Category Archives: Following

Calling Out to Jesus Takes Guts

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Calling out to Jesus takes guts.

Matthew tells a story (20:29-34) about two blind men.  They were sitting by the roadside, when they heard that Jesus was passing by.  Sensing a tight window of opportunity, they cried out forcefully, “Lord, have mercy on us, son of David!”

The listening crowd rebuked the two, telling them to be silent. The beggars’ response?  They cried out even louder!

And Jesus stopped.

He inquired, and they responded:

“What do you want me to do for you?”
“Lord, let our eyes be opened.”

 Jesus touched their eyes and lost vision was recovered.

 Calling out to Jesus takes guts.

In a recent worship service, we were singing “Faithful One”, a longtime favorite of mine. During this instance, the worship leader had us repeatedly sing the line, “I call out to You again and again,” physically driving home the time-after-time nature of our dependence upon God.  Fascinatingly, yet frustratingly at times, God is the Creator and Re-Creator in perpetuity.  Yet the frustration appears to be ours.  His eagerness to bring healing and wholeness appears unfathomably deep to folks of flesh.  So hesitate not to “call out again and again and again and again”.

 Calling out to Jesus takes guts.

It takes guts because outside voices will chime in with words of deterrence:

“You really think He’s listening?”
“I’m sure God has bigger things to worry about.”
“Why do YOU deserve attention from HIM?

And if you can effectively plug your ears against the outer voices, then you must deal with the deadlier, often nastier, tones from within yourself:

“He’s tired of extending grace to you.”
“You’re not worth His efforts.”
“He doesn’t even love you—how could He?”

The path of faith contains many turns that appear counter-intuitive.  Dominant portions of our beings see the logic and safety of THIS move, while sometimes-slivers feel led down another avenue.  It seems silly.  It feels foolish.  But some small seed planted beneath our layers spurs us to cry out, to declare need, and to trust—to outrageously trust—that the goodness and graciousness of God are indeed insane enough to extend into our lives.

When we so call, Jesus stops.  Vision is restored, hope is granted, and home is found.

But make no mistake: It takes guts to call out to Jesus.

Go for it, my friends.

 

What have you found makes it hard for you to call out to Jesus?
What barriers are prevalent at silencing your voice in this way?

Your comments below will likely speak into the life of another reader.

Resign Yourself, No Conditions

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I have memories of moments in life when I would respond privately to circumstances or conversations with three words pressed through a monster voice: “Quit screwing around!”

It’s been a while since my last such release, but it has dawned on me multiple times recently that God surely has this statement in His repertoire.

And I have heard it from various angles lately.  One of them has been Thomas à Kempis, who wrote this:

“There are some who resign themselves, but they attach conditions to it.  They do not trust in God completely, so they take pains to provide for themselves just in case.  Some offer everything at first, but later, beaten down by temptations, they go back to their old ways and thus make little progress in virtue.  People like these will not gain the true freedom of a pure heart nor the grace of a joyful intimacy with me unless they surrender themselves unconditionally and offer themselves as a sacrifice to me each day.  Without this total self-surrender a joyful union between us cannot exist, either now or ever.”

I don’t want to be short-changed on the experience of God’s freedom or power in my life.  I don’t want to be stunted in my development.  I don’t want to be squeezed out of the joyful union into which Christ invites all of us.

The solution, according to the quote above?

Resign yourself, and resist the temptation to attach conditions.  [This ties in closely with The Power of Abandonment, posted elsewhere.]

 

Going With Gershwin

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Last weekend, we attended the symphony with tickets we’d won in a recent silent auction.  One of the pieces played was “Cuban Overture” by George Gershwin.  In the program, I read this:

Gershwin effortlessly blurred the lines between serious and popular composition, “classical” and “jazz”.  To him music was music, and he gave as much attention to his songs and shows as he did to more formal concert works.  One reason for this is that he was a natural, instinctive musician rather than a trained one.

I’ve been taking inventory lately–particularly with my “spiritual life”.  Perhaps Gershwin should mentor me because my heart likes the idea of a “natural, instinctive” approach to spirituality, as opposed to a “trained” one, and my mind quickly spins those phrases into a question: Have you somehow, Jason, traded the first for the second?  Are you seeking God “as you feel you should”, to the loss of keeping it simple and child-like (or natural and instinctive)?  Have you succeeded in complicating and cluttering what need not be?

In recent days, my head would have to nod more often that shake.

Time to go with Gershwin.

Jaylin Fleming

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I’ve never seen a ten-year-old play like this!  I’ve also never heard a ten-year-old talk like this.

Is it possible that this kid is playing and preaching in the NBA in ten years?!  Doesn’t seem like a stretch either way.

Getting an Education

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I just started a book.

The author unapologetically warned me in the preface that this is no devotional piece and will require “considerable mental effort to understand”.  The subject matter is the relationship between faith and knowledge.  Many say there is hardly any relationship at all, that the two are actually in opposition to each other.

But I don’t buy that.

The author then wrapped up his opening section with a C.S. Lewis quote that made me smile…

“God has room for people with very little sense, but He wants everyone to use what sense they have.  The proper motto is not, ‘Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever,’ but ‘Be good, sweet maid, and don’t forget that this involves being as clever as you can.’  God is no fonder of intellectual slackers than of any other slackers.  If you are thinking of becoming a  Christian, I warn you you are embarking on something which is going to take the whole of you, brains and all….  One reason why it needs no special education to be a Christian is that Christianity is an education itself.”

I’ll amen that last line, that’s for sure–I hope you’re in the midst of a fascinating education these days.