The Two Mountains

I stand in gloom at the edge of the mountain.

It towers above me, ominous, intimidating in its many faces of cold, unbroken stone. Dark clouds ream the mountain’s heights. A storm gathers in all its fury. I tremble at the thought of even taking one step up the mountain. 

This is where God dwells, my soul whispers in awe.

This is where my long journey has taken me. How dare I think that I could climb this mountain!

I am tattered and worn, troubled by the course of this life. All the striving, all the fighting to tear myself in half. Oh how I’ve tried to separate a new spirit from an old flesh! How I’ve tried to be set apart from the filth of my old nature and be wholly different. But here I am, still tangled in the weight of sin.

I am unworthy to climb.

A gust of wind strikes me. It whips dust into my face, and I fall to my knees with a cry. Suddenly the air is twisting and swirling around me. With tears streaming, I catch a glimpse of a mighty whirlwind raging all around me—whistling through the crags of the mountain, stripping away everything but immovable stone. Are those words being formed in the whirlwind? Is it God speaking to me, commanding me to climb? 

But I cannot climb! I will be undone in His terrible might. The stones themselves will tumble down and crush me. I cover my ears. I beg God to make it stop—to have mercy.

The earth quakes beneath my feet, and I am gripped tighter by overwhelming fear. Even stone isn’t unmovable, I realize. There is no sure place for me to find shelter, no rock that is steady. I am a speck in a crumbling world. Who was I to approach glory?

Lightning flashes, again and again. It strikes all around me; it ignites the crumbling landscape with blazing fire. It consumes. I will be consumed, I realize, and it is just. I shut my eyes to the fierceness of the storm, and I tremble there, prostrate and utterly alone. This is my end.

But then the storm is calmed. In an instant, it is stilled. The rock is steady under me. The heat of the fire fades away. The wind is gone, replaced by a cool, gentle breeze. It refreshes me, and suddenly I realize that this is what I was seeking. Is it possible to still see glory? Glory that wasn’t in the whirlwind or earthquake or fire; glory that appears only in the calming of the storm and… a voice. A word coming with the gentle rustle of the breeze. Is it there? This time I strain to hear it.

“What are you doing here?” And the voice whispers my name.

I feel shame at the question; I am still lying prostrate on the ground. There is stillness, a deep quiet, a patience for my answer. I want to say that I am here because I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of Hosts, but all my good works feel so insufficient, a tattered covering over the darkest depths of me. But I don’t want the darkness. I don’t want to leave His presence.

“I want to know you, Lord. Show me your ways, so that I may find favor in your sight.”

I feel His presence, like a hand enveloping me. Is He covering me? And I hear His word again. “Behold, there is a place by Me, and you will stand there on the rock.”

Suddenly my feet are on steady ground—more than steady. I am safe and secure, sheltered in the cleft of the rock. Another breeze rustles my hair and cools my trembling body, but even more so, the words that come with it reach to the deepest part of me, refreshing my soul.

“Take courage, Son, your sins are forgiven.”

Am I on His mountain? I hardly dare to peak over the stone that covers me. But I have courage now, the courage just to know. 

I look out.

I am on a mountain—but it is not the foreboding mountain with all its storms and unapproachable might. This is a new mountain, a perfect mountain, a mountain that shines with light and glory. It is a heavenly city that is unspeakably beautiful and pure. Myriads of angels—beings of reverence and radiance—throng the city. Are they looking on in wonder like I am?  Many multitudes gather around a throne—mankind, earthlings like me. But somehow they stand righteous and perfect before the Judge of All. What is this mystery?

It’s blood, I realize, a sprinkled covering over the multitude that cleanses rather than stains. It’s the blood of my Savior, blood that speaks better than any sacrifice every could. If you are washed by this blood, you can stand forever on this holy mountain. You can enter into rest.

And this is what I trust.

I step forward toward the angels and the assembly and the throne, and my soul soars to join the holy radiance of it all. I have come to the city of the living God, and I can dwell here on this mountain? 

Tears of joy trickle down my face.

“Home,” I whisper.

Running Home: The Amazing Connections Between Galatians 4-6 and Hebrews 12

We’ve all heard the verse: “Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” (Hebrews 12:1) What if I told you, though, that this running was a much more complex, deep thing than we ever could imagine?

What if told you that you could grow weary and lose heart? Would you secretly know what that means?

What if those sins we laid aside still drag along at our ankles, threatening to entangle us and drop us to the dirt? Are you stumbling like I am?

What if our loving Heavenly Father brings us sorrow, what if he scourges us in discipline? Is His hand heavy on you?

All these questions weighed on me this morning as my family talked about Hebrews 12…. And then a few minutes later I read Galatians 4-6 in my own readings. Far from the glitz and ease of modern Christianity, there it was, undeniable and sure: Christian life is hard. Galatians exhorts us to not lose heart and grow weary of doing good. Hebrews assures us we will lose heart and grow weary if we aren’t constantly fixed on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. How is it that getting “burned out” while running for Christ is such a present danger? I thought Christian life was sustained, constant joy!

But no, it is possible to stop running the race well. Paul laments to the Galatians, “You were running well; who hindered you from obeying the truth?” (Galatians 5:7). In context, the “who” are false teachers whose teachings spread like leaven and hindered the walks of the Galatians. And the same false teachers present dangers to our walks as Christians today. More than that, our own flesh hates this race we are running! It makes war with the Spirit inside us in Galatians 5, so that we will no longer walk by the Spirit. If our flesh wins, sin springs up. We are entangled again. We stumble and fall. Again. How many times do we bite the dust before we lose the strength to get back up and keep stepping?

Maybe, then, this sets the context for the discipline of God. How is it that our Heavenly Father scourges those whom He loves, His very children? Isn’t this harsh? Won’t this break us already weary race runners? I am so tempted to say “yes” and ask God to give us a break. Can’t He just be that permissive, “all-is-good” god contemporary western religion paints Him as? But then I am reminded in Hebrews 12 that He disciplines us for our good. He knows what is best for us! This said, make no mistake about it: His discipline will be sorrowful. It will hurt. It will hurt. But afterwards, to those who have been trained by it, it will yield the peaceful fruit of righteousness.

This fruit! Galatians 5 talks about this fruit! The ways Hebrews 12 and Galatians 4-6 intersect are amazing. You probably know what I am getting at: “The fruits of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.” (Gal 5:22-23) Oh how much sweeter these fruits are than the filth of the flesh in all its impurity, sensuality, idolatry, strife, jealousy, carousing, and the like!

Is it worth it, then, to walk in the Spirit? Despite the weary moments? Despite the painful discipline of God? Yes, and amen!

If we keep sowing to the Spirit, not only are these fruits ours, but eternal life is ours as well (Ga 6:8-9). At the end of our long, perilous journey, we won’t be led to blazing fire, to darkness or gloom or a whirlwind! We will run to “Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to myriads of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the Judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood, which speaks better than the blood of Abel.” (Hebrews 12:22-24)

That destination sounds so worth it to me. Doesn’t it to you? Are you ready to make a sacrifice . . . even if it is a personal sacrifice? Here are the nails, and here is the hammer, and here is your flesh that needs to be crucified. This is how we resist to the point of “shedding blood” in our striving against sin. Once we have laid our flesh aside—left it there hanging on a cross—we can start running. But our flesh isn’t there for good…. It will follow. Perhaps that is why we carry our cross…. So we can keep crucifying our old self!

Keep running, despite our flesh’s dogged pursuit. Walk by the Spirit. Be trained by the wise discipline of God. Help bear the burdens of those running with you, but you must bear your own burden as well. Run with endurance. Strengthen the hands that are weak and the knees that are feeble, and make straight paths for your feet. Do good to everyone, especially those of the household of faith. Serve one another through love. Don’t grow weary; we will have our reward.

Above all else, fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of your faith. He is the one we are running toward.

And we will be home soon.

Reckless Love

Jesus’s love really is reckless for us.

He emptied Himself and took the form of a lowly bondservant so he could live among us. He suffered the agony of separation from the Father to take our sins upon Himself. He loved us, even while we were yet sinners! And He demonstrated this profoundly by giving His life for us—dying the agonizing, tortured death of a common criminal—simply so we could be His.

Yes, this is reckless love.

We’ve all heard the song that swept across every Christian radio station (again and again) last summer… Cory Asbury’s “Reckless Love.” I heard it and loved it enough to get it on my I-pod, which is a really rare thing for me to do. I wasn’t prepared for the backlash some in evangelical circles had to Christ’s love being pictured as “reckless.” Reckless made sense to me!! Sure, from God’s eternal, sovereign perspective, Jesus’s love was planned and far from a romantic impulse, and since we get glimpses of God’s sovereign perspective in His Word, I can understand why some Christians baulk at calling God’s love reckless. But from a strictly human perspective, it is reckless that God would give His only Son. It’s the picture of Abraham placing his only son Isaac on the alter and raising a knife to sacrifice him. Why do our hearts squirm at that picture? Is it because Abraham’s love for God and acceptance of His will was safe and easy? Surely not!

You know another reason why I believe in reckless love?

 It’s because we, as Christ followers, are called to the same.

Just like how our Savior’s love “chases me down, fights till I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine,” we too are called to humbly empty ourselves and give our all to see more people become children of God. We are to “have this attitude in yourselves that was also in Christ Jesus,” as Philippians 2 says—that attitude of becoming bondservants to seek the interests of others.

 We are bondservants, but even beyond that self-sacrificing picture, we are also pictured as sheep. And Jesus promises that He is sending us out as “sheep among wolves.” (Mat 10:16) The results? The blood of countless brothers and sisters stains the ground so that more sinners could be saved. Again, from a human perspective, this is reckless! Going to the darkest corner of Ecuador to share the Gospel at the tip of the spear is reckless. Refusing to recant your faith in the face of torture and a brutal death in the Coliseum is reckless.  Seeking to live among cannibalistic tribes in Papua New Guinea so that they might hear about Jesus, the Peace Child, is reckless. Smuggling bibles into the Soviet Union under the threat of torture and death is reckless. Check out the hall of faith in Hebrews 11, especially Hebrews 11:32-40. The greatest lovers of God, our heroes of the faith, were tortured, stoned, sawn in two, thrown to the lions, put to the edge of the sword . . .

It’s undeniable. As Christians, our love to God and our neighbors (and even our enemies!) is a very reckless thing.

So the next time you sing “Reckless Love,” let it comfort you that God really does love you so abundantly and fervently! But let it also motivate you to love the world in the same way. The Gospel never stops with just “I” . . . Jesus died for you, but he didn’t die just for you. We need to resist the pervasive theme of “me” in modern worship songs, and remember that it is the world God so loved! And we are commissioned to reach that world…. whatever the cost. Let’s not be ashamed of the Gospel, but boldly declare it. Let’s turn the other cheek, give the very shirt off our back, and go the extra mile to reach our enemies. Let’s follow our Lord’s example and love not our own lives even unto death.

Let’s love recklessly.