As Hurricane Laura raged toward Louisiana’s coast in the US, the warnings were dire. One sheriff, noting the 150-mile-per-hour winds, issued this jolting message: “Please evacuate. But if you choose to stay and we can't get to you, write your name, address, social security number and next of kin and put it in a Ziploc bag in your pocket. Praying that it does not come to this.” Rescue crews knew that once Laura hit land, there was little they could do. They could only watch the storm’s destructive path—helpless in its wake.
Whenever God’s people faced calamity in the Old Testament, however, His words were much different, far more certain and hopeful. Whether they faced natural disasters or the effects of her own rebellion, God promised His presence in the midst of their destruction. He said that He would “look with compassion on all her ruins; [and] will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the Lord” (Isaiah 51:3). And more, God always assured His people of the rescue and healing that would certainly follow if they would only trust Him. Even though “the heavens [would] vanish like smoke,” God said, His “salvation [would] last forever” (v. 6). Whatever the damage, His ultimate goodness toward them would not be thwarted, ever.
God doesn’t safeguard us from hardship, but He does promise to never leave us alone, not even in the wildest storm. His restorative healing extends far beyond the ruins.
If you were to stroll along the old brick wall stretching between the Protestant and Catholic graveyards in Roermond, Netherlands, you’d discover a curious site. On each side, flush against the wall stands two identical towering headstones: one for a Protestant husband and one for his Catholic wife. Cultural rules required they be buried in separate cemeteries. They wouldn’t accept their fate, however. Their unusual headstones are high enough to reach above the fenced obstruction so that at the top there’s maybe only a foot or two of air separating them. Atop each, a sculptured arm reaches out to the other, each clasping the other’s hand. The couple refused to be separated, not even in death.
The Song of Songs explains love’s power. “Love is as strong as death,” Solomon says, “its jealousy unyielding as the grave” (8:6). True love is powerful, ferocious. “It burns like a blazing fire” (v. 6). True love never surrenders, won’t be silenced, and can’t be destroyed. “Many waters cannot quench love,” writes Solomon. “Rivers cannot sweep it away” (v. 7).
“God is love” (1 John 4:16). Our strongest love is only a fractured reflection of His ferocious love for us. He’s the ultimate source of any love that’s genuine, any love that holds fast.
On March 14, 2019, NASA rockets ignited, catapulting astronaut Christina Koch toward the International Space Station. Koch wouldn’t return to earth for 328 days, giving her the record for the longest continuous space flight by a woman. Every day, living roughly 254 miles above the earth, a screen kept track of Koch’s time in five-minute increments. She had a myriad of daily tasks to complete (from meals to experiments), and—hour after hour—a red line inched along the display, constantly showing whether Koch was ahead or behind schedule. Not a moment to waste.
While certainly not recommending anything so intrusive as a red line ruling over our life, the apostle Paul did encourage us to carefully use our precious, limited resource of time. “Be very careful then, how you live,” Paul wrote, “not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:15–16). God’s wisdom instructs us to fill our days with intention and care, employing them to practice obedience to Him, to love our neighbor, and to participate in Jesus’ ongoing redemption in the world. Sadly, it’s entirely possible to ignore wisdom’s instruction and instead use our time foolishly (v. 17), frittering away our years in selfish or destructive pursuits.
The point isn’t to obsessively fret about time but simply to follow God in obedience and trust. He will help us make the most of our days.
For years, the Horn of Africa has suffered from a brutal drought that devastated crops, killed livestock, and imperiled millions. Among the most vulnerable—like the people at Kenya’s Kahuma Refugee Camp who’ve fled from wars and oppression—it’s even more dire. A recent report described a young mother bringing her baby to camp officials. The infant suffered from severe malnutrition, leaving “her hair and skin . . . dry and brittle.” She wouldn’t smile and wouldn’t eat. Her tiny body was shutting down. Specialists immediately intervened. Thankfully, even though the needs are still great, an infrastructure has been built to provide immediate, life-or-death necessities.
These desperate places are exactly where God’s people are called to shine His light and love (Isaiah 58:8). When people are starving, sick, or threatened, He summons His people to be the first to provide food, medicine, and safety—all in Jesus’ name. Isaiah rebuked ancient Israel for thinking they were being faithful with their fasting and prayers while ignoring the actual compassionate work the crisis required: sharing “food with the hungry,” providing “the poor wanderer with shelter,” and clothing “the naked” (v. 7).
God desires for the hungry to be fed—both physically and spiritually. And He works in and through us as He meets the need.
It was June 2016, Queen Elizabeth’s ninetieth birthday. From her carriage, the monarch waved to the crowds, passing in front of long lines of red-coated soldiers standing at perfect, unflinching attention. It was a warm day in England, and the guards were dressed in their traditional dark wool pants, wool jackets buttoned to the chin, and massive bear-fur hats. As the soldiers stood in rigid rows under the sun, one guard began to faint. Remarkably, he maintained his strict control and simply fell forward, his body remaining straight as a board as he planted his face in the sandy gravel. There he lay—somehow still at attention.
It took years of practice and discipline for this guard to learn such self-control, to hold his body in place even as he was falling unconscious. The apostle Paul describes such training: “I discipline my body to keep it under control,” he wrote (1 Corinthians 9:27
While God’s grace (not our efforts) undergirds all we do, our spiritual life deserves rigorous discipline. As God helps us discipline our mind, heart, and body, we learn to keep our attention fixed on Him, even amid trials or distractions.
Lindisfarne, also known as Holy Island, is a tidal island in England connected to the mainland by a narrow road. Twice a day, the sea covers the causeway. Signs alert visitors to the dangers of crossing during high tide. Yet, tourists regularly disregard the warnings and often end up sitting atop submerged cars or swimming to raised safety huts where they can be rescued. The tide is predictable, as sure as the rising sun. And warnings are everywhere; you can’t possibly miss them. Yet, as one writer described, Lindisfarne is “where the reckless try to outrace the tide.”
Proverbs tells us that it’s foolish to be “reckless and careless” (14:16
While we’ll sometimes need to act decisively or swiftly, we can resist recklessness. As we receive and practice God’s wisdom, He’ll give us the guidance we need when we need it.
There’s a man people hire as they’re dying, paying him to show up at their funerals and reveal secrets they never shared while they were alive. The man has interrupted eulogies. He’s asked stunned officiants to sit down when they started to object. He once stood to explain how the man in the casket had won the lotto but never told a soul and for decades pretended to be a successful businessman. Multiple times the hired man has confessed infidelity to a widowed spouse. One might question whether these actions were exploitative or enacted in good faith, but what’s obvious is people’s hunger to be absolved of past sins.
Having someone else confess for us (especially after we’re dead) is a futile and risky way to deal with secrets. These stories, however, reveal a deep truth: we have a need to confess, to unburden ourselves. Confession cleanses us of those things that we’ve hidden and allowed to fester. “Confess your sins to each other,” James says, “and pray for each other so that you may be healed” (5:16). Confession releases us from burdens that bind us, freeing us to commune with God—praying with a heart open to Him and to our faith community. Confession enacts healing.
James invites us to live an open life, confessing to God and those closest to us the pains and failings we’re tempted to bury. We don’t have to carry these burdens alone. Confession is a gift to us. God uses it to cleanse our heart and set us free.
Our former church in Virginia held baptisms in the Rivanna River where often the sunshine is warm, but the water is frigid. After our Sunday service, we’d load into our cars and caravan to a city park where neighbors tossed Frisbees and kids mobbed the playground. We were quite a spectacle, traipsing to the river’s edge. Standing in the icy water, I would offer Scripture and immerse those being baptized into this tangible expression of God’s love. As they emerged, soaked to the bone, cheers and clapping erupted. Climbing up the bank, friends and family enveloped the newly baptized in hugs—everyone getting drenched. We had cake, drinks, and snacks. The neighbors watching didn’t always understand what was happening, but they knew it was a celebration.
Jesus’ story of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11–32) reveals that it’s cause for celebration whenever someone returns home to God. Anytime someone says yes to God’s invitation, it’s time to party. When the son who’d abandoned his father returned, the father immediately insisted on showering him with a designer robe, a shiny ring, and new shoes. “Bring the fatted calf,” he said. “Let’s have a feast and celebrate” (v. 23). This was a massive, exuberant party including whoever would join the revelry. They “began to celebrate” (v.24).
President Abraham Lincoln had emancipated people held in slavery two-and-a half-years earlier and the Confederacy had surrendered, yet the state of Texas still hadn’t acknowledged the freedom of enslaved persons. However, on June 19, 1865, Union army general Gordon Granger rode into Galveston, Texas and demanded that all enslaved persons be released. Imagine the shock and joy as shackles fell off and those in bondage heard the pronouncement of freedom.
God sees the oppressed, and He’ll ultimately announce freedom for those under the weight of injustice. This is true now just as it was true in Moses’ day. God appeared to him from a burning bush, with an urgent message: “I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt,” God said (Exodus 3:7). He not only saw Egypt’s brutality against Israel—but He also planned to do something about it. “I have come down to rescue them,” God declared, “and to bring them . . . into a good and spacious land” (v. 8). He intended to declare freedom to Israel, and Moses would be the mouthpiece. “I am sending you to Pharaoh,” God told his servant, “to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt” (v. 10).
Though God’s timing may not happen as quickly as we hope, one day He’ll free us from all bondage and injustice. He gives hope and liberation to all who are oppressed.
