In the animated movie Toy Story, a child’s toys come to life whenever he leaves the room or falls asleep. One character, a space ranger named Buzz Lightyear, shouts his signature catchphrase while demonstrating his ability to fly about the bedroom. “To infinity and beyond!”
It’s a phrase that has confused many. Isn’t infinity as far as you can go? How can there be anything “beyond” infinity? Drawing on wisdom from ancient Greek philosophers, mathematician Ian Stewart suggests that what is beyond infinity are yet bigger infinities. On and on and on.
Jesus seems to employ such exponential effort in the realm of forgiveness. When Peter asked Jesus, “How many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered, “I tell you, you must forgive him more than seven times. You must forgive him even if he wrongs you seventy times seven” (Matthew 18:22). Jesus goes on to tell a parable comparing a merciful and unmerciful servant, making the point that when someone truly regrets their error, there is no limit to the number of times we are to forgive. We are to forgive others the way God forgives us (v. 33). Over and over, on and on.
That may seem impossible to us. That’s why we constantly need to ask God for His help.
Only in His strength can we do this. Forgiven people forgive people. To infinity and beyond!
After our family held a riverside memorial service for my father, we each selected a stone to help us remember him. His life had been a checkerboard of wins and losses, but we knew his heart was for us. My fingers traced my stone’s smooth surface and helped me hold him close.
In Luke 19, Jesus made His triumphal entry into Jerusalem, while the crowds waved palm branches, shouted Hosannas, and cheered, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” (v. 38). In the Pharisees’ disdain of what they perceived to a blasphemous claim of messiahship, they ordered Jesus to tell the disciples to be quiet. Jesus replied, “If they keep quiet, the stones will cry out” (v. 40).
The stones do cry out, in many ways. God used stones throughout the story of His love for us. Two rough-hewn stones carried ten chiseled commandments to tell us how to live (Exodus 34:1–2). Stones of remembrance piled by the Jordan River reminded generations of God’s provision and faithfulness (Joshua 4:8–9). The one rolled into place to contain Jesus’ body is the same one rolled away to show He had risen (Matthew 27:59–66; Luke 24:2). We “hear” this stone as it reminds us of Jesus’ words, “I am the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25).
Listen to the stones and lift your own voice along with them in praise to our loving Father.
Late one night, a Kenyan elephant sanctuary received a call that an elephant calf had fallen into a well. The rescue team arrived to cries of despair flooding the darkness and discovered that two-thirds of the baby’s trunk had been lost to hyenas. Transporting the calf to their safe haven, they named him Long’uro, which means “something that has been cut.” Though he possessed only one-third of his trunk, Long’uro healed and was embraced by the rest of the herd at the sanctuary. Elephants innately know they need each other, so they help each other.
In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul underscores our need to help each other within the body of Christ. He uses the metaphor of the human body and its individual parts to describe how God intends His people to welcome all gifts in all people because all are needed for His body to function (vv. 12-26). Then Paul explains how unity in diversity is accomplished. “God has put the body together,” he wrote, “giving greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other” (vv. 24-25).
Whether weak or strong, fancy or common, let’s help each other. Like the elephants, people need each other too.
David Vetter died at age twelve after spending his entire life in a bubble. Nicknamed “The Bubble Boy,” David was born with severe combined immunodeficiency (SCID). His parents had lost their first son to the disease and were determined to protect their second-born. To prolong his life, NASA engineers designed a plastic protection bubble as well as a spacesuit so his parents could hold David in the outside world. Oh, how we all long to protect those we love!
King David was wronged by Nabal, the foolish husband of Abigail. In a rogue moment, David sought revenge by his own hands. Abigail rushed to meet him with a wise reminder, “Even though someone is pursuing you to take your life, the life of my lord will be bound securely in the bundle of the living by the
We do well to work to protect others when they need it, but it’s only in God’s perfect care that they’re truly safe.
At our wedding shower, our shy friend Dave stood in a corner clutching an oblong, tissue-wrapped object. When his turn came to present his gift, he brought it forward. Evan and I unwrapped it to discover a hand-carved piece of wood containing perfect oblong concentric woodgrain circles and the engraved sentence, “Some of God’s miracles are small.” The plaque has hung in our home for forty-five years, reminding us again and again that God is at work even in the small things. Paying a bill. Providing a meal. Healing a cold. All tallying up to an impressive record of God’s provision.
Through the prophet Zechariah, the governor of Judah, Zerubbabel, received a similar message from God regarding the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the temple. After returning from their Babylonian captivity, a season of slow progress began, and the Israelites grew discouraged. “Do not despise these small beginnings,” God declared (Zechariah 4:10
When we grow weary at the apparent smallness of God’s work in and around us, may we remember that some of His miracles may be “small.” He uses the small things to build toward His greater purposes.
Browsing through the doormats displayed in my local big box store, I noted the messages stamped on their surfaces. “Hello!” “HOME” with a heart for the “O.” And the more customary one I chose, “Welcome.” Putting it in place at home, I checked my heart. Was my home really welcoming the way God desires it to be? To a child selling chocolate for a school project? A neighbor in need? A family member from out of town who called on the spur of the moment?
In Mark 9, Jesus moves from the Mount of Transfiguration where Peter, James and John stood in awe of His holy presence (vv. 1–13), to healing a possessed boy with a hopeless father (vv. 14–29). Jesus then offered private lessons to the disciples concerning His upcoming death (vv. 30–32). They missed His point—badly (vv. 33–34). In response, Jesus took a child atop His lap saying, “Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me does not welcome me but the one who sent me.” The word welcome here means to receive and accept as a guest. Jesus wants His disciples to welcome all, even the undervalued and the inconvenient as if we were welcoming Him.
I thought of my welcome mat and wondered how I extend His love to others. It starts by welcoming Jesus as a treasured guest. Will I permit Him to lead me, welcoming others the way He desires?
Andrew Card was the Chief of Staff to American president George W. Bush. In an interview regarding his role in the White House he explained, “In each staff member’s office hangs a framed statement of purpose: ‘We serve at the pleasure of the President.’ But that does not mean that we serve to please the President or to win his or her pleasure. Rather, we serve to tell him what he needs to know to do his job.” That job is to govern the United States of America.
In so many of roles and relationships we slip into people-pleasing mode rather than building up each other in unity, as the apostle Paul often urged. In Ephesians 4, Paul wrote, “Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith” (vv. 11-13). In verse 15, Paul cut through our people-pleasing tendencies, stressing that these gifts should be expressed by “speaking the truth in love” so that “the whole body . . . grows and builds itself up in love” (v. 16).
As believers in Jesus, we serve “at the pleasure” of our good God in all things, to accomplish His purposes. Whether or not we please others, we’ll please God as He works through us to create unity in His church.
As a child, my daughter loved playing with her Swiss cheese at lunch. She’d place the pastel yellow square on her face like a mask, saying, “Look Mom,” her sparkly green eyes peeking out from two holes in the cheese. As a young mom, that Swiss-cheese mask summed up my feelings about my efforts—genuinely offered, full of love, but so very imperfect. Holey, not holy.
Oh, how we long to live a holy life—a life set apart for God and characterized by being like Jesus. But day after day, holiness seems out of reach. In its place, our “holeyness” remains.
In 2 Timothy, Paul writes to his protégé Timothy, urging him to live up to his holy calling (1:6-7). “[God] has saved us and called us to a holy life—not because of anything we have done but because of his own purpose and grace,” the apostle wrote (v. 9). This life is possible not because of our character, but because of God’s grace. Paul continued, “This grace was given us in Christ Jesus before the beginning of time” (v. 9). Can we accept God’s grace and live from the platform of power it provides?
Whether in parenting, marriage, work, or loving our neighbor, God calls us to a holy life—made possible not because of our efforts to be perfect but because of His grace.
My sister, brother, and I flew from our separate states to our uncle’s funeral and stopped to see our ninety-year-old grandmother. She’d been paralyzed by a stroke, had lost the ability to speak, and had only the use of her right hand. As we stood around her bed, she reached out that hand and took each of our hands, placing one atop another over her heart and patted them in place. With this wordless gesture, my grandmother spoke into what had been our somewhat broken and distant sibling relationship. “Family matters.”
In God’s family, the church, we can grow apart as well. We might allow bitterness to separate us from each other. The writer of Hebrews references the bitterness that separated Esau from his brother (Hebrews 12:16) and challenges us as brothers and sisters to hold on to each other in God’s family. “Make every effort to live in peace with everyone” (v. 14). Here the words “every effort” convey a deliberate and decisive investment in peacemaking with our brothers and sisters in God’s family. Every such effort is then applied to everyone. Every. One.
Family matters. Both our earthly families and God’s family of believers. Might we all invest the efforts needed to hold on to each other?
