Dying to Live

Transition can be pretty painful. The weekly cadence of your life no longer fits and you’re left struggling to learn a new rhythm. In the solitude, your mind can wander down some dreary paths.    

Human beings are naturally resistant to change because it’s so uncomfortable. It requires us to step out of a place that is comfortably familiar and willingly walk into the unknown, a place which is often lonely and confusing. It also requires the death of one way of living so that we might learn to live another way. And while this process is both natural and necessary, it’s also incredibly scary. That place can feel awfully dark. 

And yet, if God has led you to this place, then you can be certain that there’s a reason. He isn’t in the habit of abandoning his flock. And He has this remarkable ability to work all things together for good. So if you find yourself in a dark and lonely place, don’t despair. Though this place may feel like the grave, it’s really the place of your rebirth. You haven’t been buried. You’ve been planted. 

“Listen carefully:  Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you’ll have it forever, real and eternal.” - JESUS
(John‬ ‭12‬:‭24‬-‭25‬ ‭MSG‬‬)

Finding Rest

 

Lately, my shepherd has been asking me to lie down and rest so that He can do some deep soul restoration. And yet, I’ve struggled to do this. I find myself resisting slowing down, resisting letting a day pass where I don’t do something productive. I like to chalk this up to my personality, but I suspect it’s something deeper.

No matter how green the pasture, a sheep won’t feel comfortable resting if it feels insecure or unsafe. Even if the sheep is laying down, fear and anxiety can keep it from experiencing true rest. It may have a full belly, but if the sheep is worried about where it’s next meal will come from, it won’t be able to relax. And the shepherd may say it’s safe, but if the sheep doesn’t trust the shepherd to protect it, it will still be fearful of what lurks in the shadows.

True rest requires deep trust in our shepherd. As long as we think we are the ones who protect and provide for ourselves, we will never be able to truly rest. We will always have to sleep with one eye open. But when we recognize that we’re under the care of a really good shepherd who loves us deeply and is perfectly capable of caring for our needs, we can finally go off duty and rest.

The fact is we have the best of Shepherds. We may not know where our next meal will come from, but He does. We may not know what lurks in the shadows, but He’s fully capable of protecting us. And we may not know where He’s leading us, but He does. He knows what lies ahead and what we need far better than we know it ourselves.

So I pray that you would exchange your fear for faith in the one who calls you His own. I pray your anxious worrying would give way to a restorative rest as you learn to trust your Shepherd and follow His lead, even when He tells you to lie down. And I pray the same for myself.

 

 

I'm taking my family on a road trip next week, and I’m already preparing myself for the inevitable question: “Are we there yet?”

It doesn’t seem to matter how important the journey or how beautiful the scenery, there’s just something inside of us that longs to get to the destination. Or, if where we’re going feels too distant, to wistfully look over our shoulder to where we started and wish we could go back.

The Israelites fell into this trap, even after they’d watched God lead them out of slavery through a series of plagues; even after He’d parted the waters and destroyed the most powerful army on the planet; even as He led them in a pillar of cloud by day and fire by night and as they ate bread that miraculously appeared on the ground each morning and drank water that gushed from a rock in the middle of the wilderness, still they grew tired of the journey. They grew weary of being dependent on God both for their direction and their sustenance.

And in the midst of the discomfort, they began to reminisce about how “comfortable it was back in Egypt,” forgetting that it was literal slavery. They began to grow impatient to get through the journey and arrive at their destination. They began to grumble against God. It didn’t matter that He was guiding them, or that He was providing for them – their attitudes turned this adventure into an ordeal. And because of their resistance to trust God and follow His lead, God literally extended the time they spent in the wilderness. Because what He was teaching them about trust and dependence was just as important, if not more so, than where He was bringing them.

As I examine my own heart in this current season, I discover thorny shoots of anxiousness and impatience sprouting from the soil of my weariness and discomfort. I find myself wanting to rush through this time, to just get to wherever we’re headed. At times, I catch myself wistfully looking back to how things were before the whole world shut down and wishing we could go back. Can you relate?

What’s ironic is that as uncomfortable as the journey became for the Israelites, as much as they wished to rush through it or turn back, that time of walking with God in the wilderness was one of the most formative seasons in their history, one which caused their faith in God to grow exponentially. In the soil of their discomfort, they learned dependence and trust. And they saw just how much God loved them. It was a lesson that shaped them as a people for generations.

I am weary of the journey. I’d love to just fast-forward to 2021, skipping past the whole Covid-shutdown, the racial unrest and the election. But as much as those things feel overwhelming and the road seems endless, I’m reminded that we don’t journey through this wilderness alone. God is right here with us, leading the way if we will only look to Him. He’s providing what we need in the midst of a season of scarcity. And I suspect that when we look back on this time, years from now, we will be grateful for it, grateful both for where He’s bringing us and for what He’s doing in us along the way.

Because sometimes the most important part of a journey isn’t the destination; it’s about being present with the ones who are with us along the way.
 

So do not fear, for I am with you; 

do not be dismayed, for I am your God. 

I will strengthen you and help you; 

I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. 

(Isaiah 41:10)

Walking Through the Storm

by Cindy Washbon

Our world today is different from the way it was just two months ago. We find ourselves separated from family, friends, co-workers and normal everyday routines. Many of us are experiencing a wide variety of emotions: despair, anxiety, fear, loneliness.

We often think of grief as an emotion only related to the death of a loved one. However, in this season many of us are grieving the death of a life that "was" and an uncertainty of what will "be". Grief does not come labeled as "One size fits all". Grief is a very personal emotion and uniquely different to each person.

So in this time of uncertainty, we must be patient with our loved ones. Everyone will process this season differently, and it will elicit different emotions within us. Some of us are more exhausted, others more energized by this change. Some of us wear our emotion on our sleeve; others bury it under busyness or binge-watching Netflix. Some may express grief through sorrow, others in anger. Many of us will feel anxiety and fear.

Whatever emotions are bubbling up, and however it is expressed, remember that our grief is unique to ourselves, shaped not only by our current life circumstances, but by our previous circumstances as well. Past wounds, past unresolved grief will color this current season of grief.

So there is no “right way” to walk through this storm; our grief is not "One size fits all." Perhaps the best gift we can give one another is permission to be messy, to be unresolved, and give one another both the space and time to grieve.

But one thing to keep in mind, as Christ followers, is that we don’t walk through this storm alone.

I think of another time my husband Reid and I found ourselves in a season of fear and confusion like this one. It was the Fall of 2013, and Reid had just undergone open heart surgery to repair a leaky valve. Two weeks into his recovery I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Within a month of being diagnosed I underwent a double mastectomy. Our lives were changing rapidly and we were very unclear what our future was going to look like. (Sound familiar?) At that time, I'm not sure we would have acknowledged that we were experiencing grief for the loss our past "healthy lives," but looking back I think we were.

I vividly remember the night of my surgery. I was kept in Pre-Op all night, without a regular nurse checking on me. It was a very long and uncomfortable night and I kept waking up with an overwhelming sense of fear and anxiety. However, I was not alone. Every time I woke up, the words " Trust and Believe" interjected themselves into my “what if” worrying and I knew that my Heavenly Father was there to guide me through this storm. His presence gave me hope in the face of the unknowns.

Hope looks beyond our circumstances, to the one who stands above them. Our Creator hasn’t abandoned us or left us to fend for ourselves. He’s right here with us in the storm of uncertainty and “what if’s.” And He’s promised to never leave us or forsake us (Deuteronomy 31:6; Hebrews 13:5). So our hope is the confident expectation of what God has promised and its strength is in His faithfulness.

We lament like the disciples did when they found themselves in the midst of another storm, one where all hoped seemed lost and yet Jesus was fast asleep in the bow: “Jesus, how can you possibly sleep through this?!" they cried. "Don’t you see what’s happening?” But their cries were not cries of despair, but rather cries for help. Though the wind and waves were overwhelming, their hope was in their Savior, who was in the storm with them. 

Like them, we find ourselves tossed by each wave of change, buffetted by the steady headwind of discouraging news. But like those disciples in the boat, we are not alone in this storm. And like the Psalmist, we cry, “Now Lord, what do I wait for? My Hope is in you.” Psalms 39.7 

We must allow our grief of a life and world that "was" to give way to a hope of what will be. And we need to remember that we are not enduring this alone. God is right here with us. As long as we keeping looking to Him and loving one another, we will get through this current storm we find ourselves in, and our faith may actually grow through it, not diminish. Why? Because our Father won’t abandon us. He won’t turn His back on us. He will be by our side showing us his grace and mercy through it all.

"O my people, trust in him at all times,
Pour your heart to him, for God is our refuge."
Psalms 62:8


*Cindy Washbon is a cancer survivor and a leader in Lighthouse Community Church's Cancer Support Ministry. 

The Problem of Pain - Part 3

This week, we’ve been exploring the uncomfortable topic of pain. On Monday, when I penned the first of these three devotionals, I chose to title it “The Problem of Pain,” only later remembering that one of my oldest and most trusted mentors wrote a book by the same name. 

You may know who I’m talking about; his name is CS Lewis. No, I never met him in person. He’d died long before I was born, but he helped shape my spiritual worldview nonetheless, first as a child when I read The Chronicles of Narnia, and later as an adult through his non-fiction works like Mere Christianity and The Four Loves. Lewis has taught me so much about things like life and love, God and grace. He’s one of those names who needs no introduction and whose words seem to carry greater weight, simply because they came from him. Today, I want to allow CS Lewis to teach us about pain.

You may not know this, but Lewis is someone who was well acquainted with the multifaceted pain life can throw at us. One of his earliest memories was at the age of four, when his dog Jacksie was struck and killed by a car. That loss hit him so powerfully that he began calling himself Jacksie (later shortened to Jack), and the name stuck, becoming the nickname his family called him for the rest of his life. But that was only the first of many helpings of pain for Lewis.

He lost his mother when he was 10, and was then emotionally abandoned by his father and sent away to boarding school. As a teenager, he suffered through a chronic respiratory illness, and then postponed his education to fight in World War I. There, on the front lines of France as a 19-year-old, he was injured when an Allied shell fell short of its target and accidentally hit his trench, killing two of his friends and taking him out of the war. During his slow recovery, he suffered from bouts of depression and deep spiritual doubt. But the worst was still to come. Many years later, he had to watch his beloved wife Joy suffer from a malignant cancer that claimed her life when she was only 45.

Through all of this, Lewis grappled with his faith and the glaring presence of pain in a world God had labeled ‘good.’ Several of his non-fiction books were borne out of the soil of his suffering, most notably The Problem of Pain and A Grief Observed.

The irony of suffering is that the dark valleys are hard, uncomfortable places to be, and we’re tempted to run away when we find ourselves in them; however, they can also be fruitful places where the deepest growth can occur. And this was true for Lewis. The pain he endured was awful and he grieved deeply, as evidenced by his writings, but those painful seasons also produced some beautiful insights on life that continue to resonate for people experiencing pain today.

For instance, in The Problem of Pain, Lewis explains why admitting we’re hurting emotionally is far harder than acknowledging physical pain:

“Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say ‘My tooth is aching’ than to say ‘My heart is broken.’ ”

Ouch. I will admit that, as a guy, I’m ok admitting that my back hurts, but it’s far less comfortable confessing that my heart hurts or that I’m feeling discouraged. That’s just a little too vulnerable, just a bit too exposing. That said, one of unexpected silver-linings of this current season is that, since everyone is suffering, it’s more socially acceptable to admit it. But once this current crisis has passed, when the stores are all open and we’ve moved on (which will happen), what then? Will we go back to burying our heartache and sadness under a forced smile? I hope not.

In the same book, Lewis also describes the way God uses pain to get our attention:

“Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

Often, suffering is the one of the first pieces of evidence atheists give for rejecting the idea of God. But for Lewis, a man who sought to ignore God through his 20’s and early 30’s, his suffering was where he became most aware of God’s presence. It was in his moments of grief, when his pain overwhelmed his determination to run from God and drove him to his knees, that he found God was right there with him, and had been the whole time. And it was in his moments of weakness that he discovered just how strong God truly was.

But as Lewis points out in the quote above, our pain isn’t simply a megaphone for us, but for the world around us. The way we work through pain often speaks far more loudly and convincingly than our lofty platitudes posted on social media from the comfort of our couch.

I will never forget the unexpected joy bubbling out of Tony Peca when I went to visit him in the hospital after he barely survived a heart attack. His calm, confident hope felt so utterly out of place, and yet it spoke volumes to me and everybody else who walked into that hospital room about the depth of his faith.

And I think of Johanna, my family friend, who passed away last year after a long battle against cancer. We miss her, but what stands out even stronger is the way her faith was revealed through her struggle. The cancer slowly consumed her body, but it couldn’t touch her trust in God. It stole her comfort, her breath, and finally her life, but it couldn’t steal her joy.

I will admit that it’s really easy to declare our trust in God when the sun is shining and we have plenty of food in the fridge and money in the bank. But it’s in times of crisis like this when our true feelings are revealed, both to ourselves and to everyone else around us.

So I suppose the question we need to ask ourselves is, How’s your faith doing right now?  

What has this current crisis revealed to you about your relationship with God?

The Problem of Pain - Part 1

Yesterday, during our live stream my wife Cathy and I got to process the grief that this painful season is stirring up for many of us. If you missed that conversation, you can find it here. 

One of the more profound insights that I was struck by in that conversation was the radical difference between how our society views and treats pain verses how God views and treats pain.

We live in a society that views pain as a problem to be avoided (or eased) at all costs. One study I read estimated that in the US, we spend over 16.4 Billion every year on pharmaceuticals to diminish our pain. As a guy who lives with chronic back pain, I get it. As I write this, there’s a twinge in my back from an old body-surfing accident, one that flairs up any time I happen to roll over onto my stomach when I sleep. I’ll be the first to say, “I hate pain and I wish it wasn’t part of the human existence.” But it is.

I cannot help but note that pain is a very real part of life in this sin-warped world. Whether physical, emotional, mental or spiritual, we encounter pain in various forms every single day of our lives. And my knee-jerk reaction is to lament its existence and to do everything in my power to alleviate pain (and its weaker little brother, discomfort) both for myself and my loved ones.

However, as I read scripture, I cannot help but notice that the biblical writers didn’t have the same negative perspective on pain. To them, pain wasn’t something to be avoided at all costs. Rather, they viewed it as a natural part of life that could help us grow spiritually. Just listen to a few takes on pain and suffering:

“We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” (Romans 5:3-5)

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” (James 1:2-4)

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead… In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.” (1 Peter 1:3,6-7)

Why on earth would we rejoice in our suffering or count our trials as reason for joy? From a 21st American mindset that makes no sense. Suffering, trials and pain are things to be avoided, not celebrated, right?!

And yet, the average American will also spend $112,000 in their lifetime on their fitness – this includes gym memberships that we may or may not use as well as personal training when we really need a kick in our pants. Because we understand that physical health doesn’t come through sitting on the couch with a remote and a bag of chips. It comes through allowing our bodies to endure the discomfort of a work-out; strength comes through exercising our muscles until they grow fatigued.

In the same way, our Heavenly Father knows that while we crave comfort, the trials of life are the best crucibles for our character. He understands that although we would like to avoid pain, our faith grows best when it’s put to the test. And so He allows us to endure trials and hardship and pain.

But our Father doesn’t ask us to endure the storms of life alone. He is right there with us. Or to use the training metaphor, His Holy Spirit resides within us, our own personal trainer who guides us in our response to pain, comforts us in our distress, and encourages us to keep going. Why? Because He knows that the pain is fleeting, but what it’s producing in us lasts far longer.

So don’t doubt God’s love for you if you’re enduring pain right now. It’s a natural byproduct of life in this sin-warped world. Yes, it’s uncomfortable. Yes, we’d like to avoid it if possible. And yes, we will still distract ourselves from it from time to time with Netflix and memes. But the problem with pain isn’t the pain itself.

The problem with pain is our perception of it.

Finally, Some Good News

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

There is so much discouraging news floating around out there. That’s why over the last month, we’ve been slowly working through Psalm 23 – the Shepherd’s Psalm. It is a cry of trust written from the perspective of a sheep towards his shepherd. And it closes in much the same was as it opens: with a declaration of joyful contentment from one who rests under the capable care of the Good Shepherd.

The first verse declares, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I have everything I need.”

The final verse declares, “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever!”


I don’t know about you, but whenever I read about dwelling in the Lord’s house forever, my mind automatically goes to the throne-room of Heaven. After all, that’s where God resides, right? So if I want to be in His presence, I need to go where He is.

And this leads me to interpret David’s statement as a “some day” declaration. Some day I will finally be with God in heaven. Some day I will finally leave this broken world, full of pain and heartache and disappointment.

Someday.

But that implies that I can’t dwell in God’s house now. I’m stuck here in my house, with kids that don’t want to do their distance learning, snacks that keep begging me to add to my ‘dad-bod,’ and a virus that quietly stalks our streets. Oh joy!

But what if I’ve been reading this wrong all these years? What if my Western-interpretation of what David means by “the house of the Lord” has actually obscured the immediacy of his joy?

I turn one last time to the words of Philip Keller, whose insights gleaned from years as a shepherd have proven invaluable to our journey through the Shepherd’s Psalm. He explains that the Shepherd’s house isn’t referring to a physical home, like a church building or even to heaven itself. Rather, “what is referred to by ‘house’ is the family or household or flock of the Good Shepherd.”

In other words, coming into the house of the Lord means coming under His ownership and finding rest in His care. And as we’ve seen all throughout Psalm 23, David already considers himself to be under the care of the Good Shepherd. He resides in the presence of the Lord, regardless of whether he lays in the green pastures or walks through the dark valleys of life. He says that no matter what my circumstances, my heart is at peace because “You are with me.”

And that means we don’t need to wait until we die to find rest in the house - or the care - of the Lord. We can rest under His loving and capable hands here and now, even in the midst of this sin-scarred world.

Now, I should mention that there are other shepherds out there, and they're not nearly as good. Peter warned us that “we are slaves to whatever has mastered us.” (2 Peter 2:19) That means some of us are slaves to our ambition, others to our appetites, and still others to our anxiety. These are just a few of the many cruel owners in whose flock we might find ourselves. They are demanding masters who are never satisfied and couldn’t care less about our well-being. Many of us have labored under their judgmental gaze far too long, and our efforts left us spiritually emaciated.

But we don’t need to live under the heavy hand of these cruel and heartless taskmasters for the rest of our lives. We don’t have to futilely search for our identity or scratch our meager sustenance from their desolate fields any longer. Jesus made a way for us to enter the care – or house – of the Good Shepherd whenever we choose. 

No, we don’t have to jump the fence. We couldn’t do that if we wanted to. Nor do we need to earn the right to become one of his sheep by doing impressive things to help us stand out from the rest of the haggard sheep. There really are no barbed-wire hoops to jump through at all. Because Jesus made a way into our Heavenly Father’s fields.

Let me rephrase that – Jesus IS the way into our Heavenly Father’s fields.

Don’t take my word for it. Jesus said so himself: “I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved. They will come in and go out, and find pasture.” (John 10:9).

That means the cross isn’t just good news for when we die; it’s good news for us here and now in this sin-scarred world. Because Jesus laid down his life to make a way for us to come back to our Father’s flock. We don’t need to earn it – that’s what makes it’s a gift.

But this invitation isn’t just for us. It’s also for every other man, woman and child on the planet. So once we enter through the grace-filled gate, once we taste and see that our Father truly is a loving and capable shepherd, then we get to spend our lives roaming the fences, looking for other sheep who desperately need to hear that they don’t need to labor under the heavy hand of their earthly masters any longer. Because His love made a way.

And the best part? No matter how bad the weather gets, no matter how dark the valleys we walk through, the brokenness of this world will never get the last word. We will reside under the loving care of our Creator for all eternity.

And that truly is good news.

What We Leave Behind 

“Surely goodness and mercy will follow me 

all the days of my life.” (Psalm 23:6) 

Psalm 23 has been a declaration of trust from the sheep to his shepherd. And that trust isn’t just arbitrarily ascribed, it’s borne out of a life full of examples of the Shepherd’s care and competency.

Consider what David has declared to be true about his shepherd, and ask yourself, can I say the same?

I have never truly been in want. Even in times of scarcity, you have given me what I need.

Though I tend to run myself ragged, you force me to lie down in green pastures.

When I am tempted to drink from the polluted puddles of life, you lead me to still waters.

Time and again when I have felt discouraged and depleted, you have restored my soul.

Though I resist at times, you have always led me down the right paths.

Even now, as I find myself walking through a dark valley shrouded in the shadow of death, I am not afraid of the evil and brokenness of this world, for I know that I don’t walk alone. You are with me.

You carry the rod to protect me from harm, even self-inflicted harm.

And your Holy Spirit, like a staff, comforts me, encourages me, and reminds me you are near.

You nourish me in the face of those things I fear, and you protect my mind from the pesky thoughts that swarm around me. 

Truly my cup runs over with examples of your goodness and mercy.

And now, as the psalm nears its end, David turns his focus to the fruit of the Good Shepherd’s care.

"Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days if my life." 

According to David, if we are under the Good Shepherd’s care, then we are not only recipients of goodness and mercy, but we get to be conduits of goodness and mercy to the world around us. It’s as if God puts so much blessing into our lives that we simply can’t contain it all; our cup overflows. 

Sounds wonderful. But is it true? I suppose that depends on whose lead we're following. 

One of the many ironies of sheep is that, left to their own devices, they can be incredibly destructive, ripping up grass by the roots and stripping an area bare. However, spread out and well shepherded, they can be incredibly beneficial for the earth. Ancient literature actually referred to sheep as “the golden hoof “ because of the beneficial effect they could have on the land.

Phillip Keller explains the impact his own flocks had on the surrounding countryside: “They left behind something worthwhile, productive, beautiful, and beneficial to both themselves, others, and me. Where they had walked there followed fertility and weed-free land. Where they had lived there remained beauty and abundance.”

Of course this begs the question, Is this true of my life as well?
It’s a worthwhile, albeit uncomfortable question to consider.

• Where I go, do I leave goodness and mercy in my wake?
• Is my life as blessing or a curse to others?
• Do I create peace or conflict?
• Do I stir up joy or anger?
• Do I leave people feeling gratitude or frustration?
• Am I known for what I’m for, or for what I’m against?

The list could go on, but you get the point. What sort of fruit is our life producing? After all, Jesus said you would be able to recognize those who are born of the Spirit by the fruit their lives produce. We're talking about fruit like love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control. The kind of stuff that is nourishing to the soul.

But this sort of fruit doesn’t just grow naturally. It’s a product of God’s Spirit working within us to become more like our Lord. It’s a lifelong process, but the outcome is so much better than anything we could ever produce on our own.

So Jesus lead on. I will follow. Thank you for the unending deluge of goodness and mercy that you pour into my life. And Spirit, do what only you can do in my heart. Nurture spiritual fruit within me so that my sphere of influence will be blessed and I will leave a trail of goodness and mercy in my wake. Amen.

**By the way, I want to share with you a tangible way you can help us spread goodness and mercy in this trying season. This Thursday, April 23, we are looking for 150 volunteers to help distribute food to 1,000 families. To find our more or to sign up to volunteer, go to www.lovecostamesa.org and look for the Project: “Costa Mesa Emergency Response Food Bank.” There is a strong chance this will be happening weekly for the next two months.

A Matter of Perspective

My wife has this saying she uses whenever my boys encounter setback: “Attitude is the difference between an ordeal and an adventure.” In other words, the way we look at something shapes what we see. Are the storms of life a blessing or a curse? It depends on your perspective.

I love my wife's saying. It's profoundly true, but like many of life's truths, it's a little too simplistic. I mean, can't a challenge be both an ordeal AND an adventure? Can't the storms of life bring both blessing AND curse? After all, I love the flowers that grow after the storms have passed, but I hate having to wash my car again.

So our perspective matters, but often what we feel when we walk through a trying time isn't black and white, positive or negative, but a confusing mixture of seemingly contradictory emotions.

Consider the statement GODISNOWHERE. 

What do you see when you read it?
God is Nowhere? How depressing.
God is Now Here? How encouraging!

Truth is, it could be read both ways, and I suspect you read it a couple times and saw both perspectives. I love this statement, because it sums up the confusing, seemingly contradictory nature of this season we find ourselves in.

• The church buildings are closed, and yet the church has been mobilized into our Spheres of Influence.
  

• Supplies are scarce, and yet it's given people opportunity to practice generosity in unique ways. Who could have anticipated that secretly putting toilet-paper on the front of someone's home would one day be seen as an act of love?!
  

• Fear is rampant, but like weights for our muscles, the fear has helped our faith grow stronger.

It’s all a matter of perspective. And our perspective might change from moment to moment. Welcome to life in God’s good, albeit sin-warped creation. In this life, joy and sorrow are close companions. Pain and hope can coexist in the same moment. Fear and faith are not mutually exclusive. And beautiful things grow in the valley of despair.

Let's turn for a moment to Psalm 23. There's an interesting line at the end of verse 5, one that can be read many different ways:

"My cup overflows."

I've often read that line and scratched my head. What do you mean, David? Overflows with what?" Trouble? Blessing? Emotions? If emotions, which ones? Sorrow? Loneliness? Joy? Gratitude?

You get the picture. Like a good poem, this part of Psalm 23 acts as a mirror to our soul, exposing us as much as it exposes David. It invites us to come out of hiding and consider what is welling up inside of us.

So what is your cup overflowing with? 
Frustration? Loneliness? Discouragement? Anger?
Peace? A sense of intimacy with God? Hope? Joy? 

Probably a confusing concoction of many of those seemingly contradictory emotions. And that's totally natural. It's just part of walking through this dark valley alongside our Shepherd. It's both an ordeal and an adventure. 

But make no mistake - we will get through this. 

Because GODISNOWHERE.

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.

In the Presence of My Enemies

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil for you are with me…
You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies.”

(Psalm 23:4-5)

We are journeying through a valley of desolation. All our regular rhythms are thrown off, our favorite distractions are postponed until further notice, and every time we open the news-feed we are reminded of a very real enemy that stalks us in the shadows. It is no wonder that many of us are exhausted and starving for moments of joy. Why else would we keep sharing coronavirus related memes?

But Eric, what do you expect?
How can I rest when I’m out of work?
How can I rest when there’s a virus out there killing thousands of people every day?
How can I rest when I don’t see the end in sight and we may be on lock-down indefinitely?

These are fair questions. And yet, Psalm 23 reminds us that we don’t need to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders. It’s not our responsibility to think through every contingency, to protect ourselves from every enemy, or to scrounge up enough provisions to carry us through this prolonged quarantine. That’s our Shepherd’s job, and He is fully up to the task.

We may be deep in the valley, but He’s right here with us. And His presence provides a place for us to rest and find our nourishment in the presence of our enemies.

Our minds might be screaming, “Run! Fix it! Get out of this as fast as you can!”
But our Shepherd is inviting us to “be still and know that I am God.”

Now, I will confess that resting when we are surrounded by enemies can feel impossible, bordering on irresponsible. But then I think of all the times God allowed His people to find themselves in a place where all they could do was fix their eyes on Him in the face of danger.

For instance, after that first Passover when God powerfully delivered the people of Israel from slavery in Egypt, He led them to the edge of the Red Sea. As they camped there, hemmed in by an impassible body of water, they turned and saw the Egyptian army bearing down on them. As the horizon was darkened by the dust of the most powerful military force of their day, the Israelites were understandably concerned. They began to cry, “Why would God lead us out here into the wilderness to die?”

But then Moses reminded them not to fear the enemy, for their God was with them:

“Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”  (Exodus 14:13-14) 

You know how the story goes. God ultimately parted the sea and led His people through on dry ground, with the Egyptian army hot on their heels. And then, once the Israelites passed through the valley of water, God decimated the enemy army without His people needing to raise a hand. Their cries of lament turned to cries of victory – and their fear gave way to faith.

We find ourselves in a similar place. We are huddled inside our homes, a deadly enemy advancing upon us, and we feel the urge to do something, anything to protect ourselves. So we try to stay busy, educate ourselves about the virus, or just distract ourselves with memes. And yet, our Shepherd is inviting us to be still and rest in His presence: to recuperate from the harried schedules we’ve been keeping; to be present with our loved ones; and to find nourishment for our souls in the midst of this dark valley. Because He has prepared a table for us in the presence of our enemies, and He’s provided us with plenty of time to partake of it.

I will close our time together with these words from Psalm 46:

God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.

He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
The Lord Almighty is with us;
the God of Israel is our fortress.
(Psalm 46:1-3, 10-11)

The Shepherd's Staff

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil for you are with me; 

Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” 

(Psalm 23:4) 

Yesterday, we examined the way our Shepherd defends and disciplines us. His rod of correction and protection truly is a comfort to the flock. Today, we turn our attention to the shepherd’s staff, and the way it brings comfort to the sheep.

If there is one piece of equipment that defines a shepherd, it is his staff. Shaped like an over-sized cane, the staff is like an extension of the shepherd’s hand. When a lamb gets caught in a thicket, the shepherd uses his staff to pull away the thorny branches and release it. Or when it falls in a ditch, the shepherd can use the crook at the staff to pull the sheep back up to solid ground.

But the shepherd also uses his staff to guide and direct the sheep. He doesn’t do this by hitting them with it; rather, he lays the tip of the staff on the sheep’s side, and then he can gently apply pressure in the direction he wants to lead the flock. And in this way, the sheep are comforted because they don’t have to guess which direction to go.

Other times, a shepherd may simply lay his staff against the side of one of his sheep to remind it that he is near. They may walk this way for quite some time, like a parent holding a child’s hand.

In the same way, as we journey through this dark valley covered in the shadow of the coronavirus, we need the reminder of our Shepherd’s presence more than ever. And we get that reminder through His Holy Spirit resting gently upon us. 

Our Father may be in Heaven, but He has not left to walk alone. He has given us His Spirit to walk with us. Jesus himself told us that God’s Spirit would be our comforter and guide as we journey through this sin-scarred world. 

It is God’s Spirit who guides us through the messiness of life, gently, lovingly whispering in our ear, “come this way,” or “you don’t want to go down that path.” And when our hearts get tangled in the thorns of fear and discouragement, it is God’s Spirit who reminds us that we are not alone and begins to pull the barbs away so that we can regain our footing. 

But the presence of God's Spirit does more than simply help us get through. He reminds us of our identity as God's beloved children. The Apostle Paul recognized this when he wrote:

"For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, 'Abba, Father.' The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children." (Romans 8:14-16) 

We live in a world that constantly demands we prove our value in order to be accepted, that we DO something praiseworthy in order to BE loved. But God's Spirit reminds us that we ARE loved just as we are, that we already have immeasurable value, and that our Father has accepted us just as we are. 

Because of the Spirit's presence in our life, when we look to our Shepherd for help in our time of distress, we don't need to fear that He is disgusted by our weakness or disappointed by our neediness. Instead, we can take comfort in the fact that He views us as His beloved children. In fact, we can call Him our Abba, our Daddy, which is without a doubt the most intimate name of God found anywhere in scripture. And since He's our Abba, we can come just as we are and find comfort in His embrace. 

So as you stumble through this trying time, along unfamiliar and treacherous terrain, know that you are not walking alone. Your Shepherd is right beside you. Or to be more specific, His Spirit is within you, comforting and encouraging you to keep going. You can ignore His consolation and resist His guidance, but why would you want to?

Let this be your prayer:
Holy Spirit, thank you for being my comforter and guide as I walk through this painful valley. I need the constant reminder that I'm not walking alone. I pray that you would help me to hear your gentle, quiet voice above the cacophony of my circumstances. Moreover, I pray that you would give me the faith to trust what you tell me. I need you now more than ever. Amen. 

The One Who Defends and Disciplines Us 

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil for you are with me; 

Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” 

(Psalm 23:4) 

As I reflect on the broken path we find ourselves in this season, we truly are walking through a dark valley. The shadows cast by the unfamiliar terrain and the uncertainty each day brings could easily hide predators who have the ability to cause us great harm: COVID-19, financial hardship, bored children.

However, as we saw in the last devotional, we can find comfort in the fact that our Shepherd is right here with us. Not only has He led us into this uncomfortable place, but He calmly walks at our side as we pass through it. But, according to David’s psalm, our Shepherd doesn’t walk empty-handed.

When shepherds in David’s day were out in the field with the sheep, they would carry two items: a rod and a staff. This morning, we are going to focus on the rod.

The rod was similar to a security-guard’s night stick. It was a small club that is was easy to swing or throw. When a predator would threaten the flock, a shepherd would use it to defend the sheep. But a shepherd wouldn’t use it solely to chase off predators. The rod was also used to correct unruly or foolish sheep.

As Phillip Keller, shepherd and author of A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23, explains, “If the shepherd saw a sheep wandering away on its own, or approaching poisonous weeds, or getting too close to danger of one sort or another, the club would go whistling through the air to send the wayward animal scurrying back to the bunch.”

So the rod was used both for defense as well as discipline. And its presence in the shepherd’s hands brings the sheep comfort.

You might wonder how discipline can be comforting. Consider these words from Hebrews 12:

“My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when He rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines the one He loves, and He chastens everyone He accepts as his child. Endure hardship as discipline. God is treating you as His children.” (Hebrews 12:5-7)

So the discipline we go through is a sign of God’s acceptance and love for us as His children. But His discipline isn’t primarily punitive in nature, but rather formative. The author of Hebrews continues:

“God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in His holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” (Hebrews 12:10-11)

This season is painful. None of us would choose what we’re going through, and yet it has the potential to produce real spiritual growth in us if we are willing to lean in and trust our Shepherd. 

Admittedly, we could get mad at Him for allowing us to walk through this dark valley, and we’ll get nothing but out of this time but bitterness and disillusionment. 

Or we could fix our eyes on our shepherd and choose to trust Him as we walk with Him through it. If we do, then this season can produce a bountiful harvest of spiritual fruit in our lives: love for God and for those around us, joy and peace in the midst of uncertain circumstances, patience when things don't go as planned, and a greater sense of intimacy with our Heavenly Father to name a few. 

I don’t know about you, but it seems like an easy choice to me.


Father God, you are my Shepherd, and I trust you. I don’t like this painful place I find myself in right now, but I find comfort in the fact that you are with me in it. I’m grateful for the reminder that you defend me and you discipline me for my own well-being. Help me to keep my eyes fixed on you, and use this time to help me grow. Jesus, in your name I pray, Amen.

Walking Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil for you are with me.” (Psalm 23:4)

If there is one metaphor in scripture that aptly describes this season we find ourselves in, it’s “the valley of the shadow of death.” Every time I open up my news feed, I see the ever-growing numbers of infected and dead around our nation and world. The only number rising faster is the unemployment rate, as schools and businesses shut up shop for the duration of this pandemic. This cannot help but take a toll on us. In fact, last week, two people from my church community were hospitalized for chest-pains, only to find out that it wasn’t a heart attack, but rather anxiety-induced stress. We truly are walking through a dark valley shrouded in death.

Now, the very name suggests that these valleys are places that we never want to find ourselves, and yet there is a reason why the Good Shepherd would lead his flock through them. As we discussed in my previous post, sheep are habitual creatures and will remain in a familiar area even if the grass is gone and the water is polluted. So a good shepherd will often lead his sheep towards better grazing areas. And the valleys are the most natural passage ways from one grazing area to the next. After all, why pick your way along a rocky hilltop when you can walk through the valley?

But David’s description suggests that these valleys are not comfortable places for the sheep. Not only are the unfamiliar territory, but the shadows could be hiding deadly predators who are waiting to tear the sheep apart.

We, too, find ourselves in unfamiliar territory, and the constant barrage of news articles and social media posts warn us of a merciless virus prowling our streets, lurking on doorknobs and flat surfaces, and possibly even floating on the breeze. It’s no wonder we’re fearful.

When sheep find themselves in the dark valley, they have a couple choices: they can run from it, trying to get out of that place as quickly as possible, leaving the shepherd behind in their attempts to reach safety. Or they can draw closer to the shepherd’s side, finding their comfort and confidence in his presence.

In verse 4, David declares his choice: “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me!” In other words, he trusts his shepherd more than he fears the lurking predators. And he knows that he is safest when he is close by his shepherd’s side.

We find ourselves in one of the darkest, most foreboding valleys in our lifetimes. We don’t know what tomorrow holds, let alone next month. And I suspect that many of us are tempted to bolt from this present reality. But while we don’t know where we’re headed, our Shepherd does, and He’s not afraid of COVID-19 or any other evil that stalks this sin-scarred planet.

So while this valley where we find ourselves is painful to be in – and it is – we are right where we need to be because our Shepherd is with us, and He knows where He’s taking us. So fear not, for you do not walk through this valley alone.

Father God, we confess that we are afraid. We don’t like being here in this dark valley, and we want to get out as quickly and painlessly as possible. And yet, as much as we fear this place, we trust you more. So we choose, here and now, to follow your lead and allow you to set the pace. We choose to remain at your side. Amen.

HE LEADS ME ALONG THE RIGHT PATHS

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. 

He leads me along the right paths for His name's sake.

One of the most unexpected and widespread effects of the ongoing crisis has been the disruption of our daily routines. Seemingly overnight, all the rhythms of our lives were thrown out of the window, and many of us (myself included) have struggled to adjust.

It makes me think about something I read in Phillip Keller’s book, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23. According to Keller, who spent years working as a shepherd, “sheep are notorious creatures of habit. If left to themselves, they will follow the same trails until they become ruts; graze the same hills until they turn to desert wastes; pollute their own ground until it is corrupt with disease and parasites.” (p.83)

If this continues unchecked, the sheep will grow increasingly anxious and restless as they become malnourished and sickly. So a good shepherd doesn’t leave the sheep to fend for themselves. Instead, he leads them along new paths into fresh fields and to clean watering holes so that the sheep can find true nourishment and rest. He doesn’t lead them aimlessly; he knows where He wants to take them.

Of course, the sheep aren’t always excited about leaving the comfort of their familiar foraging grounds. Sometimes the paths the shepherd leads them along are rocky and treacherous, but when the sheep trust their shepherd more than they fear the unknown, then they will discover that their shepherd knows what they need far better than they do.

I suspect a lot of us can identify with sheep. If left to our own inclinations, we will choose the comfort of familiarity to the discomfort of the unknown. Many of us have been doing the same routines, walking the same paths day after day, year after year. And then we wonder why we find ourselves walking in ruts, or why the same amount of effort produces less and less growth.

For anyone who’s ever tried to get in shape, it’s like doing the same exercise over and over. What starts out as challenging and strenuous can quickly become routine and boring. So, like a good personal trainer, God will change up the routine, challenging our spiritual muscles in different ways that will elicit greater growth. He will lead us to new, fresh pastures. He will allow us to go through experiences that remind us that He’s in control, we’re not. And He will ask us to trust His lead. Sound familiar? I suspect that your faith is getting a good work out right about now, huh?

We have the best of Shepherds, and He often leads us away from our familiar ruts, along new paths, to new grazing grounds. But He doesn’t just do it for our well-being. He also does it as a testimony of his competency.

“He leads me along the right paths for His name's sake.”

You see, a shepherd’s reputation is tied directly to the state of his flock. If the flock suffers, which happens when the sheep are left to fend for themselves, it reflects negatively upon the shepherd. And when the sheep flourish, when they grow strong and healthy, the shepherd’s reputation also flourishes. Our spiritual well-being is actually a testimony of God’s capability; it’s a sign both to us and to others, that our Shepherd knows what He’s doing with us.

I am well aware of how disruptive this season of self-isolation is for most of us. All of our rhythms have been thrown out the window and we may feel lost. But sometimes that’s exactly what we need in order to continue spiritually growing and thriving. Our shepherd knows this. So He invites us to follow Him out of the familiar, out of the places where we can rely on muscle memory and slip into autopilot for weeks on end.

What’s more, He knows where He’s leading us, even if we don’t. We may resist following, for fear that we’re going the wrong way, but what makes the paths we're walking "right" is that He is with us, leading the way. So long as we remain at our Shepherd’s side, it won’t matter whether our path runs through a green pasture or a dark valley, because He is with us, guiding and comforting us along the way.

So Jesus lead on. We will follow. We invite you to disrupt our rhythms, frustrate our independence, motivate us to move, and guide us where you want us to go. We are your flock, the people of your pasture, so take us where you want us to go. Amen. 

HE RESTORES MY SOUL

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
He leads me beside quiet waters,
He restores my soul. 

Psalm 23 is a song of absolute trust written from the perspective of a sheep towards his shepherd. I suspect that the reason it resonates so deeply for us is because it’s so profoundly personal. David didn’t describe the Lord as “our shepherd,” but rather “MY shepherd.” He was writing as one who knew His shepherd intimately, and had seen countless examples of his shepherd’s capable care.

I suspect we have also seen countless examples of God’s capable care, of the ways He provides for us in times of scarcity and guides us through difficult seasons. And in a time like this, when we are experiencing levels of scarcity and trouble unlike any other time in our lives, it has never been more important for us to remember who our Shepherd is and how capable He is of caring for us.

Yesterday, we began to unpack the second verse of the Shepherd Psalm. After declaring his absolute trust in his Shepherd, David writes:

“He makes me lie down in green pastures, 
  He leads me beside still waters,
  He restores my soul.”  

We’ve already commented on the irony that our Shepherd has to make us lie down. Even after a shepherd has properly fed and watered his flock, sheep are prone to wander in search of one more tuft of grass to crop or another mud-choked puddle to drink from. So shepherds regularly need to make the sheep lie down and rest.

Similarly, even though we intellectually understand that our identity is found in our relationship with God, not in what we do, we are still prone to wander in search of things that can prop up our identity and affirm that we matter. And in a time like this, when we are forced to isolate in our homes, being still can feel like a punishment. But I would suggest it’s a time when our Shepherd is inviting us to lay down and rest in His presence, because He is enough.

But it’s that last line that I want to zero in on this morning: “He restores my soul.”

What does that mean? How does our Shepherd restore our soul?  To answer that, it helps to understand how a shepherd restores a sheep that has become cast down.

One of the most dangerous things that can happen to a sheep is it becomes “cast” – that means it’s fallen and isn’t able to regain its footing by its own strength. This could happen for any number of reasons: perhaps it’s grown too fat, or its fleece has grown too full or it has gotten clogged with mud and branches,  or it’s simply stumbled into a ditch and can’t get out. Initially, it’s simply uncomfortable for the sheep, but if it’s not restored back to its feet in a reasonable time, it can die.

Like sheep, we too can get cast down. It happens for lots of reasons: perhaps we stumble in sin, or we get too full of ourselves, or we get bogged down with fear and anxiety about the unknown. Or maybe we just get sideswiped by life. I think a lot of us find ourselves in that place right now. The coronavirus came out of left field and has swept the legs out from under many of us and we just don’t know how to get back to our feet. Thankfully, this is where the shepherd comes in.

A good shepherd is constantly looking for those sheep who have fallen, and when he finds one that is cast, he “restores it” to its feet with gentleness and grace. The same holds true for us.

When we find ourselves flat on our back and unsure whether we have the strength to get back up, we might think that God will be mad with us, that He will be disgusted and fed up. But that’s not the attitude of our Shepherd. A good shepherd cares for his flock, and we have the best of shepherds. He knows that we all get cast down from time to time, so rather than getting disgusted with us, He takes pains to restore us to health and wholeness.

If anyone knew this to be true it was King David, the guy wrote this psalm. David fell harder than any of us have. It started innocently enough. He saw a woman bathing and didn’t look away. His initial interest turned to infatuation, then to lust, and that’s when things really went sideways. The woman in the bath, who was aptly named Bathsheba, turned out to be the wife of one of his closest friends. David got her pregnant and then tried to cover it up by bringing her husband home from war so they could easily write the baby off as his. But when that didn’t work, David tried to clean up his mess by intentionally sending his friend to the front lines so that he would be killed.  In a matter of days, David not only became an adulterer, but a murderer (even if he didn’t wield the sword that killed his friend).

Now, God could have easily rejected David at this point; He could have taken the throne and even David’s life for his mistakes. But he didn’t. Nor did God simply ignore David’s misbehavior. He didn’t turn a blind eye to it, because left unchecked it would have caused even more destruction. Instead, God restored David gently, through the Prophet Nathan.

Nathan presented David with the truth of his sin, and David was humble enough to acknowledge the mess he had made. Now, you might say, “God was judging David by exposing his sin,” but I beg to differ. Exposing his sin was God’s grace. God’s judgement is when He gives us over to our destructive tendencies - when He leaves us cast down.

What I love about David, and one of the primary reasons why he continues to be called “a man after God’s heart,” is that once his sin is exposed, he doesn’t deny it, excuse it or try to run and hide from it. Instead, he owns it, confesses it openly, and runs to his Shepherd for consolation. 

In fact, we have a record of David’s response, penned by his own hand. It’s Psalm 51, and it is a beautiful cry for help from a cast sheep to his shepherd. Let’s listen in:

Create in me a clean heart, O God.
    Renew a loyal spirit within me.
Do not cast me away from your presence,
    and don’t take your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
    and make me willing to obey you.
                                  - Psalm 51:10-12


Father God, you are my Shepherd, and you are faithful. Even when I am not; even when I am drawn away by the things of this world, or my faith is eclipsed by my circumstances, still you are faithful and vigilant. I thank you for your patience with me, and thank you for your grace. I pray that you would restore me to my feet, and help me stand. Jesus, I pray in your name, Amen.