Daily Devotions

Now the time came for Elizabeth to give birth, and she bore a son. Her neighbors and relatives heard that the Lord had shown his great mercy to her, and they rejoiced with her.

On the eighth day they came to circumcise the child, and they were going to name him Zechariah after his father. But his mother said, “No; he is to be called John.” They said to her, “None of your relatives has this name.” Then they began motioning to his father to find out what name he wanted to give him. He asked for a writing tablet and wrote, “His name is John.” And all of them were amazed. Immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue freed, and he began to speak, praising God. Fear came over all their neighbors, and all these things were talked about throughout the entire hill country of Judea. All who heard them pondered them and said, “What then will this child become?” For, indeed, the hand of the Lord was with him.  Luke 1:57-66

Two elements of this story catch my eye this morning – the community and the naming.

Ever since I first became a father I have noticed how the wider community reacts to children.  It was beyond fun when family and friends came to the hospital or to our apartment to join in our new lives as parents.  A great balance was created – the physical and emotional exhaustion was balanced by the community’s joy and encouragement.

That went on for several years before it faded away.  At some level I knew, when taking my 3 year old daughter to a grocery store, that no one would gush on about how cute she was when she reached middle school.  But the early excitement of the neighbors around the birth of John was wonderful for Zechariah and Elizabeth.  Until they named the child.

The story I have been told:  Had my mother been more willing to follow the Norwegian rules of naming the first born son after his grandfathers, my name would have been Knute Lionel Nelson rather than Kerry Lee Nelson.  She consented to the initials but no more than that.  I’m told her stubborn unwillingness to follow protocol was quite the scandal.

(Later, in thinking more deeply about that story, I realized that my uncle and aunt also had a first born son and they didn’t follow the rules either.  Thus, no more Knute’s in the family tree.)

The act of “naming” in Hebrew culture was an exercise in power.  In the creation stories, the man is given the power to name all of the other creatures.  In various Bible stories, characters acquire new names after God intervenes and charts a new course for their lives. Thus, it was a big deal that Elizabeth first chooses the name “John” and, as the fatherly act of naming a child signified the father’s role and responsibility, Zechariah concurred.

His name is John.

The text tells us the neighbors were puzzled, even gripped with fear.  They knew something was up, something was going on.  This was no ordinary birth and this would be no ordinary child.  But then again, we all think that of our children, don’t we?

Let us pray:  Dear Lord, as we move closer to our celebration of Christmas, thank you again for this glimpse into the preparations that began with the birth of John.  Thank you for the hope that comes with the birth of children, for the communities around us who support us, for the promise of new life.  Use us, in whatever way we can be helpful, to be signs preparing the way for Jesus into the lives of others.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” Luke 1:46-55

Martin Luther used to talk about God’s work in our lives as the “great exchange”.  Jesus takes our sin upon himself and sets us free.  Jesus takes our dirty garments and puts a clean white robe on us.  Jesus changes places with us.

In Mary’s song, God is working the great exchange.  Everything is turned upside down. 

The proud are scattered.  The powerful brought low.  The lowly lifted up.  The hungry fed.  The rich left empty.  Certainly this is good news for the humble, the lowly, the hungry and the poor.

But where does that leave us?  I’m rich.  I’m well-fed.  I’m certainly not powerless.

What do we do with Mary’s song?

Perhaps it is enough that her song opens our eyes to the reality of the world.  The vast majority of people live in gut-wrenching poverty.  The vast majority of people live every day as a battle to survive.  These are year around challenges that don’t go away.  Dropping a few bucks on Christmas presents for poor kids will brighten their day but they won’t improve their lives nor will they change the ways of the world toward justice and “enoughness.”

Maybe what we do with Mary’s song on a Monday morning is realize that God is always mindful of people we most often ignore.

Let us pray:  Dear Lord, you came to a young girl who freely took upon herself the mission that you gave to her.  We pray for that same kind of willingness to live, do and be your courageous ambassadors of your Kingdom.  While it is good that we be grateful for the lives you have given us, let us never be content in a world full of discontent.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

(This week’s devotions come from “Grace for the Moment” by Max Lucado.)

“Here I am!  I stand at the door and knock.” Revelation 3:20

Some of the saddest words are earth are, “We don’t have room for you.”

Jesus knew the sound of those words.  He was still in Mary’s womb when the innkeeper said, “We don’t have room for you.”

And when he was hung on the cross, wasn’t the message one of absolute rejection?  We don’t have room for you.

Even today Jesus is given the same treatment.  He goes from heart to heart, asking if he might enter…

Every so often, he is welcomed.  Someone throws open the door of his or her heart and invites him to stay.  And to that person Jesus gives this great promise:  “In my father’s house are many rooms…”

What a delightful promise he makes us!  We make room for him in our hearts, and makes room for us in his house.

Let us pray:  Dear Lord, please come into our hearts in new and powerful ways.  We know they are cluttered with junk that takes too much space but still there is room for you.  Come into our hearts and help us clean out what doesn’t belong there.  Come into our hearts and make us new.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

(This week’s devotions come from “Grace for the Moment” by Max Lucado.)

“For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.”  John 3:17

Can you imagine prospective parents saying, “We’d like to adopt Johnny, but first we want to know a few things.  Does he have a house to live in?  Does he have money for tuition?  Does he have a ride to school every morning and clothes to wear every day?  Can he prepare his own meals and mend his own clothes?”

No agency would stand for such talk.  Its representative would lift her hand and say, “Wait a minute.  You don’t understand.  You don’t adopt Johnny because of what he has; you adopt him because of what he needs.  He needs a home.”

That same is true of God.  He doesn’t adopt us because of what we have.  He doesn’t give us his name because of our wit or waller to good attitude…

Adoption is something we receive, not something we earn.

Let us pray:  Dear God, you have named us, claimed us and called us your own.  From the cross you forgave us.  From the empty tomb you gave us new life.  From the waters of our baptism you marked us forever as your children.  May this good news bring a new kind of hope into our lives today.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

(This week’s devotions come from “Grace for the Moment” by Max Lucado.)

“The Lord hates what evil people do, but he loves those who do what is right.”  Proverbs 15:9

Perhaps the wound is old.  A parent abused you.  A teacher slighted you.  A mate betrayed you… And you are angry.

Or perhaps the wound is fresh.  The friend who owes you money just drove by in a new car.  The boss who hired you with promises of promotions has forgotten how to pronounce your name… And you are hurt.

Part of you is broken, and the other part is bitter.  Part of you wants to cry, and part of you wants to fight… There is a fire burning in your heart.  It’s the fire of anger.

And you are left with a decision.  “Do I put the fire out or heat it up?  Do I get over it or get even?  Do I release it or resent it?  Do I let my hurts heal, or do I let hurt turn into hate?”

Unfaithfulness is wrong.  Revenge is bad.  But the worst part of all that, without forgiveness, bitterness is all that is left.

Let us pray:  Dear Jesus, from the cross you spoke words of forgiveness to those who rejected you, betrayed you, condemned you.  In those words we also hear you forgiving us.  We pray for the grace to let others go, to let past wrongs go, to let what we’ve done go.  We pray for the peace of a quiet conscious and the release of bitterness and resentment.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

(This week’s devotions come from “Grace for the Moment” by Max Lucado.)

“I am the Good Shepherd.  I know my sheep, as the Father knows me.  And my sheep know me.”  John 10:14

The shepherd knows his sheep.  He calls them by name.

When we see a crowd, we see exactly that, a crowd… We see people, not persons, but people.  A herd of humans.  A flock of faces.  That’s what we see.

But not so with the Shepherd.  To him every face is different.  Every face is a story.  Every face is a child.  Every child has a name…

The shepherd knows his sheep.  He knows each one by name.  The Shepherd knows you.  He knows your name.  And he will never forget it.

Let us pray:  Dear Lord, open our eyes that we catch a brief glimpse of life as you see it.  That we might see persons rather than a crowd.  That we might see strangers as brothers and sisters.  That we might know that we belong in the safety and security of your flock.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

(This week’s devotions come from “Grace for the Moment” by Max Lucado.)

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Psalm 23:6

What a surprising way to describe God.  A God who pursues us.

Dare we envision a mobile, active God who chases us, tracks us, following us with goodness and mercy all the days of our lives?

He’s not hard to find.

He’s there in scripture, looking for Adam and Eve.  They’re hiding in the bushes, partly to cover their bodies, partly to cover their sin.

Does God wait for them to come to him? No, the words ring in the garden.  “Where are you?” God asks (Genesis 3:9), beginning his quest to redeem the heart of man.

A quest to follow his children until his children follow him.

Let us pray:  Dear Lord, come to us this Advent season, following us with goodness and mercy.  Don’t give up on us until the day comes when we dwell forever with you.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God. You turn us back to dust, and say, “Turn back, you mortals.”

For a thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past, or like a watch in the night. You sweep them away; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning; in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers.  For we are consumed by your anger; by your wrath we are overwhelmed. You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your countenance.

For all our days pass away under your wrath; our years come to an end like a sigh.  The days of our life are seventy years, or perhaps eighty, if we are strong; even then their span is only toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away. Who considers the power of your anger? Your wrath is as great as the fear that is due you. So teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart. Psalm 90:1-12

Psalm 90 encourages us to “count our days.”  This is one season of the year when we all find ourselves counting days – the number of shopping days before Christmas, the number of school days before Christmas vacation, the number of days until pay day.

Psalm 90 is where we get the idea that “God’s time” is not the same as “our time.”  1000 years is nothing in God’s time but it is a long time for us.  Even if we count in dog years.  But our lives, however long, will always not only be brief over against forever but will be bafflingly brief to us as we live through them.

Every year seems to pass by more and more quickly.  So what do we do with that information?

Again, Psalm 90 invites us to count our days.  Perhaps turning that phrase around might unlock its meaning for us.

What would it mean for us to make every day of our lives count?  What makes something “count” in the long run?

Oddly enough, when I think about my own life, it isn’t some kind of major accomplishment that would make my life count.  It is instead the little pieces of daily faithfulness that probably make the most difference.  This is a good thing because when I’m gone, those who will miss me and those I most affected won’t have a lot of major accomplishments to draw from in reflecting on my life.  They will remember the little things.  A comment here.  A conversation there.  A new idea.  Simply showing up.

Many of the most significant moments of our lives – when it comes to our impact on others – are often moments when we are completely unaware of what is going on, and clueless to the lasting impact.  Unfortunately, that works for both the good that we do and the pain that we inflict.

We put this together and suddenly we see that “counting our days” and “making our days count” both come together when we focus, not on the past that we can’t change or the future that lies only in God’s hands, but on the present.  On today.  On now. On the next right thing.  The next right step.  On the God who holds our hands along the way.

Maybe this is the only wisdom we really need.  Maybe this is why today, in the gift of God that is life, is called the “present”.

Let us pray:  We come to you this moment, God our Creator, our Redeemer and our Sanctifier, to thank you for the gift of our lives, for the gift of new life.  We count because you have counted us, even the hairs on our heads are numbered.  So we pray right now for freedom from the past that we cannot change, for hope in the future that we cannot see, for love to live this moment well.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly order of Abijah. His wife was a descendant of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. But they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years.

Once when he was serving as priest before God and his section was on duty, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to enter the sanctuary of the Lord and offer incense. Now at the time of the incense offering, the whole assembly of the people was praying outside. Then there appeared to him an angel of the Lord, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was terrified; and fear overwhelmed him. But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He must never drink wine or strong drink; even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit. He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before him, to turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” Luke 1:5-17

This year in our midweek Advent services I am focused on joining some of the key characters in Luke’s telling of the birth of Jesus.  Last week, I thought about this season through the eyes of Zechariah (click here to see how that went.)  Today, Joseph.  Next week, the innkeeper.  And the last week, a shepherd.

We come to Zechariah and we instantly make the Old Testament connections.  The continuing theme of “this couple is too old” or “this woman is too barren” but then God does a new thing and a special child is born to them.  We remember angelic visitations or the surprising voice of God showing up to provide guidance or a new calling.

We see all of that and it is interesting and it is the kind of stuff that Luke expects us to see.  But this year, in having fun with Zechariah, it ocurred to me that – though he was old and the odds weren’t good – perhaps Zechariah (whose name means “God remembers”) still clung to the hope that God would remember him and Elizabeth, that God would still remember God’s people.  Perhaps Zechariah never quit dreaming of what God might yet do.

Most of the people who attend our midweek services are of the “seasoned citizen” generation.  They have been faithful for a long long time.  They are the backbone of our ministry.  Just think of all they have been through.  Think of all the changes that have swept across our world, changes that affect every aspect of our lives.  Think of all that has happened in their families, in their extended families.  Think of the dreams they had as young people and how many of them have been realized, how many dashed, and how many surprises along the way.

Imagine what today, December 7th, means to a generation of people whose best friends from high school were at Pearl Harbor, or at the Army recruiting office within a week of this date that will live in infamy.

Then re-enter this story about with Zechariah.  He enters a holy space for a holy purpose.  He has no idea the news he will soon receive, let alone the sea change about to come to the life he shares with Elizabeth.  No wonder he was rendered speechless!

Do we still dream big dreams?  Do we still anticipate God doing new and wonderful things?  Are we open to the possibility that God has dreams for our lives and that one day those dreams might come rushing in, upsetting the apple carts of our well laid plans?

These are Advent questions.

Let us pray:  Dear Lord, to dream is to see hope where there seems to be no ground for hope.  To dream is to see what could be, what might be, even what ought to be.  We pray that you gift us with dreams, with visions, of what you would do for, and through, us.  May we never stop dreaming.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

“See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple. The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight—indeed, he is coming, says the LORD of hosts. But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?  For he is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap; he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the LORD in righteousness. Then the offering of Judah and Jerusalem will be pleasing to the LORD as in the days of old and as in former years.” Malachi 3:1-4

Refining.  Let’s think about that word this morning.

Malachi tells us that a messenger will prepare the way for the arrival of the “Lord whom you seek.”  Malachi writes out of a long tradition that anticipates the great “Day of the Lord” as a time when God will appear in fearsome majesty to right all the wrongs of the world, to punish the evil doers, to vindicate the righteous, and to set up shop in a glorious earthly temple.

That sense of the “Great Day of the Lord” would have been as strongly rooted in the memory banks of Malachi’s readers as the image of John the Baptizer dressed like a biker, doing church on the banks of the Jordan, is in ours.

What holds those two images together is the idea of the “refiner’s fire.”

We have a lot of refineries down here in Houston.  There is a highway just east of town that is lined with refineries.  Every time I drive down that highway I feel sorry for those who work there and those who live there.  Plainly said, it is stinky.  The air is heavy with fumes.  The refineries themselves look like beehives of steel tubing, erector sets of chemical doom.

So I drive by, eager to get past it all, and then it usually occurs to me that I wouldn’t be driving by were it not for the work of those refineries.  The gasoline in my engine came from the processes I’m looking at on the side of the road.

In other words, refining isn’t an end in itself but a means to an end.

Imagine “refining” as “re-fine-ing”.  What does that say?

When gold is refined, it is usually heated up to a liquid.  What isn’t gold is burned off or separates from the gold.  Adding soda ash and borax speeds up the process.  “Fine” gold is separated from what is not gold. 

So it is that God comes to us.  God sees something fine in us that we have long lost sight of, something fine that has been buried, or contaminated, or broken.  The heat that God applies to our lives is love.  Relentless, accepting, justifying, saving love.  Love that will not let us go.

Such refining can certainly be a stinky process.  Witness an alcoholic in the earliest stages of recovery, for the first time coming to terms with the reality of their lives, returning again and again to rooms where they are welcomed with open arms and given the promise that life will get better as they work with others and take certain steps.

Witness a person of faith, returning again and again to the promises of their baptism, courageously facing areas of their lives where they have kept God out, surrendering again and again to God’s will when their own has run them into a brick wall.

Re-fine-ing.  Re-find-ing.  Rediscovery.  Redemption.  Resurrection. 

Let us pray:  Dear Lord, refine us.  Burn away our hypocrisy, our selfishness, our fears, all that separates us from you and from one another.  Refine us, restore us, that we might be about the work of living life to the fullest and being a blessing in the lives of others.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.