Do your clothes fit?

 

Pretty much everyone I know puts on some kind of clothes, every day.  For many of us, we have walk-in closets and bureau drawers full to the overflowing.  And, at that, a lot of our clothes don’t even fit.

Colossians 3:12,13 speaks of clothing ourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience; with the addition of  putting  up with each other, and forgiving one another.   It ends with the overcoat: “and over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.”(v. 14)

Do I even have these clothes in my closet? 

Paul finishes the entire section by stating:

“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, 

giving thanks to God the Father through Him.” (Col. 3:17)

Admittedly, this summary gives me pause, as I consider that I have often acted too hastily, spoken too harshly. But it also gives me encouragement. Because my words and my deeds are ‘in the name of the Lord Jesus,’ I can speak and I can act in His power and by His mercy. This clothing is, essentially, “putting on Christ,” (Romans 13:14). In doing so, with a thankful heart, it means that what seems downright impossible is entirely feasible. If I am willing to raid my closet, there is a lot of clothing that needs to go: the glittery cloaks of pride and arrogance; of bad temper and rough words; of impatience and an unforgiving heart.

 Being clothed with Christ is so much more fitting.

Oh, to be colour-blind

If only humanity was colour-blind when it comes to skin colour.  We just can’t seem to get past the nonsense, the ugliness, the prejudice of thinking that skin colour should dictate someone's status in life. 

When I was a child, our family moved to a new community.  Well, you would have thought we came from another planet; perhaps even another universe.  I won’t even mention the despicable names that were placed on me; names directly related to the fact that my skin tone was ever-so-slightly-darker than those around me.  And I mean, ever-so-slightly; imperceptibly so.  Did it mark me?  Yes.  I came home from school, every day, in tears.  I absolutely despise the reality of someone being degraded because of skin colour.

What is our response to the contemptible actions perpetrated by those who are convinced of their superiority because of their white skin?  I am sick-and-tired; tired-and-sick.  Thinking of the awful killing of George Floyd, I am ready to vomit.  This is not just an “American problem.”  This is sin; full-blown. 

Mr. Floyd deserves justice.  The police officers who engaged in this murderous act need to be charged.  Since when do you need all the facts before you charge someone?  Did these police officers even search out any facts, before destroying this man's life?  Should not the wheels of justice be turning already, given the very clear video?  These policemen have been fired.  Good, but not good enough.  They need to be in jail, without bail; charged for murder. I am praying for a truthful, detailed investigation.

I am sorry that so many citizens of Minneapolis have responded by looting and burning.  Hate will never be destroyed by hate; albeit I understand their overwhelming frustrations.

Back to my childhood.  My Mom encouraged me thus: “Forgive them.”  She was right.  And while that answer might seem like I would be giving these policemen a pass, it is not so.  Forgiving someone does not justify their actions, nor does it free them to continue with those same actions.  It erases a much larger debt that they could never pay, a debt owed to God, and it realeses the forgiver from hatred.  Meanwhile, these men should pay with their lives, in jail, for the rest of their lives.  

Every life matters.  Black lives matter.  Mr. Floyd’s life matters.

Weeping, as I write. 

“The mouth of the righteous utters wisdom and his tongue speaks justice.” (Psalm 37:30)

And they remembered His words

These times are unprecedented, confusing, and disconcerting.  We could all use a solid rock upon which to stand; a sure foundation, not unlike the time surrounding the death of Jesus Christ.  I can picture the uncertainty, the palpable fear, and the consternation, on the Sunday morning when women went to Jesus’ tomb with their expensive, sacrificial burial spices.

Who would roll away the stone; the stone that weighed over 900kg?  Would the Roman soldiers who guarded the tomb stop the women?  Would they hurt them; kill them?  Did these women have in mind that they, like Joseph of Arimethea and Nicodemus, would be unclean once they touched the dead body of Jesus? Nevertheless, their love propelled them forward.  

Upon their arrival, the guards were gone, the stone was rolled away and instead of a dead body, these women encountered angels; angels who spoke these words:

“Why do you seek the living among the dead?  He is not here but He is risen. 

Remember how He spoke to you while He was still in Galilee,

saying that the Son of man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men,

and be crucified and the third day rise again.” (Luke 24:5-7)

And they remembered His words(verse 8)

If I ‘remember His words,’ I will do well.  I will remember that Jesus Christ is a Solid Rock, a Sure Foundation.  I will remember that He will carry us through the uncertainties.  I will not fear.  In order to actually remember His words, I need to immerse myself in them, rather than being immersed in the newsreels of this current pandemic. 

Does this mean I should bury my head in the sand and ignore this global crisis?  No.  There is much that I can do to alleviate sadness, loneliness, and fear seen in those around me.  I can pray for others, encourage the lonely through phone calls and social media, and point people to the One who has all things, including the whole world, in His hands.

“Thy word is a lamp to my feet

And a light to my path.”

 (Psalm 119:105)

March 30, 2020.

The Father’s Arms

The Prodigal Son is a powerful parable that Jesus gave us, in the Bible, (Luke 15:11-32). As my Pastor spoke on this very passage, I was brought to tears; envisioning the father running to meet his run-away son. I saw myself in that son; now forgiven, welcomed home.

The other son in this story was angry; the son who had not run away; the son who had always obeyed his father. He refused to come to the party, staying outside, pouting.

And the father, who loved them both, also went out to this son. He entreated him to enter, to join in the festivities. But he would not.

This second son represented the religious leaders of Jesus’ day - the Pharisees. They had it all figured out, when it came to obeying the law. As far as they were concerned, they were the righteous ones and what kind of God would pardon such a sinner as the first son, namely those people who were not like them.

Thank God that He reaches out to all. He is no respecter of persons. We may not know it, but we are all prodigals. So overwhelmed by the grace, mercy, love and compassion of such a Saviour.

“Call upon me and I will answer you…”(Jeremiah 33:3)