Daily Devotions

You hate those who pay regard to worthless idols, but I trust in the LORD. I will exult and rejoice in your steadfast love, because you have seen my affliction; you have taken heed of my adversities, and have not delivered me into the hand of the enemy; you have set my feet in a broad place. Psalm 31:6-8

“Worthless idols” is an interesting phrase. It reminds me of the oddly bizarre gold encrusted Buddha that strangely sat back in the corner in the basement of the Richland County Historical Museum in my hometown. I well remember how we used to walk past the reconstruction of the sod-buster little farmer’s cabin with the tiny bed, the old farm implements and glass displays of trinkets, back to the weird Buddha that didn’t seem to belong there.

Someone told us that it would be good luck to rub the Buddha’s belly so, with false bravado, we would do just that. Even though I was basically an irreligious little heathen, I always had a sense that what we were doing had something to do with idolatry.

I suppose that Buddha was worthless. We always wondered if the gold on it was real. I guess that would have given it some measure of worth. But I seriously doubt whether there was ever a connection between the rubbing of his belly and the wishes that I made. Ultimately, he was a worthless idol.

But aren’t all idols, by definition, worthless? That is, unworthy of our praise, our trust? When we “worship” God, we ascribe “worth” to God. When it comes to God, we are the unworthy ones. But, in Christ, in the gift of God’s love, in our identity as beloved children of God, God has invested a new kind of worthiness in us. In God’s eyes, we are worth all that Jesus did and does. That is why we worship God and that is why it is a crying shame that we would ever bow down to worthless idols.

But we do it all the time. Luther said that the false gods, the idols of our lives, are anything we look to for safety, security or identity apart from the God who creates, redeems and sustains us. False gods are untrustworthy. They are worthless.

Spending time in New Orleans, listening to the stories of those who have spent their lives here, is to hear many stories of “identity” – ethnicity, neighborhood, clan. I often find myself wondering just how open or how closed this city really is. I think perhaps that, rather than being so absolutely distinctive as a community, New Orleans is more microcosm than idiosyncrasy. As I shared yesterday, I hear so many of the same things here that I heard from my relatives from the prairies of North Dakota.

When someone from metro New Orleans tells me, “My German ancestors started this church back in the 1800’s. I’m a fifth generation member of this church. The congregation isn’t nearly what it used to be, first the neighborhood changed and then the storm hit. We’re surviving but it isn’t the same as it used to be.” – I realize that the only word that would need to be changed to say exactly the same thing about Lakota Lutheran Church in Lakota, North Dakota (population @300) would be Norwegian instead of German. The “storm” would be the changing economics of agriculture and the death of the family farm but the realities would be the same.

Worthless idols are just that. Untrustworthy. Unreliable. Shifting sands.

Ethnicity, race, class divisions, red-lined neighborhood walls that look like streets, all are untrustworthy sources of safety, security or status. The storms of life expose them for what they are. Illusions.

Only God, our common identity as creatures of a loving Creator, our common need for love and forgiveness, our common purpose to joing God in creating a good life for all, only that is impervious to the storms. Only that is solid rock. Only that is trustworthy.

Let us pray: Dear Jesus, forgive us lusting hearts and our knee jerk knee bowing to the false idols that constantly clamor for our attention. You are God, we are not, all of humanity is our brother and our sister and we are eternally grateful that you continue to remind us of that reality. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

In you, O LORD, I seek refuge; do not let me ever be put to shame; in your righteousness deliver me. Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily. Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me. You are indeed my rock and my fortress; for your name’s sake lead me and guide me, take me out of the net that is hidden for me, for you are my refuge. Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O LORD, faithful God. Psalm 31:1-5

I spent this past weekend in New Orleans, a place unlike just about every other place there is. (Folks there are always quick to remind me of that. Maybe they are right, or maybe they suffer from the same “terminal uniqueness” that afflicts so many of us.) This week we’re going to listen to Psalm 31, and to New Orleans.

New Orleans lies on the eastern most edge of the geographical area that comprises our “synod” (a churchy word for a community of congregations that travel through life together, like a Roman Catholic “diocese” or a United Methodist “district.”) In my new job I have the great opportunity to go “visiting” congregations and pastors – which is a great thing to do in New Orleans and actually harkens back to the plantation roots of New Orleans (and the immigrant farmer days of North Dakota) when that was a very popular activity.

As a cost cutting measure, when we from the synod office travel to New Orleans, we seldom stay in hotels. Some of our congregations here have become very adept at hosting the streams of volunteers who continue to travel here as the on-going recovery from Hurricane Katrina is still not over. And one of our pastors and his wife have extra bedrooms that frequently become a home away from home for people like me. I’m writing this right now from their kitchen table.

Hurricane Katrina was a nuclear explosion that threatened to gut the life of this city. While so many of us saw the storm on television, many people here saw their lives float away. Any illusion of safety or security, the bonds of family and neighborhood, the gathered memories of life, the ghettoized isolation of the underclass, all of that was ripped open, exposed for the world to see and then flushed down the toilet of the roiling waters of the flood. People here divide their lives into BK (Before Katrina) and SK (Since Katrina).

Most of the world has now moved on. Moved on to other news and other disasters and other chapters of life. Although the physical and emotional work of recovery is on-going, people here have also been about moving on. Frankly, lots of people have literally moved out. The city is 1/3 smaller than it used to be. We have congregations here that, in the wink of an eye, lost half or more of their families.

The whole region has had to come to grips with one of the great questions of our lives….”Now what do we do?”

New Orleans, like Chicago and New York and many other places, has long been a city of neighborhoods, ethnic enclaves and ghettos of poverty. It has functioned like a collection of islands, everyone seeking shelter in the comfort of their isolation. At the same time, it has also been a major port city, finding purpose along the deep waters of the mighty Mississippi and its muddy reach into the Gulf of Mexico. This is the tension of the place, and of our lives. Will we be an island or will we be a port?

The question that this city is living, the question that our congregations are living, is a question that we all need to ask and answer: Yes Lord, you have been our refuge, our fortress and our strength through the teeth of the storm, but now what shall we do? Shall we rebuild our islands of isolation or shall we become ports of hospitality, freely receiving your many gifts only to send them on to others?

Let us pray: Dear Lord, the storms of life continue to assault us, the many challenges and temptations and struggles that mark our days. We thank you that we find refuge in your love and strength, that you are our port in a storm. Guide us now as we commit our lives to you, today and every day. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Then he handed him over to them to be crucified. So they took Jesus; and carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is called Golgotha. There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus between them. Pilate also had an inscription written and put on the cross. It read, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” Many of the Jews read this inscription, because the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city; and it was written in Hebrew, in Latin, and in Greek. Then the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, “Do not write, ‘The King of the Jews,’ but, ‘This man said, I am King of the Jews.'” Pilate answered, “What I have written I have written.” John 19:16-22

When all is said and done, there is only one important mountain. It isn’t Mount Vesuvius, home of the gods. It isn’t Mount Everest, the natural world’s tower of Babel. It isn’t a place of glory and honor but a misshapen hill in the center of a town’s garbage dump. Golgotha. The Place of the Skull. Mount Calvary.

Moses left the mountain to travel back to the Egypt from which he had fled. He later came down another mountain to bring order into the lives of his followers, order which they rejected.

Elijah came down from Mount Carmel to the desert into which he retreated in fear for his life. Jesus came down from the mountain of his transfiguration to the crowds who waited down below – the hungry crowds who didn’t realize what they were hungry for.

No one stays on the mountain.

Jesus spent a horrific day on that final mountain. But he didn’t stay there. From his mountain to his tomb. But he didn’t stay there either.

And where did he direct his disciples to meet him after his resurrection? To another mountain top in Galilee. Yet even then, Jesus met them only to send them. To send them back to the plains with a story to tell and a mission to accomplish. If you are a person of faith, baptized into the kingdom, and you are willing to carry that story to another person, then you are evidence of the faithfulness of those first disciples.

There was a disagreement on Mount Calvary. Some argued that the sign should read, “This man said…” But Pilate wouldn’t give. He left the sign up that declared the bloodied Jesus to be King of the Jews. Was this Pilate’s way of sticking it to those who made his life complicated? Was this God’s ringing endorsement of the suffering, redemptive, love of Jesus? Can’t it be both?

Few of us live on mountain tops. Most of us think they are nice to visit. They put our lives into perspective. They teach us about God’s vastness even as they encourage humility in us. But ours is not a mountain top faith. Ours is a faith lives in the valleys, the highways and byways of the lives of real life people. May the mountain tops of our faith – especially that misshapen hill outside of Jerusalem – bring purpose and meaning to our lives.

Let us pray: Thank you, Jesus, for taking our brokenness unto yourself as you were lifted high on Golgotha. May your redemptive love flood us with courage and conviction as we tell your story in words and deeds. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus. Mark 9:2-8

There are high points in all of our lives – great accomplishments, graduations, beginning new careers, marriages, the births of children, the births of grandchildren. The most memorable of these moments feel almost transcendent, otherworldly. We can’t imagine our “good fortune.” We know we’ve seen a glimpse of glory. We know we have been truly blessed.

Here, halfway through the gospel of Mark, Peter gets such a glimpse. He sees Jesus together with the heroes of the faith – his own “Field of Dreams” – and he hears God’s affirmation of the person and ministry of Jesus. It was a mountain top experience, no wonder he wanted to stay!

But glimpses, by definition, are fleeting. Which is not to take anything away from them. They are what they are. But then – poof – it’s over. They find themselves looking around and seeing no one but Jesus.

But still hearing the echo of that voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!”

This is the voice echoing through the lives of the baptized people of God. “You are my beloved child; listen to my Son.” Trust him, follow him, wherever he might lead.

So many other voices will beckon to you. So many other voices, like barkers at a carnival, will entice you with visions and dreams that promise you life. But I alone have given you life. I’ve marked you and sealed you and promised to be with you, from mountain-top to valley floor. Listen to me!

Soon they would leave this mountain behind. They would carry the memory, the vision, a renewed sense of purpose and God’s favor, but they would carry all that back down to the valley of life and the mountains yet ahead. For now, just now, we enjoy the peak. Or is it the “peek”?

Let us pray: Gracious Lord, thank you for the little peeks you give us into the glory of your kingdom at those peak moments, those wonderful moments, of our lives. May such moments encourage us and send us forth down the paths you open before us. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Then Elijah said to all the people, “Come closer to me”; and all the people came closer to him. First he repaired the altar of the LORD that had been thrown down; Elijah took twelve stones, according to the number of the tribes of the sons of Jacob, to whom the word of the LORD came, saying, “Israel shall be your name”; with the stones he built an altar in the name of the LORD. Then he made a trench around the altar, large enough to contain two measures of seed. Next he put the wood in order, cut the bull in pieces, and laid it on the wood. He said, “Fill four jars with water and pour it on the burnt offering and on the wood.” Then he said, “Do it a second time”; and they did it a second time. Again he said, “Do it a third time”; and they did it a third time, so that the water ran all around the altar, and filled the trench also with water. At the time of the offering of the oblation, the prophet Elijah came near and said, “O LORD, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, let it be known this day that you are God in Israel, that I am your servant, and that I have done all these things at your bidding. Answer me, O LORD, answer me, so that this people may know that you, O LORD, are God, and that you have turned their hearts back.” Then the fire of the LORD fell and consumed the burnt offering, the wood, the stones, and the dust, and even licked up the water that was in the trench. When all the people saw it, they fell on their faces and said, “The LORD indeed is God; the LORD indeed is God.” 1 Kings 18:30-39

At first it seems that the story is about Elijah doing battle with the false prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel. Elijah, alone and unarmed, against 450 of the best and brightest prophets of the false god in which the people’s hopes had come to rest. As if that weren’t enough, Elijah did the equivalent of tying his arms behind his back, standing on one foot and hiding his eyes. He covered the bull on his altar with water and joined the false prophets in the “Battle of the Burning Bulls.”

The false prophets prayed, pranced and prattled all day long but couldn’t produce a spark, let alone kindle a flame. Even in the face of Elijah’s prophetic trash talking, Baal didn’t answer.

Then, with a single prayer, a solitary plea to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Israel, Elijah’s sacrifice burned like a $20 bill in a teenager’s pocket. Gone in a flash.

Winner: Elijah and the one true God.

At first it seems that the story is about Elijah doing battle with the false prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel…until we see the response of the people in the 39^th verse. Then we see the battle for what it truly was.

It was a battle for the hearts and minds of people who ought to have known better in the first place. It was about God graciously accommodating the needs of his fickle-faithed children.

The mountains of our lives are tests. Tests of loyalty and tests of power. Tests, not in the sense of passing and failing but tests in the sense of burning away the impurities of our doubts, despairs and defects. Those mountains never go away, they just keep coming and coming. Elijah tasted God’s power that day on Mount Carmel; it wouldn’t be long before Elijah would taste again a sense of God’s absence. Then too, it would be faith that would make Elijah well.

Let us pray: Dear Lord, we often long for the kind of cosmic display of your power seen on Mount Carmel. Yet even in that story, we see that such longings display a lack of faith on our part. And then we realize that it isn’t the majesty of a fire but the still small voice that reassures us of your presence that is what really strengthens our faith. Speak that word to us today. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

On the morning of the third day there was thunder and lightning, as well as a thick cloud on the mountain, and a blast of a trumpet so loud that all the people who were in the camp trembled. Moses brought the people out of the camp to meet God. They took their stand at the foot of the mountain. Now Mount Sinai was wrapped in smoke, because the LORD had descended upon it in fire; the smoke went up like the smoke of a kiln, while the whole mountain shook violently. As the blast of the trumpet grew louder and louder, Moses would speak and God would answer him in thunder. When the LORD descended upon Mount Sinai, to the top of the mountain, the LORD summoned Moses to the top of the mountain, and Moses went up. Then the LORD said to Moses, “Go down and warn the people not to break through to the LORD to look; otherwise many of them will perish. Even the priests who approach the LORD must consecrate themselves or the LORD will break out against them.” Exodus 19:16-22

The first time that Moses met God on a mountain, God revealed himself in a burning bush. Moses could only see God’s backside. When asked for a name, God said only an obtuse “I Am.” Now today, at the foot of the mountain where Moses would soon receive the commandments, God appears only in smoke, thunder and lightning.

What do we make of that?

Through the years I have heard the hard questions of the faith. Things like, “What happens to babies who die without being baptized?” “Do you have to be baptized to be included in God’s kingdom?” “What will God do to Hindus, Buddhists and Muslims at the last day?”

Often in the face of such questions, Martin Luther would return to these scenes of Moses’ encounters with God. The Moses who only saw God’s backside, not God’s fullness. Luther would remind us that God only reveals things on his own terms, in his own time. God reveals what we need to know; what we WANT to know often remains shrouded in mystery.

Why?

Because we live and walk by faith, not by sight. We live by trusting in the goodness and the graciousness of God. We trust in Jesus, the God whom we can see, who reveals the essential love of the God whom we cannot see. But that isn’t good enough for us.

If you have time, read the rest of the story of Moses on Mount Sinai. After you are reminded of the prominence of the Ten Commandments, skim quickly through the next chapters until you get to the 32^nd chapter. After hearing this long account of God’s conversation with Moses on the mountain, the 32^nd chapter will amaze you when you see what has been going on back at the ranch.

Aaron and the folks have made themselves a god. They have melted the jewelry which they had received from the Egyptians and have fashioned themselves a golden calf. They made their own god – one they could see and touch and control and take credit for. Impatient at the God whom they could not see, they settled for one of their own making.

Which God do you want to follow? The God whom you cannot see but can only trust, or the quick fix gods of our own making?

Let us pray: Dear Jesus, we can be so restless and impatient. We don’t like to wait – we want answers and action and certainty. We want goodies more than goodness. Help us embrace the mysteries and walk by faith. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian; he led his flock beyond the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There the angel of the LORD appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. Then Moses said, “I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.” When the LORD saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.” Then he said, “Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” He said further, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God. Then the LORD said, “I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings and I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians, and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey…Exodus 3:1-8

The rhythms of my life used to include an annual drive from North Dakota to the Seattle area. The high point of the trip, literally, came when this prairie raised boy drove ever closer to, then through, the majesty of the mountains.

It is easy to see how the ancient ones set mountains aside as the seat of the gods. They tower over life below, dancing with the interplay of light and shadow. And they test any person that dares conquer them.

Like everybody else, I would drive through those mountains and wonder at the courage of the first pioneers who figured out a way to cross them. I would admire the ingenuity of those who ran the first rail lines and cut the first highways that “tamed” the mountains for future travelers. The mountains were a joy.

But the strangest parts of that drive were the “continental divides.” A continental divide is a geographic feature where the rain which falls heads toward lower ground in two different directions.

I was confused the first time through as I actually crossed several continental divides and not all of them happened at the mountain passes I expected. I thought there was only one and it ought to be at the highest point of my drive. But, like life itself, it doesn’t work that way. It is never as simple as it seems, or as we long for it to be.

All week long our devotions will look some key turning point, mountain top, experiences in scripture. I hope they encourage us as we traverse the peaks and valleys of our lives.

Let us pray: Guide us ever, Great Redeemer, pilgrims through this barren land. We are weak but you are mighty, hold us with your powerful hand. Hold us indeed. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.” Luke 13:1-5

We spent last week listening to Luke 13. Many of us will hear these words again in worship on Sunday. I’m using them again today as the subterranean rumbles continue to strike fear into the hearts of the peoples in Chile and Haiti. But today I hear something new in these verses.

I don’t understand geology and any of the fine points of the seismic shifts in the earth’s tectonic plates. I don’t remember the first time someone pointed out how neatly the shape of the coast of Africa matches up with the coast of South America and explained how the crust of the earth floated on the center of molten rock. But now I’m remembering those lessons anew and I’m seeing two realities.

First, nothing in the universe is sitting still. Everything is moving, hurtling, at the speed of light. Everything is shifting, all the time, and sometimes people get hurt in all of that movement. Not only that but the Carl Sagan types argue that the universe is racing “outwards”, racing “away”, expanding. The force of gravity, which we think would be drawing things together, in the infinite web of relationships that is life, seems to be acting quite unnaturally as it contributes to this never-ending expansion. Everything rushing apart. A fast train to nowhere.

Einstein told us that the universe is curved in upon itself. That all of this rushing is more like swirling and that ultimately everything crashes back into itself. Everything rushing away to an appointment to self-destruction.

But then, like a still small voice, our faith reminds us: “This is like the days of Noah to me: Just as I swore that the waters of Noah would never again go over the earth, so I have sworn that I will not be angry with you and will not rebuke you. For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the LORD, who has compassion on you.” (Isaiah 54:9-10)

God is our Rock who shall not be moved, and God’s promises will endure forever.

And then second, I would put both “our” and “Rock” in bold print. For the other message in the text from Luke – implicit in the word “our” – is that we are all connected to one another. Across space and time, across the vastness of the universe and the many miles between here and there, over against the forces that seem to divide us, we are all connected.

Jesus told his listeners that the martyred Galileans and the tragic victims of the falling tower were all in the same boat as them. We are all connected. Borders are illusions, flights of fantasy. We are our brother’s keeper.

As Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.”

So we pray for those suffering hard times – disasters, war, disease, unemployment, hunger, oppression, hate – and we do what we can to help.

Let us pray: Dear Lord, as we move now into our time of rest, keep us mindful of those who are suffering today. Help us see the golden cord of your love which binds us together. Be our Rock of comfort and our Beacon of hope. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress; instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle; and it shall be to the Lord for a memorial, for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off. Isaiah 55:12-13

For some people it was the monkeys who gave the scariest moments, for others it was the mean trees in the forest, but for all of us, cheering for Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion were highlight moments when we were growing up.

Long before I knew about the political allegory that Frank Baum wrote into his story, I was fascinated by the idea of a little girl propelled into another world of mystery and danger. As I grew up, the story grew up. As a teenager, I had read a bit about the shenanigans the little people in the cast had pulled during production. As an adult, I watched my little girl as she quietly watched the movie on video (not having to wait for the annual screening), how she, without a word, left the room just before the monkeys descended, and then just as quietly came back in for the adventure in the castle.

For Katie, the monkeys were clearly the scariest part.

No doubt part of the fascination we have had with that movie is the idea of all nature coming alive around us. Really alive, not just that strong sense we have when walking alone through a forest that we are not really alone. Dancing flowers, grouchy trees – everything around us alive, stretching, singing, clapping.

And always that little element of danger.

This is the kind of image that the writer of Isaiah casts for his hearers. As the people of Israel wake up from the painful slumber of their wasted years in Babylon, the news has arrived that they get to go home. Excitement flies through the camps. Plans are made. The few possessions still possessed are gathered up.

This time there will be no trail of tears or forced marches or demeaning humiliation. This time, with heads held high, the survivors will quick step their way back home, singing, dancing, like Dorothy and the crew. The tears will wait until they actually get there, until they discover the ashes and the stone heaps and the glory that is no longer there.

But for now they are following the road back home and all nature celebrates with them. The mountains are singing, the trees are clapping, “all nature sings and round me rings the music of the spheres!”

“Though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the Ruler yet!”

Let us pray: Gracious Lord, when life gets difficult, when the going gets hard, put a song in our hearts. A song of hope, a song of remembering, a song of peace and promise. Bring the world around us to life again. Resurrect us with joy. Be that enduring flame of hope that no darkness can extinguish. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it. Isaiah 55:8-11

In sports they call it “mailing it in.”

“Mailing it in” is what happens when very gifted athletes don’t try very hard. They don’t play their best. They just show up and expect that good enough will be good enough. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it isn’t. The fans are never satisfied when the best players mail it in.

There is a subtle difference between fate and destiny. “Fate” is rooted in a deterministic way of looking at life. Everything that happened was preordained to happen and there is nothing that anyone can do to change it. Oedipus was consigned to fate, he had no choice in the matter. It was inevitable that he would kill his father and end up blind. Many Christians misunderstand “God’s will” or “God’s plan” in a fatalistic manner.

The trouble with that (among many other troubles with that) is that it can lead Christians to “mail in” their spiritual lives. We can listen to verses like these from Isaiah and conclude that it doesn’t matter much what we do. “God’s thoughts are higher than ours” so what point is there in trying to discern God’s will for our lives, at this point in time, with the future wide open before us?

These verses tell us to trust in God’s Word – that it won’t return empty but will “succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” Taking that too far, thinking fatalistically, leads to mailing it in. Who cares if a Christian listens to God’s Word or not, if everything is already “in the cards”? Why ought a pastor pour time, energy and passion in preaching the absolute best sermon they can on any given Sunday if all that is needed is just showing up, mailing it in? Just let the Word do its work. Yuck.

Destiny is a little different than fate. Destiny is rooted in relationship. Destiny says that we have been gifted with distinctive gifts and that our lives are about discovering and living out those gifts. Life is going somewhere and our task is to discern where and do our best to get on board. From a Christian point of view, our ultimate destiny, our final destination, is life with God – but this isn’t a “sweet by and by” destination, it is a destination we taste today that will be fulfilled in eternity.

So – yes, God’s thoughts and ways are higher than ours, but God invites us to call upon him, to seek direction from him, to listen to him. And yes, God’s Word will accomplish what it will, but we are players in God’s working all of that out. We are players, not pawns, real people, not robots. God’s work – our hands.

“Mailing in” the Christian faith is not good enough. It isn’t good enough for us, it falls short of the good God intends for us. But more importantly, it isn’t good enough for the world around us. We can’t just throw our arms up in the air, call everything “God’s plan” and fail to show up for our neighbor. Instead, trusting in God’s ultimate goodness, day after day, we are called to do the absolute best we can at whatever we do, for the good of the world. We’re called to play to win, in the best sense of that word.

Let us pray: Gracious Lord, thank you for the promises you speak to us. The good news that, although you will always be mystery to us, you still draw near to us in ways that help and guide us. The good news that we can trust your Word and know that it carries your loving intentions for our lives. Let that good news propel us to doing the best we can in living out our destiny as your children, for the good of the world. Amen.