DAVID AND GOLIATH, PART ONE It was hot overlooking the flat, treeless Valley of Elah. Approximately two and half miles long and just under half a mile wide at its widest, the valley ran east/west. The stream, Nahal HeEla, ran only during the rainy season, so right now the streambed was dry. The Israelite army, commanded by King Saul, was camped in the hills on the northern side of the valley. The Philistine army was camped in the southern hills, at approximately the same elevation. In other words, the armies, a mile apart, looked each other dead in the eye about two hundred feet above the valley floor. The men of the army of Israel milled about aimlessly. It was almost time. Tension built. Tempers flared over minor issues. Work ceased all through the camp. No one began a task, no matter how small, because in just a few moments they would be interrupted. And the soldiers of Israel were not disappointed. Brazen trumpets blared across the valley to the south. The soldiers left what they were supposed to be doing and filed partway down the slope to a point just above the valley floor. A large portion of the Philistine army was marching north across the valley toward them. Most stopped halfway across, but two continued on to within a long bowshot of the watching Jewish army. One of the two men was absolutely enormous, between nine and ten feet tall. Rumor had it that his armor weighed over one hundred and twenty pounds and that on his massive spear, the head alone weighed a cool fifteen pounds. His name was Goliath. He shouted to the watching Israelite army, “Why bother using your whole army? Am I not Philistine enough for you? And you’re all committed to Saul, aren’t you? So pick your best fighter and pit him against me. If he gets the upper hand and kills me, the Philistines will all become your slaves. But if I get the upper hand and kill him, you’ll all become our slaves and serve us. I challenge the troops of Israel this day. Give me a man. Let us fight it out together!” (I Samuel 17:8-10 The Message) This was not the first time the giant had issued the challenge. He’d been at it every day for almost six weeks. But the entire army of Israelites still melted away in fear, back up the hill to their camp. And the giant laughed in derision. Where was the king of Israel in all this? You remember, Saul, the man who was both the most handsome and tallest man in Israel (I Samuel 9:2)? I looked briefly online, and most scholars believe the average height of men in those days was probably around five foot six. But I Samuel 9:2 says Saul was head and shoulders taller than anyone in Israel, not just the average man. I’m just guessing, but I would think some of the tallest men in Israel would have been around six feet tall. Again, I’m speculating, but I believe that would put Saul at maybe six ten or more. You included Saul in a mass of Israelite men and you would see his head and shoulders sticking up. He literally stood out in a crowd! Almost seven feet tall is a far cry from nine foot nine inches, but Saul, as warrior king of Israel, seems like the natural choice to fight Goliath. And this single combat was apparently not an unusual thing in the ancient world at that time. I Samuel 17:4 says that Goliath was “a champion.” You don’t get that moniker simply by being the biggest guy around. It’s clear that he’d done this sort of thing before and come out on top. But why would any king, backed by an army, even consider such a thing? Have you ever wondered why Saul let this go on forty days? Saul had three choices: 1) fight Goliath alone, 2) attack with his army or 3) withdraw altogether. It had to be terribly demoralizing to his men to hear Goliath’s taunts every day. Why continue this daily circus? Saul lacked the integrity and courage to pursue any of the three choices. God had rejected him (I Samuel 15:26), the kingdom had been torn from him (I Samuel 15:28) and most importantly, the Holy Spirit had left him (I Samuel 16:14). He was a shell of a leader at this point and would be for the rest of his life. He knew full-well that fighting Goliath alone would cost him his life. Goliath was huge and experienced, and besides, Samuel had told Saul that God already had a replacement king waiting in the wings (I Samuel 15:28). And, of course, asking God for help was out of the question. Saul was not walking with God. It would be a short and bitter battle and his entire army would watch him humiliated and destroyed. Saul was very proud and I’m sure would not want to leave that kind of legacy. Attacking was also out of the question. God specifically mentions Saul in I Samuel 17:11, when describing the reaction of the Israelite army to Goliath’s taunts: “Saul and all Israel…were dismayed and greatly afraid.” I doubt the idea of attacking the Philistines ever entered Saul’s mind. He was terrified. And withdrawing wouldn’t solve anything. The Philistine army would simply advance farther and farther into Israel until either Saul surrendered or took a stand and fought them somewhere else. So Saul was caught between two rocks and a hard place. He wouldn’t fight Goliath himself, attacking with his army wasn’t an option and retreating would solve nothing. And then a teenager showed up who believed God would save the day. David certainly had no idea what was in store for him when he got up that morning. He could not have known that he was going to be transformed from “lunch delivery boy” to “champion of God” and “giant-slayer,” all before supper. It was probably after noon by now and the heat was intensifying in the Valley of Elah. Several hundred yards from the southern verge of the valley stood a giant, nearly ten feet tall. Beside him, dwarfed, was his armor bearer, of normal height. Filling the valley behind him, was the Philistine army. Facing Goliath, having just made his way down the slope toward the northern verge of the valley, now standing out on the valley floor about a quarter of a mile from the giant, was a teenage boy. No Israelite soldiers followed him. The giant “had a bronze helmet on his head, and he was clothed with scale-armor which weighed five thousand shekels of bronze [about 125 pounds]. He also had bronze greaves on his legs and a bronze javelin slung between his shoulders. And the shaft of his spear was like a weaver’s beam and the head of his spear weighed six hundred shekels of iron [about 15 pounds].” I Samuel 17:5-7 (NASB). The teenager wore no armor; only the simple clothes he had put on before he left home that morning. He carried only a shepherd’s sling, composed of two cords, each about 24 inches in length, with a thong in the middle. The sling was used to defend his father’s sheep from predators, though this teenager was known to use his bare hands on occasion! He was no pushover, but also no match for the huge, seasoned warrior across the valley. The boy, however, was special. Yes, he had been secretly anointed the next king of Israel. That was special, but not special enough to win this battle. The title “King” didn’t provide courage or bring victory. After all, the current king of Israel was cowering in his tent a safe distance from the battle line. No, what made this teenager special was his unwavering belief that YHWH would win the day and he was glad to simply be the weapon He would use to accomplish that victory. To be continued...

BABIES In 2025, my morning devotional was New Morning Mercies, by Paul David Tripp. I dog-eared September 24 because it had an extra impact on me. I’d like to share a paragraph with you. He wrote of God, “ He is the sun that gives us light. He is a refuge where we can hide. He is the water that nourishes us. And the bread that feeds us. He is the solid rock on which we stand. He is the Captain who defends us against the enemy. He is wisdom, blessing us with the insight of truth. He is the Lamb that bore the penalty for our sin. He is the High Priest who daily brings our case to the Father. He is the faithful friend who will not forsake us even in our worst moments. He is the Giver who blesses us with spiritual riches that we could never earn. He is the one who makes us aware of our sin and brings conviction to our hearts. He is the Shepherd who seeks us when we have wandered and are lost, and brings us back to the fold of His care. None of these actions is a luxury for us. They are all necessary ingredients of our spiritual lives, yet they are not things that we could ever provide for ourselves. We are like babies. Unable to meet our own needs and completely dependent on the love of our Father for life, sustenance and health.” Our daughter had a baby girl on Friday, April 10th . Lola June Anderson is our third grandchild, but the first who lives in Helena, so we are looking forward to exercising our grandparenting muscles more often now. Lola is only two weeks old and is completely dependent on her parents for everything. She’s a sweet little thing, but she is completely helpless. And will be for quite awhile. I remember watching a Christian comedian a few years ago, describing, tongue in cheek, how once, in frustration, he railed at his four-month-old son, “Can’t you do anything for yourself?!” Just like those little babies, we are completely unable to do anything for ourselves, spiritually. Even the most educated, wise and experienced Christian is completely helpless without God.  Let me summarize what our Father provides for us from the Paul David Tripp paragraph I quoted above: light, security, water, food, stability, defense, insight, substitution, intercession, friendship and support, spiritual riches, conviction and rescue. The proud will bristle, because total dependence smacks of humiliation. The strong will object because total dependence implies weakness. In our world that values only strength and self-sufficiency, admitting that I am unable to provide for myself is unacceptable. Confessing that I am completely helpless is intolerable. Many will object: “No one can operate or bargain from a position of weakness.” Of course not; there is no “operating or bargaining” to be done. They will say, “But I must bring something to the table!” No, God expects nothing from you; He already knows that you have nothing to offer. And even with that knowledge, He provides everything you need from His infinite storehouse. Remember II Peter 1:3: “His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of Him who called us by his own glory and goodness.” And Philippians 4:19: “And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.” Don’t bristle; lay aside your pride and rejoice that God thinks so highly of you as to provide all your needs. And grace upon grace, He also occasionally provides you with your wants! We sang Great is Thy Faithfulness in church recently. Sing it again to yourself as you read, “All I have needed Thy Hand has provided. Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.” What should our daily response be to such grace and provision? Paul David Tripp places a fitting benediction on his devotional. “All praise, honor, worship, and service go to God and God alone. He sought us, He birthed us, He sustains us. He matures us. He protects us. And He will finally deliver us. To Him be the glory. Amen.”

Luck Do any of the following phrases sound familiar to you? “I’m feeling lucky today!” “As luck would have it…” “That was beginner’s luck!” “The luck of the draw.” “What an unlucky break.” “You lucky dog!” “Don’t push your luck.” “You got to ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well do ya, punk?” (Dirty Harry). We’ve all heard those statements, probably even said them ourselves a time or two (except maybe the Dirty Harry line). But is there really any such thing as luck? Here’s the definition of luck from the Cambridge Dictionary: “The force that causes things, especially good things, to happen to you by chance and not as a result of your own effort or abilities.” Really? The “force?” It sounds very mysterious and nebulous; like the Cambridge Dictionary folks were watching a Star Wars movie when they wrote that definition. The watershed ridgeline, or litmus test, as to what you call that “force,” of course, is whether you believe in a personal God or not. Without such a God, what else but luck could produce the circumstances in our lives? If no Designer exists, no Supreme Being presides, no King rules, then anything and everything that has ever happened to you or to me or to anyone else in history has been completely random. I spent my undergraduate years at Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia, in the 1980s. I was there at the same time as Pastor John, though we never met. We moved in completely different circles, because I was getting a degree in Biology Education so that I could teach secondary science, and he was studying to enter the ministry. It’s very possible, however, that we sat near each other in Chapel or in Old Testament Survey or in the cafeteria, and never knew it! My science courses at Liberty were all taught by Christian professors, and the curriculum approached the issue of both origins and science from a Biblical perspective. God created the heavens and the earth, and everything in existence is a direct result of the infinitely creative and ever-loving Hand of our heavenly Father. And that Father/Creator is, even today, intimately involved in every aspect of every life that has ever lived, including ours. In the 1990s, with a bit of teaching under my belt, I attended graduate school at Montana State University in Bozeman and spent most of my time in the Biology Department, pursuing a Master’s Degree. MSU approached the issues of origins and science from a perspective diametrically opposed to that of Liberty: There is no God. Everything we see in the world around us today is the result of luck. Billions of years of it, shaping our world and its inhabitants ever so slowly. No direction, no design, no plan, just sheer faceless luck. Proponents of that viewpoint call it “chance.” This perspective has always struck me as extremely bleak and hopeless. Because in a world ruled by chance, human lives are devoid of meaning. If my existence is a cosmic coincidence caused by the random collisions of atoms and molecules over billions of years, then of what value is it? And of what value is anyone else’s existence, for that matter? We’re all the products of blind luck! And when I die, I will cease to exist, just like all who have gone before me. My life has no meaning. I’m not sure how people who believe this can even sleep at night. And if you drill down far enough, you conclude that nothing has any real meaning; it’s all just a big cosmic joke, and you and I are the butt. If, on the other hand, I was created personally by a loving God who knew my name before time began and is intimately involved in every area of my life, then I have infinite worth. I am loved and I have purpose. My value is inestimable. And when I die, I have the promise of spending eternity with my Creator Father. Next time you’re having trouble sleeping, just meditate on the wonderful concept of a loving Creator who not only knows your name, but sent His only Son to die in your place for all the wrong you’ve ever done and ever will do. You are held in high esteem by the very Creator of the universe! In case you are unaware, the Bible clearly teaches of the identity and power of the Creator and the infinite value of the creation, and especially of mankind. Isaiah 44:24 reads, “Thus says the Lord, your Redeemer, and the one who formed you from the womb, ‘I, the Lord, am the maker of all things, stretching out the heavens by Myself, and spreading out the earth all alone.’” God made everything that exists. I won’t take the space to quote all of Job chapters 38-41, but in response to Job’s well-meant but woefully incomplete understanding of God, God proceeds to challenge Job, beginning with the question, “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth!” After almost seventy verses of forcefully guiding Job on a tour of His power, majesty and control over His creation, God takes a figurative breath and Job responds with, “I am insignificant; what can I reply to Thee? I lay my hand on my mouth.” But God isn’t finished with Job. He sings a second verse, finishing up fifty-some verses later and causing Job to finally acknowledge that, like us, he hasn’t the slightest clue as to the almighty power and creative genius of God. And he finally says, like we should also, when we are tempted to believe those who preach that “chance rules all,” “No purpose of Thine can be thwarted…I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear; but now my eye sees Thee. Therefore, I retract, and I repent in dust and ashes.” Psalm 139 can’t be any clearer about the means by which humans have come into existence. David writes, “For Thou didst form my inward parts; Thou didst weave me in my mother’s womb. I will give thanks to Thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; wonderful are Thy works, and my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from Thee, when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth. Thine eyes have seen my unformed substance; and in Thy book they were all written, the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them. How precious are Thy thoughts to me, O God! How vast is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would outnumber the sand. When I awake, I am still with Thee.” (:13-18) God created us individually and is intimately involved in our lives, loving and guiding us at every moment. Here are the two worldviews side by side. The first is that the world is godless, directionless, ruled by random chance; the second is that the world is designed for us, full of meaning and significance and ruled by a loving, personal God. The first promises a bleak, hopeless and meaningless future, and requires nothing of us; the second promises a future that is bright and joyful, but requires our faith and obedience.  I’m taking the second worldview, thank you. To anyone who chooses the first, I say good luck with that.

“Mary” Though Resurrection Sunday is now past, I’d like revisit it with you. One of my favorite scenes in the entire Bible is found in John 20. You remember the story. Jesus was dead. Joseph of Arimathea and the Pharisee who came to Jesus in the night, Nicodemus, had to rush the preparation of Jesus’ body for burial because of the impending Sabbath. So Mary of Magdala and a few other women went back to the tomb very early Sunday morning to perform a post-Sabbath touch-up final treatment of the body. John only names Mary, but Matthew, Mark and Luke all mention several women. That is not a discrepancy; John focused on only one woman, as the rest of this section will show, so he left the others out of his description of events. Now, how crazy is this: I’m currently reading a book by Lee Strobel called Seeing the Supernatural, not expecting to read anything remotely connected with the women at the tomb. And today, a scant day after I wrote the above paragraph, I came across a discussion of how many women came to the tomb Sunday morning and whether, since the Gospels don’t agree, they can be trusted! And I read that the device employed by an author, of highlighting one character even though others are present, just like John did here, has a name. It’s called literary spotlighting. Interestingly, it’s clear that John was aware that other women were present at the tomb, because in his account, when Mary later reported to Peter and John what had happened, she said, “we do not know where they have laid Him.” When the women arrived, they were presented with the most astonishing scene possible; the stone had been rolled away from the opening to the tomb (:1)! Matthew, Mark and Luke tell us that the women looked inside, certainly expecting to see the body of Jesus, but were confronted instead by angel or two (depending on the Gospel version) who told them that Jesus was alive. John tells us only that Mary saw the stone rolled away and then ran to tell Peter and John. Keep in mind that John is telling a different story than the other Gospel writers, employing literary spotlighting, focusing on several personal, one-on-one interactions of Jesus after the resurrection. He’ll relate the story of Thomas in a similar way and later, the story of Peter on the beach. So Mary ran away, unaware of the good news of Jesus’ resurrection (:2). All she knew was that the body was missing. She ran to Peter and John to tell them the bad news. All three then made a beeline for the tomb, John winning the footrace but then stopping just short of the finish line by not entering (:3-5). Peter then arrived, puffing and blowing, pushed past John and entered the tomb. John joined him and they both observed the graveclothes of Jesus (:6-9). This sight caused at least John to believe (:8). A lot has, notably, been made of the shape of those graveclothes. They were in the shape of the body of Jesus! Something else about them that you rarely hear, however, is that, according to John 19:39, that Jesus-shaped shell of graveclothes weighed between seventy- five and one hundred pounds! Peter and John then departed the scene (:10), leaving Mary by herself outside. The thought that Jesus was alive had never entered her mind. Things were happening way too fast for her. But the most overwhelmingly important thing to her right then was that the body of Jesus was missing and she needed to find it in order to care for it. Mary, weeping, finally went into the tomb and there encountered two angels – they apparently weren’t there when Peter and John went in (:11). She explained to the angels that her tears resulted from her inability to fulfill her desire to care for the body of Jesus. She completely missed the fact that she was talking to two angels (:12,13)! She then stepped out of the tomb and saw a man close by. It was the risen Jesus, but she didn’t recognize Him (:14). Some have said that her failure to recognize Jesus was a result of the tears in her eyes obscuring her vision, but more likely it was a supernatural blinding. The same thing happened to Cleopas and his friend when they encountered Jesus walking home from Jerusalem to Emmaus in Luke 24. Mary has very likely been weeping since before the crucifixion. I think we can probably all relate. We’ve suffered the loss of a loved one, and the tears just won’t stop. We think we have them under control, only to have them return full force a few minutes or hours later. At times, we can barely function, the emotions are so overwhelming. That was Mary. She was beside herself with grief. She was crushed and devastated. Just like you and I have been. Jesus asked her why she was weeping. She had no idea who this man was who was asking her such a personal question, but she figured he must work there, so instead of answering his question (which may not even have registered with her) she asked him if he knew where the body of Jesus could be found (:15). He didn’t answer her as she expected. He simply said her name. “Mary!” And her eyes were open and she recognized Jesus (:16)! Have you ever been asked what Bible event you would like to witness? I am sure we share some big, powerful events on our lists, like the destruction of the walls of Jericho, David killing Goliath, the parting of the Red Sea, Gideon’s victory, the dedication of the Temple by Solomon, the crucifixion. But also on my list is this moment: seeing Mary’s face as recognition dawned. I doubt there has ever been someone as despondent as Mary was at that moment. Jesus, whom she had loved with every fiber of her being, was unexpectedly dead. And it had been so sudden. It’s possible that she had just seen Him Thursday afternoon before He celebrated Passover with the Twelve, and by Friday afternoon He was dead! There had been no good-bye. She couldn’t understand how this could even have happened at all. Jesus was so powerful that He could cast out demons, He could heal any disease, He could even raise Lazarus from the dead! How could He Himself be dead?! I imagine she was still in shock to a degree. She had seen Jesus die on the cross, but Joseph and Nicodemus had taken His body down and then whisked it away for hasty preparation and burial. She had been outside the tomb when they interred the body, but everything had been so rushed, she had never had the opportunity to kiss Jesus’ face or touch His hand or weep over His body. She needed to see Him! And now she wasn’t even going to be allowed to weep over Him because His body had been stolen! No one seemed to know anything. Maybe this man could help her find Jesus. Instead, Jesus said, “Mary!” No fanfare. Just her name. We can only use our imaginations to describe the scene, but I picture her temporarily losing the use of her legs. Her knees may have buckled as her bewildered brain tried to make sense of that familiar voice. Every feature of her face transformed from utter despair to unadulterated joy in a moment. If she did fall to the ground, I don’t imagine it took long for her to regain the use of her legs and launch herself at Jesus, crying “Teacher!” We have all lost people we loved dearly. This may be painful for you, because nothing we do will ever bring them back from death like Jesus came back. But to attempt to get just a slight taste of what Mary felt in that moment, try to imagine your loved one suddenly appearing in real life, in the flesh, as you unlock your back door and walk into your house. Or there they are, standing with open arms when you walk into your kitchen. And they say your name with love and affection. You can hear their familiar voice and see them, healthy and strong. [Okay, I’m crying now myself, so let’s get back to Mary and wrap this up.] We know Mary launched herself at Jesus, because in verse 17, Jesus said to her, “Stop clinging to Me!” She must have been incredulous, wondering if this was real, and exploding with joy. I imagine a thousand questions occurred to her later on, but right now she simply held on to Jesus as tightly as she could for as long as she was allowed. Are you hurting today? Are you grieving? Let these Scriptures sink in and encourage you; The righteous cry and the Lord hears, and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:17,18 He heals the brokenhearted, and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3 Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Matthew 5:4 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. II Corinthians 1:3,4 Whom have I in heaven but Thee? And besides Thee, I desire nothing on earth. My flesh and my heart may fail, But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Psalm 73:25,26 Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28 Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, shall guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6,7 One last point to make. If you have a personal relationship with Jesus; if you have surrendered your will to Him, then someday you will see Him face to face, just like Mary did. Well, probably not exactly like Mary did; probably more the way John saw Jesus in Revelation 1: “Among the lampstands I saw one like a son of man, clothed in a robe reaching to the feet, and girded across His chest with a golden sash. His head and His hair were white like white wool, like snow; and His eyes were like a flame of fire. His feet were like burnished bronze, when it has been made to glow in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of many waters. In His right hand He held seven stars, and out of His mouth came a sharp two-edged sword; and His face was like the sun shining in its strength.” That sounds more than a bit daunting to us now, maybe even bordering on terrifying, but I don’t think it will be that way when you stand before Him. He will look at you with love in His eyes and He will say your name. And He will stretch out His nail-scarred hands to you. And I imagine your knees will buckle, and when you recover, you will launch yourself into His arms and He will hold you close. And He will not tell you to stop clinging to Him, but will welcome you to your eternal home where you will worship and love and serve Him with never-ending joy.

The Death of the Lamb, Part 3 I had heard that it could take as long as four days for the crucified to die and asked Simon if he wanted to leave the horrible scene, as some others already had, making their way miserably back into Jerusalem. He said he would stay until the end. But he didn't think death would take nearly as long coming as it usually did for those crucified. He said that by the look of Jesus’ back and head, which was still ringed by the crown of thorns, he had lost so much blood from the scourging and the beating that it would only be a matter of hours before he was dead. I had heard that sometimes those sentenced to scourging and crucifixion didn't even live long enough to make it to the cross. I guess it depended on how enthusiastic the scourgers were. I decided to stay with Simon. I felt that I owed it to Jesus. He had changed my life. Before he had come along, I was focused only on myself and what I could get out of life and out of others. But Jesus taught me that my focus needed to be on others, not for what I could get from them, but for what I could give to them. You don't leave a man who has made that kind of impact on your life alone to die. Simon and I sat down on the stony ground, a little apart from the rest of the people. I glanced up at the sky to check the time and suddenly noticed that the clear day had become overcast and gloomy. But by my estimate it could be no later than the third hour from sunrise. The morning wore on. My lamb had fallen asleep. I held it gently on my lap and stroked its wool. It was comforting to feel its warmth and to watch it breathing. I leaned over and whispered, “You, little one, were spared from death today. Because of Jesus death, you're going to become a pet for my little sister instead of a sacrifice for sin.” The lamb slept on, oblivious to its salvation. The Roman column that had escorted the procession to Golgotha was now idle. These men had seen so much death that crucifixions made no impact on them. They were just doing their jobs and now they were simply bored. A few of them now and again would mock Jesus, saying such things as, “Save yourself! Come down from the cross!” Or, “If you're truly the Son of God, as you say, come down!” Even the men who were being crucified alongside Jesus said these things. And I must admit that I couldn’t help thinking the same thing. If Jesus really was the Deliverer, where had his power gone? I had heard about how he raised a man from the dead in nearby Bethany a few weeks ago. If a man could defeat death like that, how could he have allowed himself to be taken like this and nailed to a cross? I confess that I began to doubt, sitting there hour after hour on the uncomfortable rocks. But then I remembered all the things I had seen Jesus do, and I remembered so many of his words, and first and foremost I remembered his words of forgiveness for those who were executing him, and my doubts withered. No mere man could say those words and really mean them. Yes, Jesus was who he claimed to be. I would go on believing him even if I didn't understand what was happening. Later in the morning, the religious leaders came out and began to mock Jesus. I was appalled. These were our spiritual leaders, and there they strutted in their long rich robes, gloating before Jesus and shouting to us, “He could save others, but not himself! Surely you don't still believe that he is your Messiah?” I was completely disillusioned. If these spiritual giants could be so consumed by hatred and vindictiveness, what hope was there for a simple, uneducated country boy like me? And then, with a flash, I remembered the words of Jesus during one of those confrontations with the religious leaders. He had said to them with fire in his eyes, “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside appear beautiful, but inside they are full of dead men's bones and all uncleanness. Even so, you too outwardly appear righteous to men, but inwardly you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness.” And right then, I knew. These men may be religious, but they didn't know God. And I decided right then that I would continue to respect their position, but I would never again follow what they taught. I would follow the teachings of Jesus. They didn't stay long at Golgotha. Apparently, the rabble and the stench of blood and mangled flesh didn't agree with their refined senses. They certainly seemed satisfied with themselves as they walked away though. The morning wore on. Jesus, head bowed, was suffering unimaginable pain now with every movement he made. Flies swarmed over his wounds. Now and again he would raise his battered body, suffering the agony it produced, just to get a precious lungful of air. I had heard that almost every victim of crucifixion died of asphyxiation; finally, not able to lift the weight of his body from off his lungs, he simply suffocated. The sky’s gloom grew deeper and deeper. Soon the crosses could only dimly be distinguished in the murky light. By midday, total darkness had fallen. It was almost as if God was shielding His eyes from the scene. The darkness quieted most, although weeping could still be heard from some of the women. The puzzled and alarmed soldiers sent into the city for lamps and placed several of them on the ground. Suddenly we were in an island of light, surrounded on all sides by blackest night. The lamplight, weakened by the murk, cast only a faint glow upward on Jesus, producing ghastly shadows that transformed his ever kind and gentle face into a grimacing, misshapen terror. This spectacle, combined with the stillness of the air produced an eerie, awesome effect. The afternoon passed slowly. The darkness, almost tangible, beat down unbearably upon us, like a black, heavy blanket trying to penetrate our tiny haven of light. No one spoke, and the soldiers no longer mocked Jesus, but sat silently, except for one group that sat apart gambling. Their laughter was jarring in the stillness. My lamb awoke and, frightened by the darkness and the silence and the scent of blood, bleated softly. I bent to comfort and quiet it. As I did, it occurred to me that right about now was the time of the sacrifices in the temple. As the ninth hour neared, I could see that the Teacher's agony was intensifying. His movements, although restricted by the nails, became more agitated. His entire body began to quiver, certainly causing unbearable pain, but he made no sound. Suddenly he lifted his battered face toward heaven and with a trembling yet amazingly strong voice, cried out in anguish, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” The utter despair in that cry pierced my heart like a blade of ice, and I wept again, desolate. Then, quietly, he spoke again. “I thirst.” One of the soldiers dipped a sponge in some vinegar, mounted it on a short reed and stretched it up to Jesus. In a voice trembling with emotion, it seemed, Jesus said, “Tetelestai – It is finished.” Then, deep in the earth, a tremor began that slowly grew and grew until it seemed that the very foundations of the world would crumble under its force. It was terrifying in the blackness. Wails and shouts of fear rose all around Golgotha. Both Simon's and my lamb panicked. Simon was able to control his, but mine struggled with a strength borne of terror, and I couldn't hold on. The lamb leaped to the ground and ran as if pursued by wolves. I hurried after it as best I could over the heaving ground. A panicked commotion had begun among the people, alarmed at the Earth's violent shaking. Just as I caught up to my lamb and snatched it up in my arms, the shouting of the people was suddenly cut short. I turned to several near me to ask what was happening. Their eyes were all on the cross. I turned and followed their gaze. Jesus’ head had snapped erect. All eyes were on his face, which was fully illumined by some unseen source of light. He was smiling and his eyes shone, clear and bright through his swollen flesh. He gazed toward heaven and said in a strong, vibrant voice, full of love and devotion, “Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit.” With that, he went limp, his beautiful head hanging on his chest. The crown of thorns fell, clattering to the ground at the feet of the centurion.  Jesus was dead. They would take him away later and put his body in a tomb. Simon and I turned quickly from the scene as the earth began to settle and with black hearts and blind eyes, stumbled away into the growing light.

The Death of the Lamb Part II I was nearing the city, thinking of how, with a bit of help from some of my friends, I could probably get my mother to Jerusalem to see Jesus in a few weeks, and how pleased she would be at that thought, when I noticed a loud commotion on the road ahead. A large procession was coming out of the city gate. That tiny little seed of dread, sown so mysteriously in my heart that morning, momentarily forgotten as I mused on lambs and little sisters, now suddenly began to grow again. For I could see that it was a crucifixion procession. The Romans had brought this ghastly method of execution with them when they had occupied Palestine, and more were taking place every day. This man was probably a runaway slave or maybe a thief, and now he was going to die carrying his own cross. But as the procession passed by me, I was suddenly stricken by a paralyzing horror. For a moment I couldn't move, I couldn't think, I couldn't even breathe. This was no rebel Jew, it was Jesus! They were going to crucify Jesus. He was bent nearly double under the weight of the horizontal beam of the cross. His rugged face was hardly recognizable, swollen and disfigured by countless blows. A cruel circlet of thorns was embedded deep in his scalp and blood streamed from the gashes it inflicted, covering his battered features. His beard had been savagely torn, and his eyes were swollen half closed and glazed with pain and fatigue. His bloodstained garments, evidence of a severe scourging, stuck to his open wounds. As my numbed mind beheld this awful scene, all hope fled, both for the glorious Kingdom promised by the Teacher and for the miraculous healing of my mother. Even as Jesus passed me, he stumbled in exhaustion and fell, his face in the dust of the road, the heavy crossbeam on top of him. He lay as one dead, except for the heaving of his bruised chest as he fought for air. A horrible silence fell, broken only by the rattling gasps of the Teacher. The centurion in command, seeing that Jesus could no longer go on, quickly scanned the crowd in the road and picked out Simon. I had met Simon that morning and we had walked together toward Jerusalem. He was bringing his own lamb for the sacrifice, too. He was a big man and from the country like me. Also like me, he was enthusiastically awaiting the advent of the new kingdom and had been going to hear Jesus again. He hastily thrust his lamb into my arms as the centurion grabbed him. “I've got it,” I said, now with my arms more than full with two squirming little lambs. Simon was made to pick up the Teacher's beam and carry it. Jesus was dragged roughly to his feet and made to stagger onward. I abandoned my plans for the Passover celebration in Jerusalem and followed the horrible procession. I almost let my lamb go, but the monetary investment I had made in it stopped me. I hitched up both lambs a little higher under each arm and trudged on. My mind was in a daze. Though the sun still shone, in my eyes the fair day had turned black and I felt cold inside. That seed of dread had bloomed and its deadly flower covered my heart because I knew where we were going. Golgotha, the Hill of the Skull. It was a name that recalled anguish to many whose loved ones or friends had been slain on that loathsome hill. It was the place of death. Everyone knew the name Golgotha. It struck dread into every heart. No one sentenced to death ever came back from there. Many others also followed this procession, some wailing, some weeping softly, some silent, but all filled with despair. All hopes for the overthrow of the Romans were dashed. Our supposed Messiah was defeated and on his way to ignominious death, and the double column of legionnaires flanking him ended any thought of rescue. When we arrived at the hill, we saw that two men already hung writhing in agony on their crosses. I was told later that they were thieves caught red-handed. Simon was released from duty. He put the beam down gently, took a quick, pitying look at Jesus, and came to stand by me. I gave him back his lamb. Both of the lambs were bleating, hungry and afraid. Some of the women of the city hurried toward Jesus and offered with trembling hands the drink of myrrh mixed with wine taken by those about to be crucified. It provided numbing release from the worst of the pain. But strangely, Jesus refused it. The Roman soldiers detailed to the Crucifixion brutally ripped the Teacher's clothes from his body, tearing flesh and reopening wounds that now again sent forth streams of bright blood down his hideously scourged back. I had to look away at my first sight of his back. It had literally been torn apart. Under the horrifying mass of bloody pulp, I could see the chunks of flesh were missing. As Jesus bent and his skin stretched, I was sure I could see the white gleam of a rib showing. All watched, appalled, as Jesus was made to lie down on what was left of his back. His arms spread wide over the rugged crossbeam. One of the soldiers knelt on Jesus’ upper arm, pinning it to the beam. He then took a hammer and a large iron nail and deftly placed the point of that nail on Jesus’ arm. He raised his hammer and brought it down with a dull clank, driving that nail through Jesus’ forearm between his two arm bones, just above the wrist. Several of the women gasped. But Jesus, looking straight up into the sky, made no sound. I turned away to hide my eyes, but I couldn't shield my ears from the dull clanks of hammer on nail. Quickly and efficiently, the soldier repeated the process on the other wrist. Suddenly Jesus cried out the first words I had heard him utter. But this was not a scream of agony or a curse against the Romans, he cried, “Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they do!” I was astounded. How could he possibly be forgiving these Romans who were treating him so brutally? They were killing him! The Teacher's actions were beyond me. My mind was filled with sorrow and hatred, and Jesus was not only neither angry nor bitter, but he was sympathetic and forgiving of his tormentors. The soldiers then helped Jesus to his feet, supporting the weight of the crossbeam on their shoulders for a few moments. They attached a rope to the center of the beam. The other end of the rope was threaded through a pulley on top of a tall post already standing between the crucified thieves, and several of the soldiers took their places on it. As they pulled on the rope, the beam and Jesus began to rise, bumping their way up the post. Blood from his wrists poured out onto the ground. The weight of his body on his outstretched arms immediately caused both of his shoulders to dislocate. I shuddered to think of the excruciating pain he must be experiencing. When the Teacher's feet were two or three feet off the ground, one of the soldiers nailed a short plank to the post between his legs to partially support his body. Several soldiers then lashed the crossbeam to the post, while still others secured the pulley rope to a peg in the ground. The soldier with the hammer stepped forward again then and, bending the Teacher's knees slightly, drove a nail into the post through the heel of each foot. Finally, one of the soldiers mounted the back of the cross and hung on a nail a board on which was written in Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek, “Jesus, the King of the Jews.” Jesus was crucified. The loving hands that had healed so many, that had miraculously fed the thousands, that had welcomed and blessed the children; the feet that had trod so far over the dusty roads to bring hope to so many - were nailed, bleeding, to the rugged cross. No longer would the Teacher sit on the ground, surrounded by eager ears, and tell of his wonderful kingdom. No longer would he stand before the sick, healing far into the night. And no longer would my mother and I look forward to the day when she and I could walk side by side into Jerusalem, her crippled legs straight and true. Coarse laughter interrupted my thoughts. The soldiers were distributing the Teacher's bloodstained garments among themselves. Squatting just behind Jesus’ cross, they then drew lots for his robe. It was woven of just one piece of fabric, and the soldiers apparently considered it too valuable to be divided among them. The lot fell to the one who had wielded the hammer. He draped the blood-stained thing over his shoulders and the others bowed low to him in mockery of Jesus. Hatred welled up in me so that, had I a sword close at hand, I might have attacked the filthy Gentiles. And I’d most likely have ended up dead too. I felt Simon's heavy hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw tears in his eyes as he shook his head and said, “It would do no good, my friend.” Finished with their sport, the soldiers went and sat down. Their job was done. To be concluded

The Death of the Lamb, Part I The morning was warm and fair, but a strange dread lay on my heart as I walked toward the city. My lamb squirmed in my arms, not liking to be confined. I paused for a moment in the throng and looked up at the sky. I couldn’t put my finger on it; there was just an ominous sense of expectancy in the air, like when you first awake on the day of an unpleasant event. You know it’s not going to be a good day, but you can’t remember why for the first few moments. Today was like that. The sun was shining, but there was something dark lurking around the edges of its brightness. Today was Passover, one of the most important days of our year. I was walking to Jerusalem both for the afternoon’s Passover sacrifice and hopefully to listen to the Teacher again. I could hardly wait to hear and see Him. I had first seen him three years before, when I was helping my mother at the Pool of Bethesda. We were looking for the movement of the magical waters that could heal her crippled legs. He had made a lame man walk that day, and I had tried to get my mother up close to him in the hope that he would heal her, but of course everyone else had the same idea. The crowd was just too great, and my mother was nearly trampled in all the confusion. I had wanted to follow the Teacher when he left Jerusalem back then, but eventually I had to agree with my mother; I was just too young and she had no one else to care for her. Jesus had returned to the area several times since then, and last year, with my mother’s permission, I had gone for a couple days to listen to him as he traveled from town to town. I had never heard anyone speak the way Jesus spoke. I can’t describe the feelings that welled up inside me when he looked at me. He made me feel like I was the only one in the crowd, like he was talking to me alone. It made me feel somehow worthy and capable of doing great things for God, like Moses and David did. The religious leaders said that Jesus was a blasphemer and demon-possessed, but it certainly didn’t seem that way to me. I had seen my share of the demon-possessed. They were irrational, unpredictable and sometimes violent. Jesus couldn’t have been less like that. He was calm, logical and supremely confident, and that seemed to upset our religious leaders. They also said that he was uneducated and a bastard half-Jew. I couldn’t comment on that. I guess it all depends on how you measure a man. It doesn’t seem right to judge a man by his parents. I don’t imagine any man has much say about who his parents are. And I could certainly relate to the part about being uneducated. I am uneducated. Of course, like most boys, I spent several years early on in school to learn the basics of reading and writing so that I could study the Torah as well as do business, but then the demands of learning a trade stepped in and I had to give up book learning. The same is true of all my friends. So if being uneducated is somehow something wrong with a person, then there is something wrong with me, too, and with virtually everyone I know. Jesus was the most intense person I had ever seen. During the short time I had spent traveling with him, it seemed like he never wasted a moment. I got the impression that somehow his time was short and he felt that he needed to get on with his work. I didn't understand it then, and I still didn't understand it as we slowly made our way into Jerusalem that morning. He was fairly young, maybe a little bit younger than the age my father would be had he still been alive. Most men Jesus’ age could look forward to at least another 20 years, and sometimes many more than that. Why there was such a sense of urgency about him was a mystery. Jesus spoke with love, but had no time for those who weren't serious about living lives that glorified God. And it always seemed that he could discern who those people were. Every time Jesus had an encounter with the religious leaders, the tension in the air would almost take your breath away. I had witnessed a few of those confrontations and I remember feeling uncomfortable watching Jesus take these men to task. What he did was turn our ideas about what pleases God upside down. You see, we were taught from the beginning that the sacrifices we made pleased God, and that the keeping of the law pleased God as well as our giving money. In fact, the religious leaders taught us that the more we gave to the coffers at the synagogue, the more God would shower his blessing on us. But here came a man who taught that it wasn't our actions so much as our hearts that God was interested in. He said that our actions would follow as our hearts became more attuned to God's. He said that daily obedience was more important to God than our sacrifices; that loving and serving others was more important than keeping the Sabbath. And that God was more interested in the cheerful heart of the giver than He was in the amount the giver gave. All of which stuck in the craw of our religious leaders. It is one thing to be a nobody like me and have your lifelong way of thinking challenged, but it is another altogether to be a respected religious leader in the same position. Although I was taught to respect our leaders, I never really thought they cared much about us. They were certainly very spiritual though, and it was hard to watch them being embarrassed by the Teacher. The Sunday before, Jesus had again entered Jerusalem, but this time riding on a white colt amid the joyous shouts of the people. We had all thought that this must be the day of our deliverance. We had suffered under the iron fist of Rome for almost 100 years now. Ever since General Pompey came rolling into our land with his legions. In my more bitter moments, I was gratified by the knowledge that Pompey was murdered by the Egyptians as he got out of his boat on the shores of Alexandria. Betrayed by the very people who had promised to protect him from the wrath of his popular rival, Julius Caesar. Too bad that hadn't happened before he came to Israel. Ever since that conquest, we have been living on our own land, but subject to the pagan Romans. I had difficulty understanding why God, the one true God, would allow this to happen. Why would He allow the worship of idols to go on in the land of His people? Why would He allow the rights of His chosen people to be trampled? And why didn't He answer our prayers for salvation? Like every Jew, I knew that our people had suffered much longer enslaved in Egypt back before the days of the deliverer Moses. But that didn't make it any easier to swallow our present plight. A great number of people thought that Jesus must be the next deliverer promised to us. He certainly had the power of God with him, and the support of the people necessary to begin a revolt. And when he came riding into the city of God that bright morning, he was hailed as the promised deliverer, “Hosanna Hosanna. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” the crowd shouted. Word spread like wildfire all over the countryside that the Deliverer, the promised Messiah, had arrived in Jerusalem. It would be only a matter of time before he would lead us to victory over the Romans and establish the everlasting Kingdom that the prophet Isaiah spoke so much about. The desert would bloom and the lion would lie down with the lamb, and I was sure that in that Kingdom I would eventually be able to gain an audience with King Jesus and he would heal my mother. So we waited expectantly. But Jesus didn't do anything. All we heard was silence. In fact, after teaching in the temple each day that week, Jesus disappeared each evening. No one knew where he went, and nothing happened. The Roman legionnaires still walked unchallenged through our streets, their coarse speech insulting us and our way of life. Their armour glittered in the sun, boasting the invincibility of the Empire. The people still had hope, however, and they hung on the Teacher’s every word, waiting for him to make his move and send out a call to arms to begin the revolt. I knew with Jesus at the head of our army, with his miraculous powers, we couldn't help but crush the Romans. They didn't have a chance. So it was with an air of expectancy that I went into Jerusalem that morning. What better time than Passover for Jesus to overthrow our enemies? After all, wasn't this centuries-old annual celebration about God's overthrow of the Egyptians and his deliverance of his people by the hand of Moses? Jesus had probably been waiting for this very day to make his move. Of course, that was why he had delayed. He was waiting for just the right moment. I was not the only one walking toward Jerusalem that fair morning. Beggars, pilgrims and others like me, wishing to hear the Teacher again or awaiting the expected revolt, made their way into the city. The sound and smell of livestock was strong. Many were leading or carrying lambs as I was. Early this afternoon we would all go into the Temple and with a priest standing by with a bowl, we would sacrifice these lambs to atone for our sins. The priest would catch the blood in the bowl and then sprinkle it on the altar. There were so many thousands of people that we would have to go in shifts. This commemorated the deliverance of our people from slavery in Egypt so many years ago. I had bought a lamb from the temple stalls last year and it had cost me so much that I decided to buy, raise and bring my own for the sacrifice this year. My little sister had been appalled when I told her why I was bringing the lamb with me this morning, and had run away in tears. Someday she'll understand what the Torah says. There has to be shedding of blood to pay for our sins, and only a spotless lamb, one without blemishes, qualifies to be that sacrifice. To be continued...

The Divine Exchange Each year, my wife Erin and I try to read some kind of special devotional book during the weeks approaching both Christmas and Easter. We usually do this separately, but this year we are together reading a book by Charles Martin titled It Is Finished: A 40-Day Pilgrimage Back to the Cross . On Day 5 (p. 39), the author lists all the things brand-new sinners Adam and Eve lost when God banished them from the Garden of Eden. For example, he writes that they went from “effortless to impossible, gentleness to hatred, intimacy to alienation.” And I thought, as I read this super-discouraging litany of loss, that if we turned all those examples around, it would be a list of all the things we gain when we believe in Jesus! I hope Charles Martin won’t mind if I reproduce his list, in reverse. Buckle your seatbelt and prepare for your day to improve! “We are walking from not perfect to perfect. From uncertainty to provision. Abject poverty to limitless wealth. Homeless to mansion. Rejection to acceptance. Disqualified to qualified. Curse to blessing. Disease to perfect health. Need to abundance. Burdened to carefree. Prideful to humble. Heavy-laden to weightless. Impossible to effortless. Hatred to gentleness. Alienation to intimacy. Uncertain to certain. Sorrow to joy. Torment to tenderness. Depression to praise. Absence to presence. Imperfection to perfection. Legalism to grace. Unrighteousness to righteousness. Unclean to clean. Slavery to freedom. Vagabond to heir. War we cannot win to peace. Limited to limitless. From a lifetime of pain to the absence of pain. Utterly powerless to power. Chaos to order. Lies, accusation and falsehood – and not being able to tell the difference, to truth. From blasphemy to the inerrant Word. Creature to Creator. Dominated to dominion. Dark to light. Death to life. From the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of heaven. From dead sinner to immortal, holy and blameless.” What wonderful list! Everything bad in your life that you can possibly think of, God turns to good when you trust Him as your Savior. In Colossians 1:13,14, Paul writes, “For He delivered us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.” We’ve worshiped with Phil Wickham’s song House of the Lord in church many times. In it, we sing “We were the beggars, and now we’re royalty. We were the prisoners, and now we’re running free. We are forgiven, accepted, redeemed by His grace. Let the house of the Lord sing praise.” I encourage you to go back and read that “backward” list from Charles Martin again. Meditate on it and thank God for this amazing exchange. God brings to the table His righteousness and every possible good thing, including eternal life with Him; we bring nothing but darkness and sin. And God exchanges what we bring for what He offers. As Paul writes in Ephesians 2:4-9, “But even though we were dead in our sins God, who is rich in mercy, because of the great love He had for us, gave us life together with Christ—it is, remember, by grace and not by achievement that you are saved—and has lifted us right out of the old life to take our place with Him in Christ in the Heavens. Thus He shows for all time the tremendous generosity of the grace and kindness He has expressed towards us in Christ Jesus. It was nothing you could or did achieve—it was God’s gift to you. No one can pride himself upon earning the love of God.” (Phillips)  “Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!” (II Corinthians 9:15 NASB).

Marc h Forth Star Wars aficionados have appropriated May 4th as their official Star Wars Day, by restating the famous phrase, “May the Force be with you,” as “May the Fourth be with you.” It’s a cute pun. I was a huge Star Wars fan when the original trilogy came out in the 1970s, but haven’t been inspired by any of the movies since. In the same way that May the 4th is big for Star Wars fans, I have always thought that March 4th should be a day when we Christians celebrate God’s grace, mercy, love and forgiveness in our lives and, with renewed joy and energy, go out to share those virtues with a hurting world. March Forth! You could call it ministry, or you could call it simply loving people. God has blessed us so richly, it only makes sense that we would share Him and His riches with others. Has God laid a person or a group of people on your heart? March Forth and love them! I know a man who hands out personal care/hygiene packages, including Bibles, to the homeless. I know a woman who leads a group study involving wounded women to biblically address their pasts and find healing. I know a man who meets one-on-one with several men regularly, discipling them. I know many people who bring food to church for the various meetings on a Sunday. Several women send birthday cards. A woman prays for the people in her church every day. Another woman regularly makes meals for those whose lives are in crisis. A man does household jobs and small repairs for those who can’t. Several folks lead groups that bless those who attend. A woman who fills the communion cups and a man who makes sure everyone gets one. People who set up and tear down meeting rooms. A man who walks his neighborhood every day he is able, praying for his neighbors. A man who regularly prays with his waiter/waitress. Another who looks for opportunities to befriend the friendless. And these are just a few examples. God has given us so much, how could we help but let His love overflow to the people around us? How about a few Scriptures to encourage you? 1 Peter 4:10 As each one has received a gift, minister it to one another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God. Joshua 1:9 Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the LORD yourGod is with you wherever you go.” Matthew 28:19,20 Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age. Colossians 3:23,24 And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance; for you serve the Lord Christ. Where to begin? Henry Blackaby, in his book Experiencing God, wrote, “Find out where God is working, and join Him there.” Look around with spiritual eyes, asking God to show you where there is a need. Ask Him where He wants to use you. Listen for His leading and make sure your selfishness and pride are locked in a cabinet out of reach. Then, following your heart, knowing that you can’t go wrong, march forth and love people!