The Glory of His Grace

For someone who reads theology all year round, it’s nice to have a light, non-note-taking summer read that gets the heart racing and strains the eyeballs in afternoon-long episodes of reading on the porch. And thanks to C.J. Mahaney’s recommendations, I found a book for that exact purpose.  

Riveting, sorrowful, and well-worth the time, James L. Swanson’s book takes an historical, hour-by-hour look at the events following Lincoln’s assassination. There’s so much I didn’t know, like the fact that John Wilkes Booth’s team of conspirators also targeted William Seward and Andrew Johnson. 

This quote, from Boston Corbett, the man who shot Booth, fascinated me (I hope it doesn’t give away too much):

“While Booth’s body lay before me, yet alive, but wounded, and when I saw that the bullet had struck him just back of the ear, about the same spot that his bullet hit Mr. Lincoln, I said within myself, ‘what a fearful God we serve’” (pp. 340-41).

What could be better, after a long day of meetings, than coming home, enjoying some time in the Word and with Bishop Ryle, and then being delightfully amused by my son?

Thanks to the grandparents’ book purchase, he is learning animal noises. And the one he has down pat?

“What sound does a lion make?”

“RAHHHHHHH!”

I think that might have been one of the best moments of my day. Thank God for unexpected smiles, from unexpected things.   

Jesus said that he was not honored in his home town, among his closest family and friends. 

“A prophet is not without honor except in his hometown and in his own household” (Matt. 13:57). 

What struck me about this passage is that those who are often times most familiar with Jesus are most prone to unbelief. But why? 

It’s because they see Him all the time, and instead of responding in awe and faith, they merely say, “Yeah, there goes Jesus again, doing another miracle.” They have become so acquainted with Jesus that He doesn’t awe them anymore. 

I am reminded in my own life that, especially in the ministry, it is easy to become so familiar with the holy things of God that they no longer become awesome, faith-inspiring, joy-producing works of God. So what do we do? 

The same thing Jesus did—not because He was bored with Himself, but because He had weighty things going on in His life, like the death of his friend John the Baptist: 

“Now when Jesus heard [that John was beheaded], he withdrew from there in a boat to a desolate place by himself” (Matt. 14:13). 

And, when we meet Jesus in a desolate place, just like the crowd that followed Him there, we are fed in abundance: 

“And they all ate and were satisfied” (Matt. 14:20). 

There is a time to minister. But there is also a time to go away, to a desolate place, and be fed spiritually by Jesus and renewed in the things of God. 

The inadequacies pastors feel have, up until now, been a somewhat distant (yet real) theme for me. But now, after preaching and laboring amidst God’s people, I understand Paul’s cry: 

“For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things?” (2 Cor. 2:15-16). 

Who is sufficient to be the aroma of God? Who is sufficient to proclaim God’s perfect and wondrous Word to the church and to the world? Who is sufficient even to have a part, though but a means, to the spread of the aroma of God’s glory in Christ throughout the world? Not me.

But, Sunday afternoon, the soul cries out for the living God (Psalm 42:1, ff.), and these words are like a stream of cool, refreshing water on a parched land:

“[The knowledge of God's providence] cannot but bring strong security to the soul, to know that in all variety of changes and intercourse of good and bad events, God, and our God, [has] such a disposing hand. Whatsoever befalls us, all serves to bring God’s electing love, and our glorification together, God’s providence [serves] this purpose to save us…God [often] [disposes] little occasions to great purposes” (Soul’s Conflict, Sibbes, p. 206).   

Not in our sufficiency or strength, nor in our wisdom, but in the wisdom and power of God do we draw the courage to speak oracles of God, for His glory. And what hope this is, that even in the weakest, smallest effort to do justice to God’s Word, He is often pleased to do His bidding. 

Welcome home. After nine months away from Colorado, we finally made it back—1170 miles, one smiley baby, and a year of seminary in the books. It feels like we never left, and yet it feels like we’ve been gone for years.

If there was a passage of Scripture that hangs as a banner over the last year, it is Isaiah 46:

“Listen to me, O house of Jacob, all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been borne by me from before your birth, carried from the womb; even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save” (vv. 3-4). 

God has carried us. In Colorado, He carried us. To Kentucky, He carried us. And now He has carried us back again. If anything it speaks of the covenant faithfulness of the Lord, and His sovereign rule over the events of our lives in every state, city, and country. God sets the times and periods of our dwelling (Acts 17:26), and He carries His people, for His glory.

And, being in Colorado, what do you do but go for a walk in the wide-open, blue-skied, far-as-you-can-see, awe-inspiring nature of God’s creation? Even the little boy enjoyed a first-time trip in a backpack. 

And he conquered his first set of stairs with ease at the grandparent’s house—his first Colorado adventure. 

Finally, as we make a temporary stop to a temporary home, I can’t help but ache in my heart for my final home with Christ, when I shall see His glory face to face. Ultimately we walk into suffering, because we seek not the gain of Louisville, nor Boulder, but the city that is to come. 

“Therefore let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured. For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come” (Hebrews 13:13-14). 

After a long, smooth day of travel, our son was about to fall asleep in the car. He was rubbing his eyes like crazy as Daddy put him in his seat. And then he started screaming like a banshee. He wouldn’t open his right eye, and I thought he might have got something spicy in it from dinner. 

And then I tried to open the eye, only to find that his eyelid had curled in on itself and was restricting him from opening his eye. It was freaky. My biggest mistake was in showing my wife, who let out a loud yelp and took 10 steps back from the car in anguish and horror, her hands clasping her mouth. The next thing I heard was a lady’s voice from the car a few spaces over, “Ma’am, is everything alright?” 

With my wife in hysteria, I did all I could do—I peeled the eye back to its normal position, wiped the stream of tears from my son’s face, and tried to get my wife to calm down and get into the car. Priceless.

Second Best

The other priceless moment of the trip came somewhere in Kansas City, when we were listening to a message by C.J. Mahaney, a pastor from Maryland, ask a group of pastors, “Are you a joyful pastor?” My wife turned to my son, then screaming, and said, rather therapeutically, “Son, are you joyfully sitting in your car seat?” Priceless moment number two. 

Day one complete. Just about 410 miles of driving. Two sub sandwiches, an hour and a half worth of rest stops, and a sleepy baby. A quick stop at the Lifeway Campus bookstore before we set out for a much needed book (more about that later). A priceless day with the family. 

We loaded down the car which, much to our delight, meant that we couldn’t bring everything we owned with us. It’s actually kind of nice being parted (if only temporarily) from our stuff. There’s a freedom that comes with losing everything. Especially when you listen to John Piper preach about following Christ into suffering.

And, at the end of the day, my son was happy to be out of his car seat and equally excited to roam around the hotel room. 

With a loaded down Honda Fit, a full storage area, and a sparkling clean (and empty) apartment, we are ready to head across the country, again. We know this feeling. It’s called dog tired. I think my son’s take on the day pretty much says it well for all of us. 

Every time we load up our apartment I wish we just got rid of everything except a duffle bag full of clothes and the vehicles, maybe some plastic plates and cups. In any case, I’m thankful to God after today—thankful for the friends who helped us pack, and thankful for a God who carries us (Isaiah 46:3-4). And I’m thankful for a wife who smiles, even after a day like this. 

We don’t deserve God’s overwhelming mercy, but not only do we receive new mercies each day, we receive eternal mercy in Christ from which flow all other mercies. I’m glad to be a treasured possession of God today. Tired, exhausted, weary—He is greater when I am weaker. He is carrying us. 

10 Things I’m Grateful for Today (in no order)

1. My friends, Dan and Danny, who helped immensely with moving furniture
2. My wife, who is ever patiently enduring 
3. The weather, which was very cool and mild 
4. My son, who is much cuter sleeping than screaming and fussing 
5. People to sublease our apartment 
6. Dan and his wife, who are giving us a place to stay 
7. Being in Louisville today, and not hell  
8. Fred, the guy at the storage place, whose friendliness is like a cool breeze on a hot day
9. A church in Colorado that’s worth moving for
10. A Savior who is carrying all of us, who shed His blood to make us His own. What a Savior.