Wilderness Wanderings

I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is the same as the mighty strength he exerted when he raised Christ from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms… (Ephesians 1:18-21)

Ephesians is one of my favourite books of the Bible. There are a lot of soaring words as Paul falls all over himself in trying to describe the incredible hope given in Christ for us, for the church, and even for the world.

Just listen in to what he's saying here in these few short verses:

We are the children of God—we belong to him—and we will enjoy his inheritance as heaven and earth meet at last. In the end, Jesus returns to dwell with his people. It's the moment that our hope is realized as we enter our inheritance. An inheritance that is far more than just money or stuff. It's a secure place to belong, it's a role and a purpose that have deep meaning and fulfillment, and it's the whole, abundant, renewed creation within which to live it. We will be co-rulers with Christ our brother over this renewed creation, our inherited home. It's a picture of life and of hope. Everything as it was meant to be.

The great power of God guarantees it for us who believe. His is the power of life and the power to bring life, even out of the clutches of death. It's the power that raised Christ from the dead, the power that has broken the power of death and that will one day put an end to death, pain, and dying altogether. That life-giving power of God will renew our bodies and all of Creation, even as God establishes his rule over that Creation in Christ forevermore.

But we don't always have the eyes to see that sure vision of hope. Sometimes our days are dark, we're lonely, powerless, death seems near, resources seem scarce, our lives lack purpose.

So Paul prays for us: particularly for the eyes to see. The eyes to catch the small glimpses of grace and of hope that flow through our days: whether a sunrise, a moment of stillness, a stranger on the street, or an opportunity to connect in a strange new way with an old friend. All glimpses that God's life-giving power is at work still. Glimpses that remind us we have a purpose, a home, and a place to belong that's filled with life and plenty. A future hope to keep our eyes on that God Himself guarantees, through Christ, who even now sits on the throne.

The fishermen will groan and lament, all who cast hooks into the Nile; those who throw nets on the water will pine away. Those who work with combed flax will despair, the weavers of fine linen will lose hope. The workers in cloth will be dejected, and all the wage earners will be sick at heart (Isaiah 19:8-10).

I imagine that few of you have heard any sermons on Isaiah 19, let alone devotions. My digital filing cabinet has nothing on this chapter. To my surprise, I have preached a sermon on it, but it is based on the end of the chapter, not the verses of our text.

This chapter is "a prophecy against Egypt". It can be summarized simply as, "The God of Israel is coming, Egypt is in trouble." Does this prophecy have value for us today? I think so. Let me explain.

First, its important to pay attention to the opening words. The God of Israel is coming and the idols of Egypt tremble (1). In ancient culture, the gods were everything. The Pharaohs of Egypt considered themselves children of the gods. All power flowed through them and from them. Politics and religion were one and the same.

Also, everything in Egypt depended on the Nile and its yearly flood. And of course, the gods controlled the Nile. So, if the Nile dries up, commerce fails, thus our text. People believed that this meant their gods were unhappy with them or had lost battle against other gods.

In this chapter, the answer to Egypt's coming problems is that their gods and politicians are out of sink with the purposes of God almighty, the God of Israel. Therefore, God is coming to judge them.

A chapter such as this is a reminder that when people neglect God, there will be trouble. Nations have always done this and will continue to so until Jesus returns. No nation or political leader can fully embody the kingdom of Jesus. Certain policies may, but not all.

This should give us pause in our politics. As citizens of democratic nations, we are called upon to vote in elections. However, we should give limited and somewhat muted support to any political leader, regardless of party affiliation. This passage reminds us to put our hope in God, not in the politics or politicians of this world. In the end, God will judge all nations, and all will be found wanting.

I think there is also a warning here against the increasingly religious language in politics these days. Despite the western effort to separate politics and religion, our political discourse is sounding awfully religious these days. Its easy for us as Christians to get caught up in this rhetoric. There is also the temptation to believe that some political party or candidate will set things right. The Bible repeatedly warns us against this.

There is also this, God's judgement is never an end in itself. Our God doesn't judge just because. Rather, he comes in judgement in the hope that people will return to him. Towards the end of the chapter, we read this, "in that day there will be an altar to the Lord in the heart of Egypt and a monument to the Lord at is border" (19). Egypt will become a major contributor to the things of God.

Here is part of the biblical picture that the new earth and heavens will be populated by people from all nations. I don't think there is much value in trying to figure out when and how this will all happen. Rather, these prophecies give content to our prayers and spur us on to love those different from ourselves.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will—to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace that he lavished on us. (Ephesians 1:3-8a)

God's blessings are indeed rich. All that we have is a gift of God, and God likes giving gifts.

For sure, we might say. We know that's true. That's the Christian stuff we believe alright. But looking around us, it sure doesn't feel very true.

We hardly see other people, and when we do, we're accustomed now to treating them with the actions of suspicion and mistrust: we keep our distance, shield our faces, and remain vigilant and cautious. This loss of social graces isn't what we want to do, but it's what we've been trained to do in the new normal of our lives. We've lost the capacities and skills to be with other people. And that doesn't seem like a blessing. Nor do the continuing health restrictions. Nor do the continuing campaigns to induce compliance though fear of the numbers. Nor do any number of other things.

Of course, people have faced much worse down through the ages. Christians have too. And those Christians have continued to affirm these words of Ephesians, even in the worst of it.

Because God has blessed us. We need to be reminded of it sometimes and invited to see it again behind the shadowy veil of our present circumstances. Listen in again. God has chosen us, created us, and filled us with purpose. That purpose being nothing more nor less than becoming a part of God's own family. Because we are. We've been redeemed and forgiven through Christ, and now belong to the family of God to the praise of his glorious grace, lavished on us.

The blessing is belonging. When no one sees us anymore these days: God sees us. When no one choses us to be the ones they reach out to with visits, calls, or cards: God reaches out to us. When our lives feel adrift and purposeless: God reminds us that our very presence in his family brings glory to him and gives him great joy and delight such that he smiles on us. When we feel most lonely and alone, God reminds us: we still have a community and a family of belonging with Him.

We long for the day when those blessings are made tangible in a way we can see and touch. But even now, Jesus invites us to place our hope in him, because in him, we are not forgotten, but rather are specially chosen and blessed children of the Father who have a place, a home of belonging with him.

But who am I, and who are my people, that we should be able to give as generously as this? Everything comes from you, and we have given you only what comes from your hand. We are foreigners and strangers in your sight, as were all our ancestors. Our days on earth are like a shadow, without hope (1 Chronicles 29:14-15).

The television show Sesame Street has this song, "one of these is not like the others". Our verses for today, remind me of that song. They appear out of place in this chapter. It's a wonderful chapter in which David passes the baton of king to his son Solomon.

David's dream has been to build a temple for God, but God has not allowed it. His son will build it. Recognizing that Solomon is young and inexperienced David makes a sizable donation of resources for the temple. In response, the leaders of Israel follow his example by making their own donations. The people are filled with joy and give praise to God.

During this celebration, David prays. It's a prayer worth paying attention to. Many of you will be familiar with the ending of the Lord's prayer, "for yours in the kingdom, and the power and the glory forever." You will not find it in either Matthew or Luke's version of the prayer. It appears to have been added later as a condensed version of this prayer of David.

Much of the prayer is a celebration of God and of his kingdom and glory. After all of that, we find our text, "But who am I? Our days on earth are like a shadow, without hope." On its own, this seems rather odd and out of place. But in its context, it calls us to a similar spirituality.

The theme of the chapter is the temple of God. This is the place in which God will dwell among his people. It is carried through the rest of the Old Testament into the New. As we know, the physical temple was not a permanent dwelling place for God. But that was the hope and dream of David. That desire would come to fulfillment in Jesus Christ and is also pictured at the end of the Bible as God coming down to earth to dwell among his people forever.

In this passage, David articulates that without God dwelling among his people they are nothing, they have no hope. Everything they have is a gift from God. As David hands over the baton of kingship to Solomon he is deeply aware of how precarious a position Israel holds in the world. Without God, they are nothing.

As he sees the people giving for the temple, he sees a people who are committed to God. His prayer, as he passes the baton, is that God will keep those hearts committed to him. He recognizes just how easily people can turn away from God. He prays particularly for Solomon, that God will keep his heart loyal.

It seems to me that this is always a prayer that we need to be making. We need to pray for the leaders of the church, that God will keep them hearts and minds loyal to him. And that God will keep all our hearts committed to him. Let's pray that for each other as this pandemic meanders on.

Its so easy to look at all the things we have and say of them, "These are mine." David reminds us in this passage, in this prayer, that the things we have, truly belong to God. We can only use them with joy when we recognize that. Otherwise, we hold on to them too tightly because we are after that they will get away from us.

When we view them as gifts of God, we can use them for the blessing of others because we know that God has plenty more. We can joyfully share them because we know that God is with us always.

See, I am doing a new thing. Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. (Isaiah 43:19)

This past weekend a group of churches in Hamilton hosted their annual Conference. Online. Because everything is online these days. This was the TrueCity Conference.

Many of you already know it, others of you perhaps not, but TrueCity is a network of 15 or so churches who've committed to collaborate "Together for the Good of the City." And I've noticed over the past seven years here in Hamilton (because today is exactly the seven year mark) that everywhere I look and see good collaborative efforts to address homelessness through housing, to aid refugee claimants, to create social enterprise, to stem food insecurity, to address mental health, to support local agencies working for those on the margins, or any number of other things supportive of the common good in Hamilton: I see TrueCity people.

So, this network of churches "together for the good of the city," including our own, held a 2021 conference with the theme "Together in the Wilderness." Here's what the website said:

"Injustice, divisive discourse, instability … this last year has been a year like no other. Living through a worldwide pandemic, we have all experienced disappointment and loss compounded by isolation. We shifted, and learned that love meant keeping our distance, a counterintuitive gesture that resulted in profound grief for what was before.

WE HAVE BEEN LIVING A WILDERNESS EXPERIENCE.

And we've wondered what God might be up to. What might He want to accomplish, through us, in this wilderness season? What might He be preparing us for? What does it look like for us - together in the wilderness - to trust Him?"

If you'd like to check out some of the wrestling with and answers found to just those questions, you can check out the conference videos, with the link to YouTube here in the notes.

Part of the answer to those questions came through a verse that resonated through the conference and that has stuck with me afterwards. It's this one from Isaiah 43 that I read at the beginning. "See, I am doing a new thing," God says, "I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."

As God's people wandering through the wilderness, we are not alone. We have sisters and brothers in Christ across this city reminding us of God's faithfulness. But our God Himself is also speaking out: he remains that God who does new things. Who brings life out of places of death. Who turns wastelands into rivers.

I'm not sure just when those promises will be realized, but I do know that's the kind of God I follow. A God who brings life and surprising newness in the strangest of places. I'm encouraged in that hope again following time spent with God's people in Hamilton at TrueCity.

A special, extended Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is Mark 10:13-16, 35-45 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

1. What is faith? How might we think about it in different ways?
2. Why did Jesus tell the man, "Your sins are forgiven"?
3. Which is easier: to say to this paralyzed man, 'Your sins are forgiven,' or to say, 'Get up, take your mat and walk'?
4. Are you willing to see the connection between sin and sickness?
5. When you think about your relationship with God, how important is getting forgiven?

A horse is a vain hope for deliverance; despite all its great strength it cannot save. But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love, to deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine. We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and our shield (17-20).

Psalm 33 does not begin with hope. It begins with joy and ends with hope. In between these two, there is some important material. Let's start with the joy. I have used it often the opening words of this psalm as a call to worship. Its important to notice that this is not an invitation; it is not written as a nice thing to do. It is a command: "Sing joyfully to the Lord."

Here is one thing hiding in this psalm: those who sing joyfully to the Lord find hope.

Why does the Psalmist give the command to 'sing joyfully to the Lord'? We might imagine that God has done something that has created joy among his people. But that is not where the composer goes. Rather, the psalm dwells on God's nature more than on specific things he has done.

First, there are some stanzas about God's word: it is right and true. It is also powerful. By this word, God created the world. He arranged the stars and the waters. Here, and in the rest of Scripture, God's Word represents him perfectly. We see this most clearly when Jesus is introduced in John's gospel as the Word made flesh, revealing the very glory of God.

Second, we are invited to consider God's character. He is faithful to his word, he keeps his promises. He loves righteousness and justice and his love saturates the earth. God watches over the nations, keeping them from fulfilling their evil schemes. Yet, ensuring that his purposes are accomplished.

Sometimes we don't feel like praising God joyfully. There are times for lament, as we have said often in these devotions. However, this psalm gives us direction in the movement from lament to joy and hope.

The road out of lament is to focus our attention on God; to see Him again.

We tend to put our hope in many things. We expect people and things on earth to fix stuff. If only we had more money, if only are family members weren't so messed up, if only we could go on that vacation, if only our friends would… if only our government would… the list could go on. The problem is that none of these things or people can really fix anything. They may make us feel better for a time, but in the end, the problems are insurmountable.

God is our hope; our only hope. Notice that the psalmist does not have the expectation that God will fix things for us. Rather, the expectation is that God will keep us in times of trouble.

The trouble with this and many other psalms is that it is not a personal psalm. I cannot sing it as if it is about me. It's a communal song: an Israelite psalm, a church psalm. Back then God kept Israel, today he keeps his church. He works out his purposes through the church.

The psalm invites us to get caught up in the great things that God is doing. And to live in the hope that his purposes will be accomplished. Nothing can undo God's purposes. That's our joy, that's our hope.

Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord; Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy. If you, Lord, kept a record of sins, Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness, so that we can, with reverence, serve you. I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope. I wait for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning. Israel, put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption. He himself will redeem Israel from all their sins. (Psalm 130)

There are all sorts of things that we do to attempt to address suffering: escape it, rationalize it, silence it, solve it. But we find it hard to do what the Psalmist does, which is simply to face our suffering and accept it as real. Yet, it's only when we do that that we can truly begin to turn suffering into prayer and wrestle it through with God. We can't get away with saying: Hey God, it's me, and everything's fine. Especially not in the middle of a pandemic. No, it takes a bit more honesty to say: "here I am in the depths crying out to you, Lord. Hear my voice."

The people of God take just that honest approach to suffering all over the Bible. They ask their hard questions of God. They shout. They worry aloud. They get angry. They level complaints at the throne room of heaven and seek to bring God to court. And they do that not only because they take their suffering seriously, but also because they take God seriously.

They believe Him when He says that He loves them. They believe Him when He says that He is with them. They believe Him when He says that He will save them. And so when they don't feel like those things are true: when they find themselves in the depths—they go straight back to God and lay it out at His doorstep. Because He promised.

It's the same here in Psalm 130. Out of the depths the Psalmist cries to God for mercy. To the God who promised His redemption and love. Because the Psalmist doesn't just take suffering seriously. The Psalmist takes God seriously as a God who sees and understands the depths and hears us when we're there.

And that's true, he does. Not only does God see and understand the depths of human suffering, but He experienced it Himself. It's in the depths of suffering that we are, in fact, nearest to where Christ was while on the cross as he cried out: "why have you forsaken me?"

So when we pray honestly from the depths, we join the Psalmist and the people of God throughout the ages in putting our hope to work in wrestling seriously with our suffering and with our God who has promised his presence and redemption.

God sees. God hears. God knows. And if God is indeed mighty to save, then it is right that we bring our prayers, our questions, our anger, and our longing search for redemption and salvation to Him, trusting, in hope, that there is no place of suffering where we can go that God has not been—and in hope, that there is nothing in all creation that can separate us from His unfailing love, not even our suffering.

Dear people of God, put your hope in the Lord.

But God will never forget the needy; the hope of the afflicted will never perish (18).

Our text comes from the harp of David the shepherd boy, not composed while he was tending sheep, but already a star in Israel. His success was growing. Returning from battle the women of Israel met him singing, "David has killed tens of thousands."

What does David do with his success? How does he respond when his enemies trip over their own feet in their haste to get away from him? Does David gloat or get a big head?

No! David attributes his success to God. His victories are God's doing. When David fights enemies, he sees them as God's enemies, as those who stand opposed to God's purposes. God accomplishes his purposes through David.

The establishment of David as king in Israel is a miniature foreshadowing of Jesus being established as King of Kings. In the gospels, Jesus is presented as the ultimate Son of David through whom God will fulfill all His promises. Like David, Jesus did not push himself towards kingship. He went about his ministry of humility, as Paul says in Philippians 2, until God raised him up.

One day, Jesus will be fully established as King of Kings; one day all will acknowledge him as such.

Until such a time, there will be conflict on this earth between those for and against Jesus. In this psalm, David focuses on those who are oppressed and those who do the oppressing. To put it differently, those who get ahead by walking over other people versus those who get walked on.

The hope for the oppressed is in God and his kingdom. This hope calls us to prayer. When we see people oppressed, whether close by or far away, our first response is to pray for God's kingdom to come.

I think it also calls us to remind our governments that they have a duty to establish laws that promote a just society for all. As members of God's kingdom, we cannot simply sit on the side lines and watch. We are called to fight for the oppressed, using the tools and weapons of the kingdom, not with swords like Peter once attempted. Remember that swords can come in many different forms. Yet, we do so, remembering that hope for this world is not in governments nor in laws by in Jesus Christ.

I think that this hope for the afflicted also calls us to examine our own hearts. As Paul regularly reminds us, our battle is not against flesh and blood, but against power and principalities. That battle is waged first in our own hearts. As Paul also wrote, "Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me" (Romans 7:21).

We can't fight out there if we don't first engage in the battle within our own hearts.

Finally, I think this hope for the afflicted invites us to examine who we are. Are we the kind of people who will walk over others to get ahead? How many have been left belittled because of us? Are we willing get involved with the afflicted and oppressed? Are we willing to get our hands dirty in the work of God's kingdom?

"…the Lord your God is God in heaven above and on the earth below. Now then, please swear to me by the Lord that you will show kindness to my family, because I have shown kindness to you. Give me a sure sign that you will spare the lives of my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, and all who belong to them—and that you will save us from death." "Our lives for your lives!" the men assured her. … "Agreed," she replied. "Let it be as you say." So she sent them away, and they departed. And she tied the scarlet cord in the window. (Joshua 2:11b-14a, 21)

Rahab the prostitute, hanging by a thread at the approach of the army of Israel who intended to raze Jericho to the ground.

Rahab clearly didn't hold a high position in her ancient society. She was likely assumed to be a woman of dubious character. She quite likely was a victim of circumstances out of her control that placed her in this profession. Economic hardship. No husband to guard her rights. A prostitute.

And yet, Rahab the prostitute gives a full and sincere confession of faith in the God of Israel, nearly as strong a confession as anyone else in the book of Joshua as she speaks to the sovereignty and power of the Lord who will give this new land to his people.

She trusted this Lord she had only ever heard about, and she entrusted herself to his people. "Give me a sure sign… that you will save us from death," she says. And the sign they give her is a sign that oddly reverberates with the crimson blood of the lambs smeared over the entry ways of the Israelites on the night of Passover. In her window she is to tie a scarlet cord, and huddle inside behind locked doors with her whole family as the Israelites did on the night of their salvation.

But this cord signifies more. This story is the second instance of this Hebrew word for hope. Where is that word in this story? The "scarlet cord." There are actually three words here in the Hebrew. One of them means thread, one of them means scarlet, and the last of them has a root which means "to be tense/rigid," or by extension "to be expectant." That last one is our word for hope, and is indeed translated as hope elsewhere in the Bible.

Rahab the prostitute, hanging by a scarlet thread of hope in the Lord, even as the walls were quite literally about to collapse around her, putting an end to life as she'd known it. But that scarlet thread of hope playing gently in the wind was also the promise that a new life was coming.

Even when a thread is all you seem to be holding on by: it's enough. Hope in God never comes with much in this life we can lay our hands on, just a thin whisp of scarlet hope. But as these members of Jesus' own genealogy—Rahab, Jacob, and Ruth—would discover: God is faithful. The Lord delivers. A hope in him, threadbare though it may be, is never misplaced.