Christ the King

Crown Him with many crowns, the Lamb upon His throne;
Hark how the heavenly anthem drowns all music but its own!

 
Beginning our worship with this line last Sunday made me chuckle. We’re still very much an embryonic church plant, and depending on what the Lord decides to do with our weekly English services, it could very well always be as tiny as it is now. This past Sunday we totaled 10, our own family with two women who have recently joined our team, both from the Netherlands. Our worship music each Sunday consists of however many of us are singing; with a familiar hymn like this we probably had a solid 8 voices last week. As the de facto song leader, our music often feels thin, both because of the lack of voices and instruments and also because of my own lack of training or inherent ability for this role. Singing of the heavenly anthem drowning all music but its own rang in my heart as a comforting reminder that our offering of music is not on its own, but is a part of the music of all the Church, even of those now gathered around the risen Christ’s throne. It was a comforting reminder, even a playful jab at my narrow sight, and as such it did make me chuckle—but it was also a convicting jab at my narrow sight, a jab that felt like an invitation from the Lord to let him use the sword of his Spirit on this piece of me. I have a true desire to serve the Lord in this role of song leader in our service, and I also have sin around this desire and even the act of service, sin that clings so closely! In my pride, I desire for the music of our tiny congregation to sound better, to be a better credit to me—I want those following my lead and any who should somehow hear us (in these thoughts the Lord doesn’t even come to mind) to be impressed. I have submitted to the Lord’s call to serve him in this way—I did my best to convince him I wasn’t the woman for the job!—doesn’t that entitle me to some praise and admiration? As Paul would say (and did in II Cor. 11!), I’m speaking like a mad man. But I’m also giving you direct quotes from my heart, from a part of my heart still under the sway of my flesh, my old man. 
 
Did you hear Justin’s charge to us this past Sunday to give to our King these areas of sin, to invite him in to reign in these parts of our hearts where we are still bowing to our flesh rather than to him? (If you didn’t, you should go listen to the recording!). In considering Christ on his throne this Christ the King Sunday, Justin charged us to come to our Lord in repentance, to give him these places where sin clings so closely. In a charge that felt very related to the first of repentance, Justin also called us to grateful submission. Grateful submission: submissive obedience giving thanks always. Not only in this area of leading the songs for our service, but in so many others, I find I have been seeking to submit, to obey my King if—if he will give me all I need to do this thing in a way that reflects well on me. If he will reward my obedience with gifts I then get to keep—no take-backs! If he will provide in the way I desire—what if I want and know for sure my family needs quail rather than manna? What then? 
 
What then, indeed? True submission, like true repentance, must come from a place of trust. Do I trust my King? As Justin reminded us, he is coming in the Last Day with eyes flashing fire and the sword in his hand—will I invite him in to kill my sin and conquer my flesh today, while it is still called today? He comes with a sword, but that sword is his Spirit, the one by whom we cry, “Abba, Father!” He comes, that is, in love and wielding love. Do we trust him? 
 
Awake my soul and sing of Him who died for thee,
And hail Him as thy matchless King through all eternity!

 
Amen, for he is indeed crowned the Lord of love. Beloved, let us invite him in!

Hannah

Scripture Reflections

On Sunday, we read Jesus’ response to the question, “Which commandment is the most important of all?” Jesus answered the question by quoting Deuteronomy 6:4-5—"Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.”
 
These verses (called The Shema, which means “hear”)—are the centerpiece of the Jewish prayer life. Every morning and evening, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one…” was recited by Jews in the time of Jesus (and continues to be recited by Jewish communities all around the world even to this day). According to rabbinic teaching, saying this prayer was a means of saying “yes” to the kingdom of God. (This makes Jesus’ response to the scribe, “You are not far from the kingdom…” make sense!)
 
The declaration that the LORD is one might seem a bit odd to our ears, and a Christian might wonder how the Trinity fits into this declaration. (The answer is that God is indeed one, but this singular God exists in three persons.) The statement has little to do with counting, though! Its implication is that the LORD is unique; he alone is God—there is none other besides him. Of all beings that a person might worship, he is before the others, in a class by himself. We might say, “He is preeminent, singular, and different.” When Moses followed this declaration with, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might,” he was making it clear that the LORD alone deserves our full affection, obedience, and worship.
 
This declaration is as needed now as it was then. True, we are unlikely to be tempted to worship some other divine being or some manmade idol. But we are still tempted to give our love, our affection, our obedience, even our worship to things and people that are not the LORD. In this election season, when we are tempted to look for deliverance, security, and prosperity from the hands of political leaders and parties (or despair of ever receiving deliverance, security, and prosperity because of those same leaders!), let us remember that the LORD is unique. He alone is God, and he alone deserves our love and service.
 
In Christ,
Steven+

Scripture Reflections

“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus’ question to the blind man in Mark 10, our Gospel reading this past Sunday, has been resonating in my heart since we heard the same question asked of James and John the previous Sunday (Mk. 10:36). What do we want Jesus to do for us? In what do we feel our need of him, and what do we blithely assume we’re capable of on our own? 
 
As Jesus assured James and John, in following him we will drink from his cup and be baptized with his baptism, which is to say, we will share in his suffering and even his death. Do we, like them (but perhaps not so bluntly), believe ourselves fully capable of following Jesus? “We are able—all we need from you is the promise of the greatness that is the due reward of our willingness and capability!” 
 
James and John’s answer of, “We are able,” to Jesus’ question brings to mind the story from Mark 9 of the man whose demon-possessed son the disciples were not able to heal. When Jesus came down from the mountain, he explained to Jesus why he had come to him and summed up what had happened in Jesus’ absence: “So I asked your disciples to cast it out, and they were not able.” He then asks Jesus, “...if you can do anything…help us.” Jesus rebukes him saying, “‘If you can!’ All things are possible for one who believes.” The man’s response is so poignant: “I believe, help my unbelief!” 
 
What is the root of our unbelief in Jesus’ ability? On inspection of my heart, and on hearing the story of James and John, unbelief seems in part to be rooted in pride. Where we are assured of our own ability, perhaps we lack faith in Jesus’ ability because we don’t know we need him. The blind man in Mark 10 comes to Jesus knowing his own lack and confident in Jesus’ ability to heal him. The end of his story, though, seems to point to a deeper lack and the beginning of a deeper healing. Jesus tells him his faith has made him well, and sends him off saying, “Go your way”—“And immediately,” Mark tells us, “he recovered his sight and followed him on the way.” 
 
Following Jesus, drinking from his cup and being baptized with his baptism, is not something I am able to do; like James and John in the Garden of Gethsemane, leaning on my own ability ends with me deserting my Lord in pursuit of safety wherever I can find it when that death he would lead me to is looming. “What do you want from me?” he asks. “Lord Jesus, I want my way to be swallowed up in following you on the way to the cross. I want my eyes to be opened that I might see you, my ears dug out that I might hear you, my mouth opened that I might speak your words, my heart of stone replaced with a heart of flesh, my fainting spirit to be upheld by your willing Spirit. I want to know my need of you. Show us our inability, that we might look to you—for you, oh Lord, are able. We believe, help our unbelief!”
 
Hannah