promises – Our God is a consuming fire

I set the book down slowly, trembling a little inside.

Here, on this first Sunday of Advent. Advent … that word that is all about anticipation, waiting … something I am so bad at.

Especially when the waiting hurts.

I remember those days so well. When my friend sat in that restaurant with me the other night and poured out her heart about the darkness that had invaded one of the most special places in her life, I remembered those days. When she told me about the ensuing fear that kept her from wanting to be back in that place, I remembered the fear that had wrapped itself around me as well in those days.

Sometimes we don’t want to remember.

But then I read his words in this book about Christmas. In speaking of Advent, that sacred season of waiting, he encouraged the reader to “meditate on some long journey in your life, when the promise of deliverance seemed far away. Reflect on the mercies of God that were with you in the midst of your “expectant waiting”. Well, this reader didn’t necessarily want to meditate on that long, dark journey… but God has already been stirring it up in my heart, and once again it came flooding back. I could almost taste that dizzying anxiety and fear that threatened to encompass my life in those days. It didn’t really feel like “expectant waiting” in those days… more like reluctant floundering.

Sometimes people ask how to hear the voice of God in their lives. While at times it can be hard to discern, there are other moments that the sacred echo of His hearthrob cuts through all the fog in a crescendo that is impossible to ignore. This is one of those times. Walk with me through the last couple of weeks.

It began that night in the restaurant with my friend. My mind and my heart racing back to that consecrated darkness when God was so silent and seemed so far away, but had quietly wrapped Himself all around me in the middle of my battle.

A week later, on a quiet and unassuming morning, my eyes stumbled across this selection of verses and I knew that my God had providentially set them there for me to find on that cool November morning. “Whoever listens to Me will dwell safely, and will be secure, without fear of evil… He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty… Your life is hidden with Christ in God… God is our refuge and strength… Therefore we will not fear… I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep what I have committed to Him until that Day” (Prov 1:33, Ps 91:1, Col 3:3, Ps 46:1-2, 2 Tim 1:12) Sometimes, His promises reach beyond the moment and apply to our rememberings as well.

And still, as my mind continued to spin around these happenings, my resolute God continued to speak. Linus showed up, alone and small in the middle of that stage. We’ve all seen the special that has been airing consistently for the last 58 years. Charlie Brown has been bullied and belittled for too long and he finally cries out, “will someone tell me what Christmas is all about?!”

Unflinching, Linus steps forward with his iconic blue security blanket and offers the simple Story of Jesus being born in Bethlehem.

And then it happens. Blink, and you’ll miss it. Linus says the words the angels declared to the shepherds outside Bethlehem, “Fear not”… and as those words leave his lips, that blanket which has served as his source of security through his entire life falls to the ground.

It’s a heartbeat of a moment that shouts a bold truth to the world – when you open your heart to the boldness of the “fear not”, you can release all those false securities that so often hold you hostage.

Do you hear it? The repeated reminder, laced with all of God’s quiet strength? I can’t miss it and I certainly can’t ignore it any longer … the reminder that nothing can rob me of His promises. It was a promise for my past, my present and my future, reaching down to me as I sat there wrapped in my blanket, wrapped in all the wonder of His safety.

Do you feel it? That longing for a safe place in this chaotic world? A refuge from fear? A strong tower as the barrage of news headlines and a confused (and confusing) culture spins all around you? Do you find yourself wanting to cling to false promises of security that crumble all to quickly? Remind yourself of the promises of God that are not shaken by the memories of your past, the concerns of your present, or the fears of your future.

As this Christmas comes rushing at us, with all the moments that beckon busyness, I invite you to pause with me and Linus, and remember. We often move too fast in these modern times to let the wonder of the waiting sink in – and that is why I say it out loud here today. In the quiet of this moment, right here, I remember the long wait for God to break through and rescue me from my long battle with darkness. And as I remember this more recent past, I think of the much longer wait all of mankind had as they held their breath and longed for a Messiah. I remember the apparent silence of God as I waged my own battle, and I think of 400 years between the words from Malachi’s mouth and the cry of a Baby in Bethlehem. I remember the power of when He rescued me in the fullness of time, and I think of how powerfully He has been rescuing hearts since the beginning of time. Oh, let us not rush through these moments of remembrance!

“Wait for the LORD; Be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD” – Psalm 27:14

Maybe it’s not a memory – it may be all of your present. A long dark tunnel and all you can hope for is a glimmer of light. A diagnosis, a relationship, an impossible situation, an impulse in you that you just can’t control … In this moment, let the waiting be our sustenance. Let Advent do it’s holy work in us and may the wonder of anticipation work it’s transformation in our hearts. We all need Jesus’ arrival in so many dusty corners of our hearts and lives. As we wait, let us hold our breaths with wonder. For He is here.

Immanuel.

God with us.

Maybe I’ve read it too many times. Do you ever do that? Reach a grand, sweeping story in the Bible and just skim through it like an old sitcom re-run? “The One Where Jesus feeds 5,000 people”… “The One Where He Walks On Water” … you know what I mean, right?

That’s what was happening when I tripped over these two simple words. Truth be told, it’s an oft repeated verse around these parts – my boys say it’s their favorite verse to memorize in Scripture. That might be because it’s known as the shortest verse, and what would a proper boy be if he wasn’t looking for the easiest opportunity to get out of a memorization assignment? So there I was, entering into the “One where Jesus raises someone from the dead” episode, when it stopped me in my tracks.

“Jesus wept”, it says. Yeah, I know we’ve read those words before. Maybe even talked about it. But I’ve never read those words in the context we are now enveloped in throughout our world. Muddling through. Confused by. This “squinting-to-see-truth -through-the-haze” kind of world we are in. So I backed up – and I read it again as if I’d never heard the story. Go there with me…

Jesus receives news that His good friend Lazarus is sick. His sisters, Mary and Martha, are begging Him to help. After all, He is God, right? And He does love them, right? And how does Jesus respond? He waits.

Hold it right there. The story is already hitting too close to home. This is perhaps the most frustrating and confounding of God’s responses to my cries for help. “Will you just do something, God?” I chafe. I try to “help” Him out. I reason with Him, explaining how easy it would be for Him to fix everything … as if He needed to hear how to do His job better. I beg to hear an answer. Even a no – just a something. Some indication that you know I exist. That I need you. That you care. Something, God!

And yet Jesus waits.

Long enough to ensure the worst possible scenario. Lazarus, His friend, dies – and then Jesus decides to show up. His disciples are confused. Jesus makes parodoxical statements that seem to clarify nothing – and then He marches resolutely towards Bethany. It seems to everyone that He’s just a couple days too late at this point.

That’s when this moment that makes time stand still takes place. Jesus is still on the outskirts of town. He has a plan that no one knows. He intends to display God’s glory and power. He knows that the death of His friend will end in resurrection. In a victory that no one can fathom or would dare to predict. He carries all this in His heart as He enters Bethany.

Yet, there stand Mary and Martha. Weeping. Feeling the crushing defeat of death and grief, abandonment and betrayal – they ask all the questions… Why? Where were you when we needed you? You could have saved our brother – why didn’t you come when we called?

Do you feel the weight of those questions today? We all experienced this last year – differently, perhaps, but the loss was there. Confusion permeated the air. Life happened and God has been faithful, but almost like the ongoing horn of a car alarm, there has been this underlying tension that has frayed the nerves and changed us all. Where were you, God?

It’s almost like we can taste the very human saltiness of those tears.

As Jesus stands before Mary, Martha, and the questioning crowds, you’ve gotta wonder what He’s thinking. He knows the end of the story. He knows He came to raise the dead – how easy it would be to slap them on the back, laugh a little, and say “Don’t cry, girls! Come and see what I’m going to do!” He could so easily point to the victory ahead, remind them of all the good days to come.

But not my Jesus. He stands there, holding resurrection in His heart, looking into their grieving souls, and He weeps.

Right there, in that staggering moment, I see Jesus with new eyes. He is my Savior who holds victory in His whisper and promises of hope with every tomorrow – but right now, in this present place, He simply sits with us and feels with us.

My friend, do you feel that? I don’t know what kind of pain, grief, anxiety, or other challenges you face. I am grateful to know that on the other side of it all, there is more in store for us than we could ask or imagine. (Eph. 3:20) But right now, in the middle of it all, don’t we really need to know that Jesus is in it with us? Crying with our sorrows, hurting with our confusion, laughing in our joys, and cradling us when we feel so lost?

I take a deep breath, and let my soul rest in this. This beautiful reality that my Jesus knows. He may not be answering all my questions right now – and honestly, that may not help. Answers may calm our minds, but our heart needs more. It needs Jesus’ presence now – comforting us in our pain. Walking with us in our sorrow. Giving us the assurance of His faithfulness in our questions. Lifting us in our joys.

But I love that the story doesn’t end here! Jesus didn’t stop there, on the outskirts of Bethany. He didn’t build a camp around their grief and sink into the trench of sorrow with them. He moved forward – and brought them with Him. Jesus said, “Show me where he (Lazarus) is”. He goes boldly, unafraid, to the source of their grief. And then He heals.

He has the victory in hand. When we sit in silence, He knows. While we wait, He prepares a way. While we are weeping, He weeps with us. And then He gently takes us to the source of our pain and offers healing. Resurrection power.

My friend, our resurrection will look different than we expect. It may not be the resurrection of what has physically or emotionally died. It may take longer than we expect and we may not fully understand it until we see it on the other side, but it is no less real.

His promise of resurrection leads to victory. It gives us a road out of grief, helps us carry our tears to a place of hope, carves new vision for tomorrow. We can trust His promises. All of them. Even when He is silent. Don’t let your confusion shut Him out. Don’t let your grief dull your senses. Feel His tears alongside your own. Let His presence with you bring you comfort. And then fight for hope. Fight for victory.

Listen to Him say, “Lazarus, come out!”

Tag: promises

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