothers in all relationship statuses, to continue without compromise. And to find whole, affirming relationships in God’s time. And maybe even get a puppy, if you want one.

I want to close with a video a friend recommended. This is a powerful poem that says much more than I can and that God is using to bless—and convict—many people. Enjoy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZuraJpB0OJg&feature=share.