Mercy, and Not Sacrifice: A Conclusion

Jan 30, 2011 | Stories, The Good Word

Where I left you yesterday (forgive me if that cliff-hanger was a major bummer — but can you imagine if I crammed all this into one or two posts?) I was sitting across the table from an old friend who’d lost his wife and child. Suddenly finding myself there, with a beer and a slice of pie was a surprise, but the next surprise was even bigger.

{Note: This post is Part Four in this series. I highly recommend reading the first three first! You can start here.}

After my friend had the opportunity to pour his heart out for a while, I could only reply by expressing how truly sorry I was for his loss. I think he could sense my sincerity — it is very likely that I was choking back tears. After a brief lull in the conversation, he looked at me and said:

“I thought you were gonna come here and try to save me.”

And my jaw almost hit the floor. I understood what he meant. He didn’t expect a friend, or a listening ear. He didn’t expect to be able to relax and drink a beer and tell his story without feeling judged — and perhaps as if he’d gotten what he deserved for not following Jesus when I’d talked about Him years before. But instead, he knew he was sitting across the table from someone who genuinely cared, and, you can argue with me about this all you want, I honestly think me meeting him where he was — beer and listening ear — had everything to do with all of it meaning something significant to him.

I was quick to reply “I can’t save you, man.”

And then the conversation took another course I didn’t expect. He asked about my sister, remembering her from years before as the life of the party, and a little on the wild side. I shared that she’d become a Christian, and I shared the story of how the Lord had put it on my heart to pray for her every day for a year, believing by the end of that year, she’d come to know Him. God was faithful to deliver on that promise when I still had some 219 days left to pray, and my sister, who was an incredible person before, is an incredible woman of God today.

He was surprised by this story and paused thoughtfully for a moment.

“Please…do that for me.”

I understood how big it was for him to make that request. I understood that life had brought him to his knees and he literally knew of nowhere to look but up. And a heart that was once so hardened to the things of God was suddenly soft, and willing, and maybe even hungry.

I promised I would pray for him, and I kept to my promise, and for that year, and quite often even since, he’s been in my prayers. I can’t tell you I know how’s he doing, because we haven’t been in contact for a long time. But I’m trusting that just as rain and snow fall to the Earth and always water it, before returning to the heavens, God’s goodness will fall in His life, because he was hungry for it, because I was praying for it, and because the Lord desires it more than anything else.

So what does a life of mercy and not sacrifice look like? I can’t tell you I know for sure yet. I can tell you it looks a lot more like listening for the voice of God and a lot less like making your own laws for following. It has less to do with making sure you’re in this place at this time on this day of the week, and it has more to do with looking at your own heart, and asking for help so that it will look more like God’s heart.

The journey the Lord takes each of us on is different. But the destination is ultimately the same. He has a vision to present us as a pure and spotless bride, to be His and love Him for all eternity. It’s a narrow path. It’s a humble road. But it is also, one foot in front of the other, Christ in us — and that makes it such a beautiful picture of glorious.

xCC

Mercy, and Not Sacrifice, Part Three

Jan 29, 2011 | Stories, The Good Word

For the past couple of days we’ve been talking about a verse that I am digging into with fresh anticipation this year, Hosea 6:6. It says, “For I desire mercy and not sacrifice, and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings.”

The verse has already taken us to Matthew 9 and Matthew 12, and to Isaiah 58. But the connections just keep coming, and I think we still have some more thinking to do. (I’d suggest reading part one here and part two here.)

In Jeremiah 7, the Lord points out that “I did not speak to your fathers, or command them in the day that I brought them out of the land of Egypt, concerning burnt offerings or sacrifices. But this is what I commanded them, saying, ‘Obey My voice, and I will be your God, and you shall be My people. And walk in all the ways that I have commanded you, that it may be well with you.’ {v. 22 & 23}

The people trusted the sacrifices and burnt offerings taking place at the Temple to keep them from God’s judgement. In the verses leading up to verse 21, God is explaining, through Jeremiah, that the temple would not protect them while they polluted it with wickedness. As Matthew Henry explains it, “…their sacrifices would not atone for them, nor be accepted, while they went on in disobedience.”

Even before the time of Christ, the sacrifices weren’t just sacrifices for the sake of sacrifice. God was saying “Obey My voice {notice He says voice first} and walk the way I’ve told you to walk. And that’s how it’ll be clear that I’m your God and you’re My people.”

There are times in our lives when we want to sacrifice. When the easy route is to go ahead and just let go of something, drop something, or make a hard and fast rule for ourselves. When we do this, we begin to write our own law books, because we would rather just do it our way than follow the heart of God and listen for His voice.

We begin to rely on our own burnt offerings and sacrifices: things like regular attendance at church or Bible studies. We begin to think we don’t need to listen for His leading because, hey, we’ve got this life of faith under control.

This might get me into some controversial territory, but I hope you can hear my heart with this example. For a long time, as a religious conviction, I almost never drank alcohol, and I would be especially careful not to drink alcohol in public. But a series of circumstances brought me face to face with a choice between my law and God’s voice.

A few years ago, I was home from Scotland and heard that an old friend had experienced incredible tragedy. He and his wife lost their child when she was still an infant. Within a year, his wife was in a motorcycle accident and he lost her, too. He’d started a family and had nothing to show for it, but pain, tattoos and memories.

I touched base to express my sorrow for his loss and see if he wanted to catch up while I was in town. I’d shared Christ with him lots and often years before, but I could only see that seeds were sown — I never saw any fruit.

I found myself sitting across the table from him at a restaurant in my hometown, and I somehow just knew I needed to order a beer, make him feel comfortable and at ease, and listen to his story. My mind at first thought “Not, so, Lord! What if someone who knows me sees me drinking a beer here? I might cause offense or cause someone to stumble!” But the Lord’s will was clear in my heart, and soon a Corona and a slice of key lime pie were  sitting on my paper placemat.

After a few minutes of small talk, my friend began to share his story. To say the least, it was heart-wrenching. He’d started riding motorcycles after he and his wife lost their baby girl. He found comfort and solace on the open road. He taught his wife how to drive a motorcycle as well, and she was out driving on her own when the accident happened.

Parts of him were clearly riddled with guilt and anger, but the overwhelming sentiment was just sadness.

And what happened next was such a surprise, it deserves its own post tomorrow, where our story will continue.

xCC