“The way of the Christian leader is not the way of upward mobility in which our world has invested so much, but the way of downward mobility ending on the cross.” —Henri J.M. Nouwen, In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership A couple of weeks ago, an international cadet at the US Air Force Academy dropped by my home for dinner. (The second-highest ranking cadet at the Academy—no mean feat for a non-American student—this cadet is a natural leader whose Christian faith shines bright and clear among his fellow cadets.) Our meandering dinner chitchat landed on the response of John the Baptist to Jesus’s rising public prominence, ostensibly at John’s expense:
“No one can receive anything unless God gives it from heaven. You yourselves know how plainly I told you, ‘I am not the Messiah. I am only here to prepare the way for him.’ It is the bridegroom who marries the bride, and the bridegroom’s friend is simply glad to stand with him and hear his vows. Therefore, I am filled with joy at his success. He must become greater and greater, and I must become less and less” (John 3:27-30, NLT). Jesus must increase and he, John, decrease. The friend of the bridegroom may enjoy the limelight for a while; Jesus would later refer to John as a lamp that burned and gave light, which the people got to enjoy (John 5:35). But John also knew to step back when the time came; he willingly receded into the background and resisted competing with Jesus for attention, for our God does not share His glory with another (Isaiah 42:8). John’s evident sense of his God-given assignment and of its proper conclusion, I think, is the only reason why John could truly say that his joy at hearing the bridegroom’s voice was not only full but, indeed, complete. If John’s story had stopped there, it would have been the perfect ending! But as we know, John later harbored doubts and even sent his disciples to inquire of Jesus as to whether He was the Messiah (Matthew 11:2-3). Indeed, did John at all foresee that the “decrease” of which he spoke in John 3:30 would come to mean languishing in prison until being executed on a whim with his head delivered on a platter (Matthew 14:1-12)? For some of God’s servants, the completion of their assigned ministry doesn’t necessarily end with them riding off peacefully into the sunset. John may have envisaged that his exit from public ministry involved retiring in obscurity to some backwoods in the Judean wilderness. Yet there was no such luxury for John. The obvious answer is this: John’s “decrease” wasn’t an end to his God-given ministry as such, but it was very much part of his calling! Putting it that way may sound odd, especially since nothing seemingly “positive” about it is mentioned in Scripture. There is no mention, for instance, that John’s fellow prisoners came to faith in Christ thanks to John’s witness (not that that could not have happened). Basically, there was nothing concrete to justify the abrupt and unceremonious end to John’s life on earth. It all just seems so unfair! Amazingly, it was also at this conceivably lowest point of John’s time that Jesus chose to praise him (Matthew 11:11). With Easter just around the corner, Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice at Calvary for us all is foremost in my thoughts. The Son of God’s very purpose—as “a man of sorrows well acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3)—was to steadily work his way, in complete humility and unquestioned submission to His Father’s will, to a gruesome death by crucifixion atop a hill outside the city walls of Jerusalem. Indeed, as Oswald Chambers wrote in his celebrated devotional My Utmost for His Highest, “The Cross did not happen to Jesus: He came on purpose for it.” I’ve been following the harrowing story of a Nigerian pastor and ISI returnee. Many members of his congregation were victims of the Christmas 2023 massacre caused by suspected Fulani Muslim militants. He and his family continue to endure death threats. Forced out of their homes and villages, he and his parishioners struggle daily to meet basic needs—food, clothing, and shelter. This pastor and his congregants know a thing or two about the path of downward mobility ending on the cross. I don’t particularly like the idea of suffering…let alone actually going through with it! Yet God commends those who suffer for doing good and who endure it, because it is to this that we have been called by God—and there’s no better example here than the Lord Jesus Himself, who suffered for your sake and mine (1 Peter 2:20-21). The author of Hebrews adds that Jesus’ time on earth was marked by sorrow, pain, and tears as He offered up priestly prayers to God, but it was also through such suffering that Jesus learned trust and obedience and thereby fulfilled His destiny as the source of eternal salvation to all who believe in Him (Hebrews 5:7-10). Friends, let us persevere on our way of downward mobility—not just any path, but the one Jesus took for our sakes. Let’s resolutely keep our eyes on Jesus, for in Him only there’s life to the full!
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As a child growing up in Singapore, I always loved it when my parents took my siblings and I on road trips to next door Malaysia. Singapore’s a tiny city-state so small, any road trip that doesn’t end in the ocean after driving 30 minutes in any direction—that’s a good deal! Maybe that’s why I love reading about Abraham and Sarah in the book of Genesis because their story is basically one long road trip that took them from their home in Mesopotamia to Canaan, and while in Canaan they moved from place to place. But what’s truly captivating about this couple was their lifelong devotion and obedience to God. In Genesis 12, God tells Abraham to leave his country and go to the land God will show him. And God promises to bless him and all the peoples on earth will be blessed through him.
Fast forward to Genesis 17, where we encounter Abraham as a 99-year-old man. He has remained faithful and obedient to God for decades, but it is at this point where God’s greater purpose for His servant is fleshed out in the covenant God has established with Abraham. That said, Abraham wouldn’t exactly serve as a solid example of a successful “reproducer”—aka a consistently active disciple-maker, per ISI lingo—would he? Think about it: in Genesis 13, Abraham’s first “disciple,” his nephew Lot, “disses” his uncle and aunt by choosing the prime land (the fertile plain of the Jordan) and leaving them with the inferior parts—which, in an honor/shame context, is inappropriate, since the land was promised by God to Abraham, not to Lot (Genesis 12:7). Worse, the community and people Lot was supposedly ministering to, Sodom, end up being destroyed by God (Genesis 19)! (Granted, in 2 Peter 2:7, Lot is described as a “righteous man” who was rescued by God, so it seems he turned out OK!) Or what about Abraham’s own son, Ishmael, who was forced out of his father’s home by a vengeful Sarah (Genesis 21)? Let’s just say, Abraham didn’t exactly possess a track record to boast about! But there’s a good end to all this because it was also through Abraham and Sarah that God brought and raised up His child of promise, Isaac, whose birth was the result of the faithfulness of a promise-keeping God! And to what end was this child of promise meant to bring about? That all the peoples on earth will be blessed through Abraham. There are 3 things in Genesis 17 we ought to take note of that, I believe, are key to God’s covenant with Abraham. Firstly, there’s a Promise given by God to Abraham (and Sarah). Secondly, there’s a Part that Abraham had to play in response to God’s promise. Thirdly, there’s a Perspective, a Point of View, that Abraham had to adopt in his faith journey with God. And I want to suggest that Abraham’s encounter and experience with God in this regard can be—indeed, it needs to be—ours as well, because, as Paul writes in Galatians 3:29, “If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” Let’s begin with PROMISE. God tells Abraham in Genesis 17:4-6: “…this is my covenant with you: You will be the father of many nations. No longer will you be called Abram [‘exalted father’]; your name will be Abraham [‘father of nations’, ‘father of multitudes’], for I have made you a father of many nations. I will make you very fruitful; I will make nations of you, and kings will come from you.” A little way down in verse 15, God extends his covenant coverage to include Sarah, who will be the mother of nations and kings (Genesis 17:15-16). Father and/or mother of many nations from which kings and leaders will come? Wow! Do we realize that this is as much our calling and mine as it was for Abraham and Sarah since we’re spiritual heirs of Abraham? Granted, unlike Abraham and Sarah, we do not literally birth nations into being, but in making disciples of all nations (as Jesus commands us in Matthew 28:19), we participate in the care and nurture of spiritual children, whether in our home countries or wherever God has led us to. In other words, do we see ourselves as father or mother of many nations? I have the distinct privilege of working in ISI, where, for the past 70 years, colleagues past and present have invested and are investing in the lives of countless international students, the best and brightest of their nations, from all over the world. Many of them have led hundreds of students to Christ! They are not just fathers and mothers of many nations; they are grandparents and great-grandparents because their spiritual children have gone on to father and mother many spiritual children of their own. Few of us, me included, are like ISI’s super missionaries! Come to think of it, Abraham and Sarah also did not directly evangelize and disciple hundreds, let alone thousands. But they faithfully bore and raised one disciple—their child Isaac—and it was through Isaac’s descendants that Abraham and Sarah got to be the father and mother of many nations. Who might your Isaac (or Isaacs) be, through whom God will bear much fruit for His sake and glory? Secondly, God’s covenant with Abraham includes a PART which Abraham is expected to play in response to God’s Promise. We read in Genesis 17:9-11: “Then God said to Abraham, ‘As for you, you must keep my covenant, you and your descendants after you for the generations to come. This is my covenant with you and your descendants after you, the covenant you are to keep: Every male among you shall be circumcised. You are to undergo circumcision, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and you.’” Circumcision of the flesh was to serve as the outward sign of the Abrahamic covenant. Today, circumcision continues to be practiced by some communities, but it’s not a requirement within the Church. Instead, you and I are called to a circumcision of the heart. As early as Deuteronomy 30:6, we find this reasoning from Moses, “The LORD your God will circumcise your hearts and the hearts of your descendants, so that you may love him with all your heart and with all your soul, and live.” And in Romans 2:29, Paul makes this point, “a person is a Jew who is one inwardly; and circumcision is circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code. Such a person’s praise is not from other people, but from God.” Just like it was for Abraham, you and I are called to confirm our part of our covenant with God through living a life worthy of the calling we’ve received (Ephesians 4:1), by offering our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God as our true and proper worship (Romans 12:1). But like Abraham, we do this not to earn our way into Heaven—we would never succeed no matter how hard we tried—for our righteousness comes through believing God (Genesis 15:6). This is crucially important because there were Jews in Jesus’ time who called Abraham their father but practiced a superficial religiosity; they failed to recognize Jesus as the incarnate Son of God, and they did everything they could to have him killed (John 8:31-47). Their circumcision was of the outward flesh but not of the inner heart. In Galatians 4:29, Paul, using Abraham’s sons Ishmael and Isaac as examples, distinguished between the son born of carnal flesh (Ishmael) and the son born by the power of the Holy Spirit (Isaac) and insisted that those who are in Christ are the children of promise, just like Isaac was (Galatians 4:28). Why is this point so critical? Because, friends, if we are called to be fathers and mothers of many nations, there’s a risk that the children we bear may not be Isaacs, but rather Ishmaels! We tend to reproduce after ourselves. If children are often chips of the old block, then those old blocks jolly well be true children of Abraham themselves, men and women who wholeheartedly follow Christ, rather than counterfeits who profess Christ only with their lips but not with their lives. It matters because we want our “kids”—those we disciple and support—to take after Christ! Thirdly, a circumcised heart in response to God and His word extends and enlarges our PERSPECTIVE from a carnal or worldly one to a heavenly one. It’s interesting how, right after God laid out the terms of the covenant to Abraham, Abraham’s first response—while face-down in worship—was to laugh and say to himself, “Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?” (Genesis 17:17). And it’s with this doubt, based on worldly commonsense, that Abraham then says to God, “If only Ishmael might live under your blessing!” (Genesis 17:18). Do we see what just happened here? Abraham, still very much the man of faith but one worn down and ground down by life, and knowing it is physically and humanly impossible for him and Sarah to bear children because of their advanced age, responds accordingly. Faced with a promise from God that seems too good to be true and too farfetched to be possible, we end up, instead, looking at what we already have on hand—our Ishmaels—and, full of worldly wisdom and experience, we shake our heads at how ridiculous God can sometimes sound, and we think, “C’mon, God, let’s get real, this is about as good as it gets. Just bless what I already have and that should do it.” But God had different ideas! We read in Genesis 17:19: “Then God said, ‘Yes, but your wife Sarah will bear you a son, and you will call him Isaac. I will establish my covenant with him as an everlasting covenant for his descendants after him.” And so, despite all that life has thrown at them and advanced in years as they were, Abraham and Sarah had to brush aside their doubts and call to mind the goodness and greatness of God. The author of Lamentations puts it this way: “I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness, and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’ The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD” (Lamentations 3:19-26). Despite all the “signs and evidence” around us that scream, “This is as good as it gets!”, we are to recall, literally to dredge up, memories of God’s faithfulness to us in the past, to fuel our hope in Christ and His promises to us, which are always yes and amen (2 Corinthians 1:20). And that’s precisely what Abraham did, what he had to do. As Romans 4:18-22 puts it, “Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, ‘So shall your offspring be.’ Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah’s womb was also dead. Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised. This is why ‘it was credited to him as righteousness.’” Abraham had to reorient his perspective from its narrow worldly confines to the wide expanse of God’s perspective. And I think that’s why, in Genesis 15:5, God takes Abraham from his tent outside so that Abraham can gaze at God’s “tent”—the wide expanse of night sky in all its starlit brilliance. And God tells Abraham, “Look up at the sky and count the stars—if indeed you can count them … So shall your offspring be.” And it is at that point, when Abraham exchanges his myopic perspective with God’s mind-blowing perspective—not unlike us exchanging our heavy yokes with Jesus’ yoke, which is easy and light (Matthew 11:29-30)—and that’s the point where Abraham believed the LORD, and his belief was credited it to him by God as righteousness (Genesis 15:6). Is there a promise God has given you that seems so radical and impossible that you’re tempted—not necessarily to give up—but to put up natural limits to His promise and to say to God, “Here’s my Ishmael, please bless this instead”? Know that you’re not alone, for Abraham’s been there as well. But just as God invited Abraham to enlarge his perspective, so too God invites us to step beyond our narrow vision and horizon into His wide and far-ranging vistas that stretch way farther than our natural eyes can see. Grant us vision and revelation, O God, and the courage and strength to walk in them! Enable us to go from our Ishmaels to realizing the Isaacs You’ve promised us! Friends, I believe our Heavenly Father is calling for us to father and mother the next generation. But God being God, it isn’t enough for us just to do that within our own families, circles, and communities; He wants us to be the fathers and mothers of many nations, just as Jesus commands us to go and make disciples of all nations. That’s God’s Promise to us, as it was for Abraham and Sarah. We have our Part to play, as well as a God-Perspective to adopt: to be “moms” and “dads” with circumcised hearts so that we will produce not Ishmaels but Isaacs, children born not of the flesh but of the Holy Spirit. Let’s continue the good work of helping the next generation of young men and women in our circles of influence to take up the mantle of Christian service throughout the four corners of the world. Since setting up home in the States, my family and I have enthusiastically adopted the American tradition of doing cookouts in our backyard—more so now with international (and American) cadets from the US Air Force Academy descending on our home most weekends. And boy, these cadets can really eat!
I’m reminded of two big “cookouts” the Lord and His disciples held for the multitudes who’d gathered to hear Jesus preach on two different occasions. The first time in Matthew 14:13-21, where Jesus, with an investment of just five fish and two loaves, fed a crowd of five thousand (not including women and children), after which the disciples collected twelve baskets of leftovers. This remarkable feat was followed by a second picnic in Matthew 15:34-28, where our Lord fed four thousand (again, not including women and children) with seven loaves and a few small fish. I want to point out four things from these two impromptu and quite extraordinary events. Firstly, notice that whenever Jesus happens to be, the Mundane becomes the Miraculous! Jesus performs mind-blowing miracles using simple and ordinary things at His disposal. “How much bread do you have?” Jesus asked His disciples (Matthew 15:34). At the feeding of the five thousand, some kid’s school lunch became a miracle that fed thousands. “What’s that in your hand?” God asked Moses (Exodus 4:2), and a well-worn shepherd’s staff turned into a symbol of God’s awesome power over the elements as well as the dark arts of Pharoah’s magicians. It isn’t what others have—to wish for that is to covet, and God commands us against covetousness (Exodus 20:17)—but what has God given to us? David intuitively understood this. Rather than accept Saul’s armor and weapons, which he wasn’t accustomed to, David went with what he had—his staff, sling, and stones—against a battle-hardened armored giant with sword, spear, and javelin (1 Samuel 17). To paraphrase a line from that great chanteuse/poet/philosopher, Taylor Swift, David brought a knife to a gunfight. For David, the simple tools he had on hand and his skill with them, when placed fully in God’s hands, turned the mundane into the miraculous! Secondly, when God is with us, what is Minute becomes Many! From the little the disciples had—a few loaves and some fish—Jesus super-duper-sized them and fed thousands, with leftovers to spare! Years ago, in a decrepit Karen village in the conflict-prone border between Myanmar and Thailand, my church buddies and I were handing out care packs we’d brought to Karen children. That long snaking line of children quickly grew to more than twice, possibly triple, the number of packs we had with us. Unbeknownst to us, word had gotten out that we were coming and kids from neighboring villages, some hiking for hours over mountain trails, had made their way to this village. Like the disciples, our initial reaction was “Uh-oh, we don’t have enough for everyone!” And yet, as we lifted prayers heavenward and dished out care packs to the eager children crowding round us, everyone got something. Miraculously, God increased the number of packs as we were handing them out. Thirdly, when we MINISTER for God, He often turns it into a MISSIONARY endeavor! The God we worship and serve is a Missional God. Ever wondered why the need in Scripture for two cookouts? Isn’t one enough? In the feeding of the five thousand, the word for the baskets which the disciples used, kophinos, (in the original Greek text of the New Testament) refers to a wicker basket used by Jews. But in the feeding of the four thousand, the word used for “basket” is spyris, a large reed basket commonly used by Gentile merchants to transport their merchandise. What this implies is that the five thousand were predominantly a Jewish audience, whereas the four thousand were likely Gentiles. God isn’t interested in merely saving the people of Israel. Rather, His goal has always been to seek and save the lost, both Jew and Gentile, both the churched and the unchurched. Fourthly, when we go on MISSION with God, He supplies the MANNA! On the first occasion, after the people had eaten, the disciples collected twelve baskets of leftovers. On the second occasion, they collected seven baskets. What this suggests—as I found out in that Karen village decades ago and on many other occasions since—is that when we do God’s work in faith, God’s provides us more than is needed! As China Inland Mission founder Hudson Taylor famously said, “God's work done in God's way will never lack God’s supply.” “Way Maker, Miracle Worker, Promise Keeper, Light in the Darkness; my God, that is who You are!” At our recently concluded National Conference held in Singapore (…and what a blessed, fun time that was!) our guest speakers shared some incredible and memorable reflections. I was especially struck by the key takeaway from the meditation by Joseph Chean, who spoke at our conference’s closing session. Joe’s point, and what a sober one, was this: It is entirely possible for God’s people to succeed in their God-given ministry and mission with God’s help--but without His Presence.
Referencing God’s conversation with Moses (Ex. 33) following Israel’s golden calf incident (see Ex. 32), Joe drew our attention to God’s ominous words: “Then the LORD said to Moses, ‘Leave this place, you and the people you brought up out of Egypt, and go up to the land I promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, saying, “I will give it to your descendants.” I will send an angel before you and drive out the Canaanites, Amorites, Hittites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites. Go up to the land flowing with milk and honey. But I will not go with you, because you are a stiff-necked people and I might destroy you on the way’” (Ex. 33:1-3). In this passage, God essentially told Moses and Israel that He would provide an angel to lead and to clear the way for them to the Promised Land; in other words, God would help them fulfill their mission and reach their promised destination. But God Himself would NOT be joining them, because they were a rebellious bunch, and He might end up destroying them on the way. Having been a Christ-follower for over 40 years, I have—presumptuously, I confess—come to regard God’s Presence with His people as given. After all, did Jesus not tell His disciples when He commissioned and sent them forth, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Mt. 28:20, NIV)? Indeed, in response to God’s shocking decision to not accompany Israel, Moses subsequently urged and reminded God, “‘If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here. How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and with your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?’” (Ex. 33:15-16). Ultimately, isn’t the very success of the ministry and work to which God has assigned us dependent on His Presence going with us? Apparently not! Since all things are possible with God, as Jesus reminded His disciples (Mk. 10:27), God can certainly enable us to succeed in ministry without His Presence with us. But if God’s Presence isn’t needed for us to get the job done, then why did Jesus promise He will be with us always? Why did Moses insist on God’s Presence going with him and Israel, without which Moses would rather not proceed? Because, as you and I know, it’s all about relationship —that between God and us, and we with Him! And yet so many times, have I unwittingly allowed Christian ministry and service to supplant my relationship with Christ in whose Name, and to and for whom, I minister and serve. Jesus issued a somber warning in Matthew 7: “‘Not everyone who says to me, “Lord, Lord,” will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and in your name drive out demons and in your name perform many miracles?” Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!’” (v. 21-23). It seems that not all folks who enjoy great ministry success on earth make it into the Kingdom of God. With God’s help, they might even have accomplished great things for Him. But they did not do the Father’s will: looking to the Son of God, believing in Him, and having a relationship with Him (Jn 6:40). Family, may we never put our ministry and mission—crucially important as they are—before our relationship with Christ our Lord! “If you have raced with men on foot and they have worn you out, how can you compete with horses? If you stumble in safe country, how will you manage in the thickets by the Jordan?” (Jer. 12:5, NIV).
Do we “wait well” in challenging times? Resilience in life and ministry is a real concern today. Clearly, the Church hasn’t been immune to the pandemic-fueled “Great Resignation,” with over 40% of pastors considering quitting their ministries as a result of stress, isolation, and political divisiveness (https://www.barna.com/research/pastors-quitting-ministry/). To be sure, we believe in our calling and are committed to completing our God-given assignments. But to keep fighting the good fight hasn’t been easy! We are committed to following Christ, but many of us are suffering, whether physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. Like David…like Jesus…we cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” To lament is to be human; indeed, a third of the Book of the Psalms comprises laments. But as we find with the Israelites in their post-Egypt trek in the wilderness, where they endlessly griped about everything, what might begin legitimately as lament could just as easily turn into unwarranted complaint. Lament clearly has its place. Complaint, on the other hand, is potentially a slippery slope that leads us to dark places where the temptation to quit—not just full-time ministry but perhaps even the Christian life—could prove overpowering. The prophet Jeremiah did not have it easy in ministry. He was beaten and put in stocks, threatened with death, tossed into a mud-filled hole, branded a liar, and forced by rebellious Jewish military officers to go with them to Egypt in contravention of God’s orders (Jer. 20:1-2, 26:11, 38:6, 43:2-7). When the going got especially tough, Jeremiah leveled harsh accusations at God: “Why is my pain unending and my wound grievous and incurable? You are to me like a deceptive brook, like a spring that fails” (Jer. 15:18, NIV). And again: “You deceived me, LORD, and I was deceived; you overpowered me and prevailed” (Jer. 20:7, NIV). Jeremiah basically labeled God a deceiver and liar and trickster—terms better befitting the devil, not God! But as Jeremiah learned, God expects him—and us—to do something incredulous: compete with horses! I confess there are times when, pondering Jer. 12:5, I just shake my head and groan, “Race with horses?? Lord, You’ve got to be kidding!” And yet, for the man who blamed God for presumably deceiving him—it’s implied in Scripture that Jeremiah repented before God and was restored as God’s servant (Jer. 15:19)—Jeremiah stayed true to his calling and was faithful and obedient to God all his life, no matter how difficult things got. Tradition has it that Jeremiah was the author of the Book of Lamentations, where these astonishing words confront us: “I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’ The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD” (Lam. 3:19-26, NIV). How was Jeremiah able to stay resilient? Three words: he waited well. Where previously his downcast soul led him to accuse God, here he insists it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord—to await the faithful God whose mercies are new every morning. Resilience is arguably the “final frontier,” if you like, of the Christian life. We are urged to run with perseverance the race which God has marked out for us, because perseverance is necessary for completing us toward maturity in Christ (Heb. 12:1; Jas 1:3-4). Moreover, Jesus warns that the love of most will grow cold in the last days, “but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved” (Matt. 24:12-13). Brothers and Sisters, let’s you and I persevere, stand firm, and wait well. The horses await us! My thoughts in this Advent Season have been on the Magi from back East, who came to Jerusalem looking for the “King of the Jews” prophesied about in the Hebrew Scriptures. Little is known about the Magi. Were they Zoroastrians from Persia, astrologers from Babylonia—possibly the successors to the generation of wise men led by the prophet Daniel (Daniel 2:48)—or perhaps monks from China?1
Whoever the Magi were, one thing is for sure: not only did the Magi know the Hebrew scriptures thoroughly through their diligent study of it, but they also willingly put their knowledge to the test by taking a long, arduous, and dangerous journey to Israel to find out whether the prophecy about the birth of the Christ had indeed been fulfilled. Moreover, they brought gifts—of gold, frankincense, and myrrh—with which they worshiped the infant Son of God. In short, they dared to live out the Word of God! Contrast the Magi’s reverent attitude and conduct, however, with that of another group of wise men—the chief priests and teachers of the law in Israel. Asked by King Herod about the same prophecy, this group, the “Magi of Israel” if you like, knew the details about the time and place of the Messiah’s anticipated birth just as well as the Magi from the East did. They were even able to quote chapter and verse: “In Bethlehem in Judea,” they replied, “for this is what the prophet has written: “‘But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for out of you will come a ruler who will shepherd my people Israel’” (Matthew 2:5-6, NIV). However, unlike the Magi from back East, these wise men of Jerusalem did not act on their knowledge about the prophecy. Bethlehem is a mere six miles from Jerusalem, but the Jerusalem Wise Guys (C’mon, didn’t they behave at times like a cabal of mafiosi?) did not bother to check out the prophecy’s fulfillment, much less seek to worship the anticipated Messiah. And they were the religious leaders and teachers of Israel, for crying out loud! Maybe they were afraid of what Herod would do to them. Indeed, all Jerusalem, including its Herodian leader, were unsettled by the appearance of the Magi who’d navigated to Israel by the star. But given that Herod played nice with the Magi, you would think at least a couple of the Jewish leaders and teachers might have been tempted to go check things out in Bethlehem. But no, because (as Scripture points out) other than the Magi, the only other human visitors who showed up for the post-birth baby shower were shepherds to whom God’s angels had given a “heads up”! The difference is as stark as night and day. It was the Outsiders—the wise men from Babylon, Persia, Yemen, or China…take your pick--who took the Bible seriously and sought out the Christ for themselves. They actively applied and passionately lived the very words of God. On the other hand, the Insiders—the self-proclaimed “sons of Abraham"--held the very knowledge in their hands and heads but did absolutely nothing with it. Those in the “out” group took God seriously whereas the ones in the “in” group—despite their insider status and privileged information—could care less. Jesus once said He has come in search of the lost and the sick because those who claim to know it all and think themselves healthy aren’t the ones who need saving (Luke 19:10; Mark 2:17). The real guests to the Great Banquet aren’t the original invitees, the so-called Insiders who decline God’s invitation on the flimsiest of excuses. Rather, they are the Outsiders—the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame, all the down-and-outers from within and without (Luke 14:15-24). Are we “in” or “out”? A blessed Christmas and God-filled New Year to all! Notes 1 As speculated in Brent Landau, Revelation of the Magi: The Lost Tale of the Wise Men’s Journey to Bethlehem (New York: HarperOne, 2010). Some of us are old enough to remember the 1997 movie “As Good as It Gets” with Jack Nicolson and Helen Hunt. Admittedly, that’s how I sometimes approach the promises of God, which could seem a tad farfetched and outlandish to my limited understanding. Instead of focusing on God, all too often I see God from a worldly point of view, and I simply don’t get it, I just don’t get Him. And I look around me, living by sight rather than by faith, and I conclude, “This is as good as it gets.” Truth be told, in the light of the many amazing promises that God has lavished on ISI (such as Isa. 54 on which our ministry plan is based), I often find it difficult to comprehend the magnitude and scope of God’s vision, or I think of what it’s going to take to get from “my here” to “God’s there”, and I confess to feeling at times deflated and disillusioned. And I wonder, “This is about as good as it is going to get, right?” The story of Abraham is equally about a man who was given at times to thinking, “This is as good as it gets.” Did Abraham believe God, did he take God’s promises to heart? You bet! In Gen. 12, we’re introduced to Abraham (then known as Abram), who, in response to God’s call, left his home country of Mesopotamia for Canaan, even though he didn’t know his exact destination. Despite taking a few wrong turns, Abraham pretty much hung on to God and His word, he lived an honorable life, faithful and obedient to God, and he began fulfilling, at least in part, the Abrahamic blessing of becoming a blessing to others (Gen. 12:1-3). In fact, nowhere do we see a more definitive affirmation of Abraham’s relationship with God than in Gen. 15:6, “Abram believed the LORD, and [God] credited it to him as righteousness.” And yet life just has a way of wearing us down in the at-times long and wearisome wait for God to fulfill His promises. Decades after the Lord first spoke His promises over Abraham, we see Abraham, at 100 years old, receiving yet another reminder from God, in Gen. 17: “15 God also said to Abraham, ‘As for Sarai your wife, you are no longer to call her Sarai; her name will be Sarah. 16 I will bless her and will surely give you a son by her. I will bless her so that she will be the mother of nations; kings of peoples will come from her.’ 17 Abraham fell facedown; he laughed and said to himself, ‘Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?’ 18 And Abraham said to God, ‘If only Ishmael might live under your blessing!’” (Gen. 17:15-18, NIV) Do we see what happened there? Abraham, still very much the man of faith but one worn down and ground down by life — he’s a centenarian by this point — but now his perspective is framed, shaped, and limited by the here-and-now, by what he sees, by commonsensical experience. By commonsense, Abraham knows it’s physically and humanly impossible for him and for Sarah to bear children because of their advanced age. And truth be told, there’s a part of me that thinks, hmm ISI is turning 70 next year — we’re not quite as old as Abraham! — but at 70 and having “been there and done that,” we might be forgiven for feeling now and then a tad “ecclesiastical”, as in Eccl. 1:9-10: “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one can say, ‘Look! This is something new’?” (NIV). It’s that whole “this is as good as it gets” logic again, isn’t it? By commonsense, Abraham looks around and sees only what is physically visible/tangible and what is empirically verifiable, and what/who does he see standing before him? Ishmael. And he reasons: “Sarah, bearing a child at 90 years? C’mon, God, who are You kidding? Why not just make Ishmael the child of promise, and be done with it? Ishmael is as good as it gets!” But God clearly had different ideas! We pick up from where we previously left off in Gen. 17: “Then God said, ‘Yes, but your wife Sarah will bear you a son, and you will call him Isaac. I will establish my covenant with him as an everlasting covenant for his descendants after him’” (Gen. 17:19 NIV). (Poor Isaac, who gets his name because his parents laughed in incredulity at God’s ridiculous promise!) And so, despite all that life has thrown at them, 100-year-old Abraham and 90-year-old Sarah brush aside their doubts and call to mind the goodness and greatness of God. The author of Lamentations puts it this way: “19 I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. 20 I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. 21 Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: 22 Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. 23 They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 24 I say to myself, ‘The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’ 25 The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; 26 it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD” (Lam. 3:19-26, NIV). Despite all the “signs and evidence” around us that scream, “This is as good as it gets!,” we are to recall, literally to dredge up, memories of God’s faithfulness, whose newness and freshness pushes against Ecclesiastes’ “nothing new under the sun” logic, overwhelming it. It’s not unlike how the father of the demon-possessed son in Mk. 9:24 exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” As God might have said to Abraham and Sarah, as He says to us today, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” (Isa. 43:18-19, NIV). And so we get that wonderful affirmation in Heb. 11:11-12: “And by faith even Sarah, who was past childbearing age, was enabled to bear children because she considered him faithful who had made the promise. And so from this one man [Abraham], and he as good as dead, came descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sand on the seashore.” Wow! And so, too, the outlandish, mind-blowing promises with which God has gifted us. Is this as good as it gets? No, far from it, not as long as God has a say in the matter! Awaiting the Impossible: A Dialogue with Derrida, Deconstruction, and the Endless Wait for Messiah (Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2022), by See Seng Tan It’s no secret: evangelicals by and large have reacted to postmodernism—and specifically the postmodern philosophy of deconstruction—with fear and loathing, dismissing it as nihilistic and destructive. Eminent philosophers and thought leaders have drawn similar conclusions, and ofttimes for good reason, especially given the tendency of some postmodern writers to come across as shock jocks seeking to scandalize rather than inform. The conservative critic Roger Kimball had this to say about the French philosopher Jacques Derrida, the founder of deconstruction: “Derrida’s influence has been disastrous. He has helped foster a sort of anemic nihilism, which has given imprimaturs to squads of imitators who no longer feel that what they are engaged in is a search for truth, who would find that notion risible.”[1] And not only destructive but just downright nonsensical, as insinuated by the American philosopher John Searle, who deplored Derrida and deconstruction as “the low level of philosophical argumentation, the deliberate obscurantism of the prose, the wildly exaggerated claims, and the constant striving to give the appearance of profundity by making claims that seem paradoxical, but under analysis often turn out to be silly or trivial.”[2] Ouch. That said, there is an inescapable sense that much that has been on offer at the popular level as the Christian rejoinder to postmodernism tends to be little more than crass caricatures of postmodern claims that rely on the echo chamber of second-hand opinions rather than serious and sustained interaction with postmodern ideas themselves. This is certainly true of Derridean deconstruction. As the journalist Mitchell Stephens wryly observed three decades ago, “Many otherwise unmalicious people have in fact been guilty of wishing for deconstruction’s demise—if only to relieve themselves of the burden of trying to understand it.”[3] Such a disposition is perfectly understandable; after all, the task of engaging deconstruction could seem hugely intimidating given its highbrowed ideas and obtuse language, rendering deconstruction a field where even seasoned scholars, never mind the man in the street, fear to tread. So why should we even bother with deconstruction? Moreover, is it not already passé, unseated by critical race theory as the issue du jour in the latest phase of the culture wars waged between conservatives and liberals in the United States? Quite the contrary, I argue in my book, Awaiting the Impossible. The logic of deconstruction today is all around us; its influence is palpable and pervasive in everything from the arts and architecture, literature, music and entertainment, economics, law, and even religion. Indeed, parts of the evangelical church in America today have in fact been exhibiting “post-truth” tendencies through the impassioned and unreflective consumption and dissemination of conspiratorial thinking and disinformation.[4] In short, we’ve become postmodern without even being aware of it, and ironically so, even as we rail against it. And it’s not just the Millennials and Gen Zs that possess postmodern inclinations, if at all, but also and especially the Baby Boomers, arguably the age group most skittish about postmodernism. But what may surprise us most is that deconstruction’s intent—in the hands of its standard bearers like Derrida and the American continental philosopher John Caputo—has all along been “religious” or “spiritual” in orientation, with the ostensible aim to recover “religion without religion,” that is, religion apart from the orthodox faiths that Derrida called “concrete messianisms”—most prominently for Derrida, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—whose shared history of conflict with one another has engendered the exact opposite to that which they claim to aspire, such as justice and peace.5 Thus understood, deconstruction is essentially an exercise in demythologization—the constant dismantling of idols and injustices put up and perpetrated by individuals, institutions, and ideologies, including and especially those that profess to be on the side of truth.[6] But aren’t these also the aims of the Christian faith, namely, the revelation of Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, as the true image and representation of the invisible God—“my Lord and my God,” as the disciple Thomas uttered (John 20:28)—through whom true justice and righteousness are fully realized?[7] Indeed, it is for this very reason that Caputo, in an engaging and provocative essay, identifies Jesus of Nazareth as a master deconstructionist![8] Nevertheless, despite its endless wait for the advent of messiah, deconstruction stops short of acknowledging Jesus as the God for which it waits. Despite its robust affirmation of life, deconstruction shies away from affirming life in Christ. Indeed, Derrida famously urged that we “de-Christify” our experiences.[9] But why? Because, in deconstruction’s view, Christianity’s claim of a knowable and nameable Messiah—Jesus of Nazareth, who has already come in the flesh and is due to return again—amounts to idolatry.[10] Far from putting us in the presence of God, the argument goes, metaphysical knowing and naming only ends up cutting God down to size, or worse, serving up a false god. Before we jump on deconstruction’s case, it bears reminding that St. Thomas Aquinas once argued that since “what the substance of God is remains in excess of our intellect and therefore is unknown to us,” it logically implies that “the highest human knowledge of God is to know that one does not know God”[11]—and this from arguably the Church’s greatest medieval scholastic who reportedly halted work on his unfinished Summa Theologica, when Aquinas received divine revelations that rendered his profound theological scholarship “like straw.” That said, because Aquinas and Christians before and after him who insist on the ineffability of God are all in the business of proclaiming Jesus as Lord and Savior and are committed to affirming God beyond all flawed interpretations of God—recall the Catholic mystic Meister Eckhart’s plea, “I pray God to rid me of God”—they, far as deconstruction is concerned, never quite escape the idol factory of ontotheology and metaphysics. All of which leaves deconstruction indefinitely agnostic, suspended in its endless wait for a messiah who is never to show—who, for that matter, must never show because that, in fact, is the very paradigm of deconstruction.[12] It could be said that deconstruction’s relentless warring against idolatry and injustice arguably opens a path toward Christ, but its unremitting commitment to agnosticism and undecidability render it unable and unwilling to name Christ as the messiah for which it awaits. Deconstruction may knock on heaven’s door but it is tone deaf to the divine invitation to enter, for the logic of deconstruction is to interdict and embargo all possibility of divine revelation to the point, it could be said, of refusing God His ability to speak and power to act—an emasculated God, no less.[13] Yet the God of the Bible is He who speaks, acts, initiates, responds, and commands with great authority and power, but also in humility and with sensitivity (e.g., Eph. 1:19-21; Isa. 42:1-4). If Platonic philosophy served, for Augustine, as a bridge to Christ which the Platonists themselves failed to cross,[14] perhaps something similar could be said about deconstruction. The Christian author and Anglican cleric Tish Harrison Warren once noted that “the church needs reformation, not deconstruction,” because of the perceptibly destructive agenda of deconstruction.[15] Warren’s caveat is well taken. That said, if our aim to engage with deconstruction is evangelistic—and to an extent, aren’t all our engagements with human others evangelistic, since we are (to be) the salt of the earth and light of the world (Matt. 5:13-16)?—then it pays for Christ-followers to understand the issues that most concern deconstruction and to engage it on its terms. Meaningful dialogue can only take place, as Tim Keller once put it, when we make the effort to enter the other’s framework and critique it from within, rather than attacking it from the outside (as many evangelicals have hitherto done with ideas we don’t agree with).[16] If the pressing need of the evangelical Church is its re-discipling away from its infatuation with idols and complicity in the injustices of our time, and returning its affection and loyalty solely to Christ,[17] then a Christ-centered engagement with deconstruction might not just serve an evangelistic purpose but, just as equally crucial, the goal of spiritual reformation. Notes: [1] Cited in Mitchell Stephens, “Jacques Derrida,” The New York Times Magazine, 01/23/1994. [2] Cited in Elaine Woo, “Jacques Derrida, 74; Intellectual Founded Controversial Deconstruction Movement,” Los Angeles Times, 10/10/2004. [3] Stephens, “Jacques Derrida.” [4] Michael Luo, “The Wasting of the Evangelical Mind,” The New Yorker, 03/04/2021. [5] Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx: The State of the Debt, The Work of Mourning and the New International, Routledge, 1993. On “religion without religion,” see John D. Caputo, The Prayers and Tears of Jacques Derrida: Religion Without Religion, Indiana University Press, 1997. [6] Thomas J.J. Altizer, “History as Apocalypse,” in Deconstruction and Theology, ed. Carl A. Raschke, Crossroad, 1982, p. 147. [7] See, for example, Deut. 32:4, Ps 10:14-18, Ps. 11:7, Ps. 146:6-8, and Isa. 5:16. [8] John D. Caputo, What Would Jesus Deconstruct? The Good News of Postmodernism for the Church, Baker Academic, 2007. [9] Derrida, Specters of Marx, p. 59. [10] Put another way, it amounts to what the philosopher Martin Heidegger, following but also differing from Immanuel Kant, called ontotheology (or the metaphysics of presence), where the incomprehensibility and unapproachability of God is reduced to the order of things, through the mixing of theology and ontology. [11] Cited in Jean-Luc Marion, “In His Name: How to Avoid Speaking of ‘Negative Theology,’” in God, The Gift, and Postmodernism, ed. John D. Caputo and Michael John Scanlon, Indiana University Press, 1999, p. 35. [12] John D. Caputo, “Apostles of the Impossible: On God and the Gift in Derrida and Marion,” in God, The Gift, and Postmodernism, p. 186. [13] Philippe Lacoue Labarthe, Typography: Mimesis, Philosophy, Politics, ed. Christopher Fynsk, Harvard University Press, 1989, p. 118. [14] Augustine, Revisions (Retractationes) including an Appendix with the “Indiculus” of Possidius, trans. Boniface Ramsey and ed. Roland J. Teske, New City Press 2010, p. 29. [15] Tish Harrison Warren, “The Church Needs Reformation, Not Deconstruction,” Christianity Today, 10/19/2021. [16] Cited in Jeff Chu, “Princeton seminarians were outraged over Tim Keller. Here’s Keller’s point I wanted my peers to hear,” The Washington Post, 04/12/2017. [17] David W. Swanson, Rediscipling the White Church: From Cheap Diversity to True Solidarity, InterVarsity Press, 2020. Benedixit, fregit, deditque. Blessed, broken, given. These notions, if not the very words themselves, form the heart of the Eucharist, or what some ecclesial traditions refer to as Holy Communion. They are very much on my mind at the start of this new school year as we welcome international students to (or, for returning students, back to) university campuses all over America and beyond. With the most recent New Staff Orientation behind us, I’m constantly impressed and amazed by—and very grateful to God for—the quality of the incoming staff to ISI. Indeed, my sense of awe only increases and deepens when I survey our quite incredible team of full-time staff and ministry representatives, whether you’ve been in the business for decades or just a few short years. I’m humbled by the thought that you folks, who could’ve easily found fame and fortune anywhere, have chosen instead to respond to the Lord’s call to international student ministry. And the work you do with your students—and, just as importantly, your ministry to your team of volunteers, donors, and supporters—can really be described by the 3 words above. I see the many ways through which you love and serve your students as well as the folks serving alongside you in the ministry, and how you willingly give of yourselves in order that others may receive. Then I think: blessed, broken, given. I’m reminded of Jesus’ miraculous feeding of a hungry horde numbering in the thousands—tens of thousands, if we include women and children—on a Galilean hillside. “Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people” (Matthew 14:19 NIV). This verse can be sliced and diced so many ways! On the one hand, we count ourselves among the disciples who partner with Christ in the blessing, breaking, and serving of the loaves to our charges. Following the example of our Lord, we look up to our Father in heaven, we give thanks, we break what we have in hand, and we dish it out. And as I discovered nearly two decades ago in a decrepit village on the border between Myanmar and Thailand—distributing care packages to a long line of children numbering way more than what I had in my duffel bag—the Lord truly multiplies what little we have when we give it out in His Name! On the other hand, we are equally the loaves that are blessed, broken, and given, aren’t we? And yet God, who breaks and serves us up to the physically and spiritually hungry, has shown us the way it is done. “While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, ‘Take and eat; this is my body’” (Matthew 26:26 NIV). Jesus, the Bread of Life, offered Himself as a living sacrifice—holy, pleasing, and acceptable to the Father (Matthew 6:11; Romans 12:1). Likewise, the way you give of yourselves, again and again, to your students—are you not also, in a very real sense, the body of Christ that is blessed, broken, and given? Those three words also served as the motto of the late Swiss theologian and Catholic priest, Hans Urs von Balthasar. For Balthasar, the call of God was not an option that one picks from several available possibilities, but rather a siren call that draws us inexorably—even if only kicking and screaming, as C.S. Lewis might put it—into God’s presence and purposes. “You have nothing to choose; you are called,” as Balthasar once wrote. “You will not serve; another will use you. You have no plans to make; you are only a small little tile in a mosaic that has long been ready. I needed only to ‘leave everything and follow,’ without making plans, without wishes or ideas: I needed only to stand there and wait and see what I would be used for—and so it happened.” And so too our call to be blessed, broken, and given by and for God. Thank you, dear sisters and brothers, for modeling Christ through dying to self and living to love and serve. Benedixit, fregit, deditque! From June 25 to 29, my ISI colleagues and I, and our families, will descend upon Orlando for our 2022 National Conference (hereafter NC22). The conference’s theme? “Our God of Great Things!”—because the God we worship and serve has done great and mighty things (Psa. 118:15-16)! NC22 will be our first in-person gathering in 3 years! Excitement is running high over the chance to catch up, hang out, and party with one another after more than 2 years of “virtual” meetings—where “Zoom” has become an accepted verb much like “Google”.
What awaits us in Orlando? ISI national conferences are where we meet corporately with the Lord. Recall the instances in Scripture when God summoned all Israel to assemble before Him—at Mount Sinai, to receive His law (Exod. 19-23); at Shechem, to hear the list of blessings and curses from His word (Josh. 8); and, again, at Shechem, to renew their covenant with Him (Josh. 24:1-28). Orlando may not quite have the same zing as Sinai or Shechem, but there’s no doubt about the spiritual significance of our time there. By the grace and mercy of our God, ISI made it safely and soundly across our Jordan spelled “C-O-V-I-D.” After their miraculous crossing of the Jordan following their 40-year trek in the wilderness, per God’s commands, Joshua and the Israelites did 3 things at their rest stop at Gilgal between the Jordan and Jericho. They commemorated God’s deliverance, they circumcised (consecrated) themselves before God, and they celebrated the Passover. Commemoration After the Israelites crossed the Jordan, they made camp at Gilgal. The first thing they did, per God’s command, was to put up a memorial using 12 stones from the Jordan to commemorate the Lord’s deliverance (Josh. 4:19-24). By God’s grace and power, ISI made it safely and soundly through the pandemic and its related challenges; the Lord enabled us to “cross our Jordan on dried ground” (Josh. 3:17). Consecration The second thing they did, again per God’s command, was to circumcise themselves. Circumcision was to address the immediate concern of an entire generation born during the 40-year trek in the wilderness who’d yet to be circumcised (Josh. 5:5). But the broader implication of the act was to signify God having “rolled away the reproach of Egypt” from the Israelites (Josh. 5:9). If so, perhaps what ISI needs, in the wake of the 2 years of pandemic and related challenges, is a time of circumcision/consecration to roll away the reproach of the divisiveness and disunity that marked us during that time (and which possibly lingers to this day). Secondly, consecration is a time to prepare us for what lies ahead for the taking: our Jerichos. For me, nowhere is this better illustrated than Joshua’s encounter with the commander of the Lord’s army on the outskirts of Jericho, where Joshua learned the Lord does not take his (Joshua’s and Israel’s) side as much as Israel should choose to take the Lord’s side and do His will (Josh. 5:15). (Recall that old Sunday School chorus, “Who is on the Lord’s side, who will serve the King?”!) Indeed, fast forward a few decades later, and we find Joshua in his old age where, in his farewell sermon, the old leader levelled this challenge to Israel: But as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD (Josh. 24:15). (I get goosebumps every time I read those words.) And this fundamental lesson Joshua learned and embraced through reverential worship before God, outside Jericho. Celebration The third thing Israel did at Gilgal: they celebrated the Passover. Just as crucially, the day following the Passover, they sampled the produce Canaan had to offer—and with that, God’s miraculous supply of the manna that had fed them for 4 decades ended (Josh. 5:12). Likewise, the Orlando conference will be our Gilgal where we will commemorate and celebrate our good and great God and consecrate ourselves before Him in preparation for the Jerichos that lie ahead! |
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