Facing the Wrong Enemy

“You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies.”
(Psalm 23:5)

Yesterday, as I was preparing to post my morning devotional, it dawned on me that I’d been looking at the wrong enemy. Admittedly, COVID-19 is the main focus of almost every news story, and it has altered our lives in some unprecedented ways. And yet, I cannot help but feel that in all the hype, we’ve become distracted by a secondary problem. Like the crowds that lined the road into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, we’ve been crying, “Hosanna – Save Us,” but we’ve been looking to our shepherd to save us from the wrong enemy.

Those crowds were focused on Rome – a foreign scourge that had entered their land uninvited and took over. That enemy dictated how they could live and often took their lives indiscriminately. Sound familiar? And yet, we now know that the crowds were focused on the wrong foe, that Jesus hadn’t come to throw off the yoke of Rome. That’s why their cries of “Hosanna” quickly turned to shouts of “Crucify him!”

In the same way, we’re hyper-focused on COVID-19 as if it’s the greatest enemy humanity faces, but it isn’t – not by a long-shot. Sure, it’s an unwelcome intruder that is ravaging our land and stealing both our lives and our sense of security. And yet, it isn’t even the worst virus that currently plagues our world. There is a far worse one that infects every person alive, and has caused devastation throughout history. I’m talking about sin.

From the day Adam and Eve consumed a forbidden piece of fruit, it has corrupted humanity and exacted a terrible toll. It has undermined relationships between spouses, siblings, neighbors and nations. It even sent us into hiding from our Creator. Sadly, sin is remarkably contagious and resilient – it has passed from one generation to the next, and today it infects every living person on this planet. But the worst part is the mortality rate – unlike COVID-19, which kills about one out of every hundred people who are infected by it, sin kills 100% of the people who contract it. And I’m not just talking about physical death, but spiritual death as well. It actually attacks our souls first, severing our ability to commune with our creator long before it claims our lives.

It was this ancient enemy that Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem to conquer. This was the pandemic from which he came to save us. Because he understood that a contagion as prevalent and deadly as sin demands a cure. And he was the only person who could supply it. 

We know how the story goes, and the exceedingly high personal cost Jesus paid in order to provide us with the cure to this contagion. Since the penalty of sin is death, he paid the price himself – willingly taking our sins upon himself and dying in our place so that we could live. This is what we celebrate every Good Friday.

But what does this have to do with the Shepherd’s Psalm? What does this have to do with our shepherd setting a table for us in the presence of our enemies?

On the night before he was crucified, Jesus sat at a table with his disciples and shared a meal with them. During that meal, he took a piece of bread and used it as metaphor for his body. And he took a cup and used it as a symbol for his blood. His point to those gathered disciples, and to us, is that he was about to do exactly what those crowds lining the road into Jerusalem had been begging for on Palm Sunday – he was going to save us from the worst enemy mankind has ever encountered. And in doing so, he was setting a table for us in the presence of our mortal enemy.

The cross sounds utterly foolish to those who are still suffering from the spiritual blindness that sin causes in those who are dying. But for those of us who have tasted and seen God’s mercy and grace, it is an enduring symbol of our Shepherd’s incredible love for us. He loved us so much, he died in our place so that we could live with Him. Because let’s not forget, the tomb is empty and our hope lives.

So while we sit in our homes, surrounded by a virus that has infiltrated our lives and dictates where we can go and what we can do, remember that it pales in comparison to the enemy Jesus has already overcome. And no matter what the coming weeks and months hold, we know that this is just a blink of an eye in the grand scope of eternity. This crisis will pass, and there will be another to take its place. Jesus was right when he warned us that in this world, we will have trouble. But because of what he did for us on the cross, the enemies of this life will never get the last word – He will.

I leave you this morning with a song that has been echoing in my mind as I wrote this. It is an anthem of trust from the sheep to their shepherd, and I invite you to sing along with me. Click here to listen.

It's Okay to Feel Sorrow

This morning, I woke with a single thought on my mind: it's okay to lament. It's okay to feel sorrow.

It's not disrespectful to our Shepherd to acknowledge that we're journeying through a dark valley in the shadow of the coronavirus. And we find hope in the empty grave. After all, the resurrection of Jesus reminds us that our worst day is not our last day. But that doesn't mean we should ignore our sorrow or bottle up our grief.

Rather, we follow David's example in the psalms of lament, as he poured out his emotions, his doubts, his fears. We do so knowing that our God is big enough to handle our emotions. And as David reminds us,"Though sorrow may last through the night, His joy comes in the morning." (Psalm 30:5)

So below I've shared the poem that flowed out of my heart this morning. Admittedly, it's not so much a song of lament as it's a song of permission to lament. But perhaps that's what we need this morning: permission to lament. 

Let It All Out
A Psalm of Lament

When the skies are all cloudy, 
   and the tempest winds rage,
When the storms of life threaten 
   to sweep us away,

It’s ok to feel sadness; 
   it’s ok to ask, “Why?” 
God's not diminished 
   by the tears in your eye. 

He can handle your worry, 
   He can handle your doubt,
So stop holding it in,
   You can let it all out.

Sometimes it seems like 
   our Father's not home,
That He can't hear our cries, 
   that we lament alone.

But the Spirit that raised Jesus 
   and rolled away the gravestone, 
Draws near to bring comfort 
   and to interpret our groans,

So in this time of trouble, 
   if your heart's full of doubt, 
Please don’t hold it in, 
   You can let it all out. 

*****

We grieve, but we do not do so as those who have no hope. And tomorrow we will celebrate the fact that since Jesus lives, so does our hope. If you don't already have a church community to celebrate Easter with, then I invite you to join me online at 10AM. Just go to lighthousecommunity.com and click on "Live Stream." And feel free to share this invitation with others in your Sphere of Influence. After all, we are all walking through this dark valley, and we all need to be reminded that our hope lives. 

Why Do We Call Today Good?

I was talking with my son Ethan yesterday and told him Good Friday was coming. He got excited and said, “Oh good. Does that mean we get to buy stuff?”

“No, buddy,” I replied. “That’s Black Friday. Good Friday was the day when Jesus was killed on a cross.”

His look said it all. “Oh, so that’s what you consider good, huh? How Medieval of you.”

It seems ironic that we would call the day that our Lord and Savior was condemned, beaten, mocked, spat upon and ultimately murdered “Good.” And yet, in the grand scheme of things, when it comes to our standing with God, the argument could be made that what we celebrate on this day is actually more important than what we celebrate on Sunday. Sunday is simply the proof that what Jesus did on Friday actually meant something – that he accomplished what He’d come to do.

Good Friday is like the wedding ceremony;
Easter Sunday is the reception.

On Good Friday, we remember the greatest act of love in history – the day when Jesus willingly paid the penalty of our sins and rescued us from eternal separation from our Creator. Because Jesus was willing to walk into the jaws of death and use his own body to steal the venom from it, we have the hope that the pain of this broken world (and this current crisis) won’t get the last word. That’s why we call today Good, even though it was incredibly painful for him.

I’ll be honest, it’s painful for me as well. I don’t know about you, but when I read the gospel narratives and I get to Jesus’ crucifixion, I tend to read through it rather quickly; it’s like I’m subconsciously rushing through his suffering on Friday so that I can get to his resurrection on Sunday. However, from an eternal perspective, this is the climax of the entire Bible. From Genesis 3 on, everything has been building to this monumental moment when Jesus would do for us what we couldn’t do for ourselves. And everything that follows throughout scripture, from Acts through Revelation, is viewed in light of what happened on Golgotha that first Good Friday.

So don’t rush past this day. I suspect we need to sit in the discomfort of it more than ever given what we’re currently walking through. Here are a couple ways you could journey through Good Friday with Jesus:

·  Slowly read Mark’s account of Good Friday, imagining yourself there: Mark 15:1-19

·  Meditate on Psalm 22, which is profoundly prophetic regarding what Jesus endured on the cross. Keep in mind that when David wrote this psalm of lament, crucifixion hadn’t even been invented yet.

·  Join me online at 4PM tonight for Lighthouse’s Good Friday communion service. Just go to lighthousecommunity.com to join us. This is a BYOC communion service, so make sure to gather your communion elements beforehand (a piece of bread and a cup of juice or wine).