Wilderness Wanderings

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God. (Psalm 20:7)

We are always and everywhere tempted to believe that salvation comes by our own accomplishment. By the work of our hands we establish ourselves and provide for ourselves and our families. By our own firm stands we defend ourselves, our family, and our institutions.

And, there's something to that notion. We do have things to do to get in on the action of God—we do have callings and things that we're equipped for by him, things that we do out of a grateful response.

But there's an important caveat. Quite a big one, in fact, upon which the whole goodness of the good news of the Gospel rests, and it's this: that our trust finally rests not in our own work, but in God's.

It is a super simple principle, but we get it wrong all the time. The Old Testament is littered with examples, especially through the history of the books of Samuel and Kings.

Subtly, slowly, the people would again find themselves believing—first through their actions and then through their hearts—that if salvation from their enemies or struggles did not come by their own hands it would not come at all: which is the same as confessing no god at all. We first live, practically and pragmatically, like there is no god and then eventually our mind and hearts catch up with our lived confession.

It can happen in so many different ways. It happens in the usual ways we might think of, certainly. We stop going to church and participating in the life of the Christian community, or we become addicted to a particular sin. But it happens in far more subtle ways too that may pass our gaze and impact each of us in ways that might surprise us.

For instance, when Christians fight with one another. To keep a conflict healthy and fight fair and Christianly is no easy task, which means that fighting is a high-risk activity. When our passions stir, it is easy to allow less-than-Christian means into our actions for the sake of winning the day: things like self-righteousness, pride, lovelessness, control, slander, manipulation of people or process, gossip, anger, and more. Each of these are examples of trusting in ourselves rather than entrusting ourselves to God: just a different version of chariots and horses.

Our confession of faith is different though: that while some trust in chariots, some in horses, some in gossip, some in control: we are continually called to trust in the name of the Lord our God, who in Jesus has come and won the final victory—the only victory we will ever need. Our salvation along with the salvation of the church are found in him.

How might you live out that trust in Christ today?

"May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart, be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and My Redeemer" (Psalm 19:14).

Like me, many of you have likely heard this verse prayed during a worship service. Preachers will pray it just before they begin their sermon. It is a good practice; I've done it many times myself. We preachers will also pray such a prayer when we are in our studies preparing sermons or devotions.

But have you ever prayed this prayer? I assume most of you are not preachers, yet I ask you this question. Have you prayed this prayer for yourself? How often have you asked the Holy Spirit to sanctify 'the words of your mouth and the meditations of your heart so that they are pleasing to God'?

It is unlikely that this psalm was originally prayed by a preacher. The NIV editors ascribe it to David. The psalm headings are not considered part of the inspired Word of God; thus, we readily admit they might be wrong. This psalm is included in Israel's song book to be prayed by all, including all of us. That includes you.

How did the psalmist come to give voice to this prayer? Let's take a quick look. This song can easily be divided into three stanzas. The first, verses 1-6, is a magnificent poem detailing how the natural world exudes with the glory of God.

The Belgic Confession, Article 2, teaches us that the creation is one of the two ways that we get to know God. It takes its cue from Psalm 19. We can learn much of God's grandeur, greatness, creativity, and providential care if we spend time in God's creation, observing it.

We can easily imagine, David the shepherd, alone at night with his father's sheep mesmerized by the moon and stars and in the morning watching the sun creep over the horizon warming the air.

The second part of the prayer, verses 7-10, takes delight in the spoken and written words of God which give direction for living in covenant relationship with the Lord. This psalmist recognized that there are different ways in which we might live. Moral choices must constantly be made. The psalmist declares that God's ways are the absolute best.

Moreover, these words are life, they are refreshing like cool streams of water. They give guidance among the confusing choices of the day and reassurance for the fretting which interrupts our sleep. They offer forgiveness and the courage to forgive. God's kindness is on display moving us towards mercy.

Having feasted on God's glory displayed in God's creation and in God's word, beginning in verse 11, the psalm concludes with a personal reflection on these two great sources of info for God. This composer wants her life to measure up to God's standard. Notice, it is only after she has spent time with both God's creation and Word that she moves to this conclusion. I highly recommend the psalmist's pattern.

We are invited to stand in awe of God. Not just of God's greatness and majesty, but also of God's mercy and grace. We can ask for forgiveness and the grace to lead a blameless life. Surely this is a prayer that we all ought to pray.

An extended Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is 1 Corinthians 3:18-4:16 from the New International Version of the Bible. Dive In discussion questions are below for further reflection!

To see this sermon in the context of the worship service it comes from, find it here on YouTube. Or, head to our website to connect with the worshiping community of Immanuel CRC: immanuelministries.ca

DIVE IN QUESTIONS

1. What has been hard for you in life over these past years? How are you doing now? Take time to take stock.
2. Paul reviews his 4-chapter essay up to this point: what again was the foolishness (and wisdom) of God that we're called to emulate? Why aren't we supposed to boast?
3. What does it mean to be "of Christ?"
4. What does it mean to imitate Paul (as he imitates Christ)? Said differently: what does it look like to live out our identity as those who are "of Christ?"
5. What does seeing our suffering as connected to the suffering of Christ do for us? How does our own dying to ourselves participate in that work of Christ that transforms the world and brings the kingdom?
6. Does your life look like the cross: like the death and resurrection of Christ? Where might you be called to die to yourself this week?

"I love you, O Lord, my strength" (Psalm 18:1).

This opening phrase of Psalm 18 may suggest to us that this will be a nice, gentle psalm. It is anything but. It is filled with bold colours, powerful metaphors, haunting images, and violent movements.

John Calvin wrote that the creation is the "theatre of God's glory." It may have been this psalm which inspired that phrase. David, having spent his life shepherding sheep, hiding in caves, and defeating enemy armies knows a thing or two about this creation. That intimate knowledge fashions his prayer.

Let's take a brief look.

In the first movement God is rock, fortress, deliverer, refuge, stronghold. But wait a moment. These images of mountain strongholds are all preceded with a pronoun. David says, "The Lord is my..." I uspect that we ought to follow David's example more often. Find the strongest elements of God's creation to describe what God is to you.

In the second movement, David uses creation metaphors to describe how he almost dies: cords of death, torrents of destruction, cords of the grave. Have you ever dared to uses such images to describe the state of affairs in your life?

The third movement of this psalm imagines the creation coming apart before God's approach: trembles, quakes, shakes, smokes, parts. Here God does not come in light, but in the darkness of judgement. It's an edge of your seat horror show.

Then, suddenly, the imagery shifts. This horrifying God reaches down, shepherd like, and picks up his trembling lamb from the cliff of disaster. As enemies surround him, cutting off his life, God pauses, picks him out of the fray and sets him in a safe place.

Why? This is who God is. He has an eye for those who seek Him. When the psalmist declares his own righteousness, he is not suggesting that he is perfect, having ever sinned. No. It's another way of saying, "As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God" (Ps. 42:1). God comes to those who seek Him.

Now God becomes the teacher: God is the master and the psalmist, the apprentice. Notice all that God does for and teaches this psalmist. All this training is so that he can go out and deal with his enemies. David is not rescued in order to be spared the struggle. Rather, God uses David to deal with those who oppose Him. Remember, God's enemies are David's enemies.

David is amazed at how thoroughly God has carried him through the storm and how thoroughly God has raised him over his enemies. Thus, he praises God.

We too can pray this prayer. Read Ephesians 2:6-7 and Psalm 42 in light of those verses.

Hear me, Lord, my plea is just; listen to my cry. Hear my prayer—it does not rise from deceitful lips. Let my vindication come from you; may your eyes see what is right.

As for me, I will be vindicated and will see your face; when I awake, I will be satisfied with seeing your likeness. (Psalm 17:1-2,15)

These are the first and last verses of the Psalm. They recognize that though we might seek to live the best life we can in this world there are some things that are simply out of our control. The psalmist still had enemies. Even though the writer remained honest, it didn't mean that others did.

There is evil, hurt, and hardship in this world that we cannot protect ourselves from, nor escape. The rash of shootings in the States remind us of this all over again. The cry for justice and vindication for the innocent against evil enemies is a real thread that runs through our world and our prayers.

But it also hits home sometimes. Our trust can be so betrayed by someone we love or trusted that this prayer for vindication finds its way to our lips. Even doing everything right—still we find ourselves blindsided by some evil that wreaks of injustice, lovelessness, or betrayal.

Or, perhaps it happens to someone we know. A friend's marriage is blown apart by addiction, or an affair perhaps. Whatever the case: we feel powerless, or feel the powerlessness and vulnerability of the one we love. They did nothing wrong, and yet still their life is blown apart.

The psalmist, in that place of powerlessness finds that they are never completely powerless though. There is a God who sees what's right. A God who judges. A God who will make things right, even when we cannot. That's a profoundly good thing.

As Christians, we now know who that God is: Jesus Christ—the innocent one who himself was betrayed unto death. On this Ascension Day (yes, that's today), we remember that he is the same one who has ascended to the right hand of God the Father Almighty, from which he will come to judge the living and the dead—including the stuff in our own lives.

But as we wait for his return, prayers like these in Psalm 17 continue to give us a language for expressing and acting against the injustice we see and feel in a faithful way—a way that continues to keep us from falling into despair or the sin of retaliation ourselves, even when we are otherwise powerless to act.

And, as we entrust our case to God, we also receive a promise. At the beginning of the psalm we find ourselves praying to the God who sees. But in the end, we take comfort and hope in the fact that this is the God that we ourselves will see—face to face—even as he vindicates us and welcomes us into his home of shalom where justice, peace, and belonging assure us that all will be well from now on.

"I said to the Lord, 'You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing'" (Psalm 16:2).

Helena and I choose Psalm 16 as our wedding text and Rev. De Bolster, then president of Redeemer College, preached from it during our marriage ceremony. I admit that I don't remember what he said. I do remember that it was a very hot July afternoon.

Regardless, it was a good choice. The psalm invites us to live life from the perspective of verse 2, "I said to the Lord, 'You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing.'"

Consider this question: "What makes life good?" Before you go on, answer the question for yourself. Don't give the right answer. Be honest and give the answer that is true for you. What makes your life good?

In Psalm 16, David invites us to give this answer, "As long as God is with me, life is good. And since God is always with me, life is good."

David was not avoiding the troubles of life. He knew enough of them: facing Goliath, running for his life from Saul, his terrible conduct with Bathsheba and Uriah, his son rebelling against him. I suspect that David would have agreed with the Heidelberg Catechism that we have three basic enemies: the world, the flesh, and the devil (A 127).

These three continually attempt to draw us away from God. Thus, David begins his Psalm with, "Keep me safe, O God." The good life begins with trusting in God to keep us close to Him. David's opening plea is for more than physical protection. It includes the petition Jesus taught us to pray, "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one" (Matthew 6:13).

Let's return to the question, "What makes life good?" When you answered it for yourself, did you include any spiritual considerations. I suspect many of us think first of material success when we think about the good life. If so, we have succumbed to the culture of materialism. How can it be that we, who follow Jesus, give so little thought to spiritual wellness?

Further, David takes delight in those who belong to God and is abhorred by those who oppose Him. We can't delight in God while turning our noses at His people. Enjoying the presence of God means we will stick with His people and delight in them.

At the same time, there will be within us an abhorrence of all things evil. We will flee from them. Not that we will avoid people who don't believe in Jesus, but we will flee from activities that draw us away from God.

From here, David describes how his life is good and secure because all things come from God himself. At the end he gives us one of the few Old Testament glimpses of the future resurrection. Peter quotes from these verses in his sermon on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2:25-28). David glimpses that life after death is still physical, human, body life. And that such life will be lived with God in a way we do not experience yet.

David recognized that God would not abandon him, even when he died. He would also, I think, agree with the opening words of the Heidelberg Catechism, "My only comfort is that I am not my own, but belong body and soul, in life and in death to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ."

I'm didn't grasp all of this when we choose Psalm 16 all those years ago. But what better way to go through life than with these words of security.

Lord, who may dwell in your sacred tent? Who may live on your holy mountain? The one whose walk is blameless, who does what is righteous, who speaks the truth from their heart; whose tongue utters no slander, who does no wrong to a neighbor, and casts no slur on others; who despises a vile person but honors those who fear the Lord; who keeps an oath even when it hurts, and does not change their mind; who lends money to the poor without interest; who does not accept a bribe against the innocent. Whoever does these things will never be shaken. (Psalm 15)

Who may dwell in the presence of the Lord? The Psalmist gives a pretty high bar in response.

If we examine ourselves against this list, we might very well find that we've done a good job in some areas: we keep our promises perhaps, have never accepted a bribe. But even if we've not transgressed some of those narrow statements, who of us can really say that we're blameless? The Scriptures would tell us that none of us are. And if we think we are, then we've deceived ourselves.

But if that's the case, then who may dwell in the presence of the Lord? It seems a hopeless question.

And yet, the Psalms are not the law. The Psalms are prayers. They are worship. Liturgy. The Psalms are spoken at the sanctuary, in worship: in the presence of the Lord. And so this psalm cannot be a judicial decree that bars us all from entrance: somehow it must mean to tell us something different.

Perhaps flipping our understanding around a bit might help. What if instead of an entrance exam, this psalm is more like the guide for grateful living in a worship service, or the call to discipleship? As we gather in the presence of the Lord, we recognize that the only way we stand in his presence at all is because of what he has done in inviting us, saving us: calling us his own.

Far from the fear and death produced by the law we'll never measure up to, God's underserved gift of grace that invites us holds out the possibility of transformation as a different response wells up within us: gratitude—thankfulness for what he's done.

Hearing these words today as Christians, we recognize in this invitation an invitation to respond to the gift of Jesus by being transformed into the likeness of Jesus. In the name of Jesus and because of his gift, we gather in the sanctuary of God. We may dwell with God now even as the Spirit dwells within us. All the actions this psalm speaks were carried out by Jesus perfectly: he was blameless. And his blamelessness is now our own.

So we now are those people who may dwell in the presence of God. And we are now those people who will never be shaken. But we are also those people who are invited to work out the gift that Jesus has worked into us. We are invited to live like he did: to do what is righteous, speak the truth, love our neighbours, lend to the poor, and keep our promises even when it hurts.

We do these things as a grateful response to the gift of righteousness that we have received in Christ. And we can do them, because belonging to God, we know that we will never be shaken.

A Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is Romans 6:1-14 from the New International Version of the Bible. Dive In discussion questions are below for further reflection!

To see this sermon in the context of the worship service it comes from, find it here on YouTube. Or, head to our website to connect with the worshiping community of Immanuel CRC: immanuelministries.ca

1. What was the role of the temple in the Old Testament?
2. What is the crisis?
3. With the temple still standing in Jerusalem, consider how radical Paul's words were for the churches.
4. What is Paul's point in his farming parable? How does that effect our work on Christ's behalf?
5. In his building parable Paul emphasizes the foundation that is already laid. What kind of materials can we use in building on that foundation?
6. How will we live out the truth: we belong to the Lord? How does this change the way you think about this congregation?

"The fool says in his heart, 'There is no God.'" Do all these evildoers know nothing? They devour my people as though eating bread; they never call on the Lord. You evildoers frustrate the plans of the poor, but the Lord is their refuge" (Psalm 14:1,4,6)

There are various reasons why lament rises from the heart of the godly. In Psalm 14, it is 'the fool' who causes the dirge. Biblically, the fool is not someone who lacks street smarts or survival skills, rather, it is the person who lives as if God does not exist. Since people without God need to survive by their own skills and power, they will often crush the poor and the righteous in their pursuit to collect resources. Thus, the psalmist moans, "They devour my people as though eating bread…you evil doers frustrate the plans of the poor…" (4, 6).

Still, we are reminded that God is the refuge and the restorer of fortunes for both the poor and the righteous (6-7). In the end, evil doers will get their due. This invites us to reflect on our trust in God, His sovereign reign over this earth and over our lives. Do we truly believe that God is with us?

We do need to be careful how we phrase this. It is not that God is on our side, in the sense that we get to decide how God should act. Rather, he has promised that evil will not go unpunished and that He will care for those who seek Him. Can we wait for Him rather than seeking vengeance on those who wrong us?

"The fool says in his heart, 'There is no God.'" Here lies a truth we need to reckon with, namely, that what comes out of our mouths has come from our hearts. The heart is the centre of the human being. It is our core, the wellspring of our attitudes, feelings, and beliefs. It is the great internal processor through which all that we receive by way of our senses gets sorted and interpreted.

We are not merely emotional, nor merely intellectual, but a combination of both and more. How our heart processes things is important. The wise father of Proverbs advises his child, "Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life" (4:23).

Psalm 14 might be used to generate a diatribe against atheists outside the church. But that would be largely fruitless. It seems wiser to recognize that there are generally two very different kinds of atheists.

There are atheists who vocalize their atheism for all to hear. But there are also many who say they believe in God with their mouths but live as if he does not exist. They say that God is Lord of creation, but rarely live by that confession. Such atheists do populate the church.

Alcoholics Anonymous believes that the most important hurdle an addicted person must surmount is to acknowledge, deep in the soul, not being God. No mastery of manipulation and control, at which addicts excel, can overcome the root problem. To some extent, we are all addicts. We must quit playing God, and then allow God himself to play God in our lives, which involves daily, even moment by moment surrender.

As the psalmist laments, heart-atheism becomes social oppression. If the self makes its own rules and satisfies its own compulsions, the social result is that people around me become food—material that I can use to fulfill my needs. I no longer look on them as persons but as stuff that I can use to make life satisfactory.

One of the great myths of our age is that what I believe is nobody's business but my own; what I do in the secrecy of my own heart is of no account to anyone else. This is bad psychology. What I believe is everybody's business because what goes on in my heart very soon shapes the way I act in society.

Heart-atheism is the belief system of self-righteousness. It establishes me at the centre and arranges things, people, events, and God around me in such ways that no matter what happens I am right. 'The voice of the "I" becomes the voice of God.' Everything is viewed and interpreted in relation to the sovereign me. We can often manage this with an extraordinary degree of success. Because of this the Psalmist warns, "The Lord looks down from heaven on all mankind to see if there are any who understand, any who seek God" (Psalm 14:2).

We are invited to examine our hearts. How much atheism lives within us?

As we learn to trust God, the Spirit nourishes spiritual fruit within us. We have the space to love others; joy and peace, rather than anxiety, are kindled deep within us. When we seek God's Kingdom, the Spirit's fruit grows. We seek this Kingdom when we trust God.

There is a torrent of pain and suffering constantly battering our senses and burdening our hearts. It's in our lives, it's in our world. We can't engage meaningfully with every evil and ill we face though—it would flood over us, overwhelming us again and again. Often it does, in fact.

When city planners of the past decades would come across the not unrelated problem of unruly waters that would flow their banks every spring. They solved it by burying it. That was the case for the Chedoke Creek that flows underground near (or under?) our church's property. The landscape has been flattened and made useful, but no one sees or hears the waters of that creek anymore until they spill over the escarpment in the Chedoke waterfall, and then just as quickly as they appeared much of them are gone again into another culvert.

Slowly we come into awareness though, of the fact that we human folk are somehow healthier when graced by the sound, sight, and even touch of live, running water, no matter how unruly it may, at times, be. And not only us, but the ecosystem is likewise healthier when creeks, streams, and swamps are left alone to clean the water and provide habitat for a myriad of other creatures of God's Creation. Nothing lives or is brought life though when a creek is banished to a culvert and its once carved creek-bed is flattened to pavement.

So it is with our emotional world and our experience of grief and suffering. Like so many practical man vs. nature solutions of the decades past, we've often buried this river of hurt, painting on smiles if necessary.

But when we don't face the suffering we experience, it doesn't get the chance to drive us to the ultimate questions of life, death, and God that are important to ask. Questions like, "Is God really in control?" "Is He really present, or has He forgotten us?" To look at suffering in the light of the day is to grapple with the foundations of our faith and to cry out like David, "How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?"

If we don't confront suffering—we implicitly deny the hope offered by Christ in the face of it. On the other hand, if we accept suffering without question, we implicitly deny the unacceptable reality of the sin and evil in our world that Jesus came to save us from. Both are ways of shunting our suffering underground.

So it's important to daylight the river of human suffering—our suffering—to look it in the face and turn it into prayer before God. That's lament: prayers, questions, and cries that arise when deep suffering and deep faith meet, offered to the God whose love never fails.

That is what David does in Psalm 13. And it is only in this honest place of wrestling with both our sufferings and our faith that we discover the deep places where the salvation we have in Jesus really meets the deep pain, suffering, sin, and evil of our lives. And that: being saved out of those places by the gracious action of God again and again—that is what can make our hearts to sing.