I came across the phrase “for thy name’s sake” in Psalm 79:  Help us, O God of our salvation, for the glory of your name; deliver us and forgive our sins for thy name’s sake. 
            The whole psalm bases its appeal on the fact that God is the one being scorned when His people are defeated by the nations.  The psalmist certainly had it right—those people who had slipped so far into idolatry and all its vile and attendant practices could not possibly think that God would save them based upon how faithful and righteous they had been.  The only possibility of salvation was to throw themselves on the mercies of their God, to remind Him that it was a personal affront to Him when His people were conquered. 
            The nations have come into your inheritance…your holy temple they have defiled…the dead bodies of your servants have they given to the birds of the heavens for food…render sevenfold into the laps of our neighbors the taunts wherewith they have taunted you.  And in keeping with that, the psalmist then asks for forgiveness, not for the people’s sake, but for God’s name’s sake.
            I looked up that phrase and found it several more times in the collection.  What was God asked to do “for His name’s sake?”  Pardon sins, 25:11; lead in paths of righteousness, 23:3; preserve life, 143:11; lead and guide, 31:3; deal on my behalf and deliver, 109:21.  Herein lies a lesson we need—all these things, including pardon and deliverance, God does, not because we deserve them, but because of Who He is.  We have nothing to bargain with any more than those fickle people of old.  We, too, have sinned against a loving Father, often in a rebellious and disrespectful way.  We may not bow down to an idol, but we love the world as much as they did, follow its example as if we fear to be different from it, and let it seep into our minds to the point we no longer even recognize sin.
            I hear too many brethren in the midst of a trial ask God, “Why, when I have tried so hard to be faithful for so long?”  We just don’t get it.  One sin forever makes us unworthy to be in the presence of God.  It breaks our covenant with Him as surely as a broken contract today.   God is Holy, He is righteous, He cannot tolerate sin.  But lucky for us, God is love, too, and because of Who He is, we have hope.
            When the trials come, when the fear mounts and the sorrow overwhelms, this is what we say to Him:  We know we do not deserve it.  We know you are far above us and our frail existence.  Please show the world your essence.  Please help us and comfort us and deliver us, not for our sakes, but for your name’s sake.  Otherwise we don’t have a leg to stand on, and we know it.
 
"I, I am he who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins. Isaiah 43:25

"For my name's sake I defer my anger, for the sake of my praise I restrain it for you, that I may not cut you off. Isaiah 48:9

But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ--by grace you have been saved-- and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. Ephesians 2:4-7.        
 
Dene Ward

Today's post is by guest writer Keith Ward.

Life is seldom fair-- the wicked prosper; justice is not done; sickness and death strike down the good.  Each of us can easily make a long list of things that have gone wrong in our lives and in the world.  Yet, all about me, I see the beauty and hear the echoes of God’s grace.
            Adam sinned.  We have also sinned and are accustomed to sin, and therefore do not understand exactly how horrific this sin was.  In a perfect world, a man who took a walk with God every evening chose his selfish desires over that fellowship with God.
            God is holy. We who, like Adam, have chosen momentary pleasures over holiness, can barely begin to understand His loathing toward evil and his disgust at sin.  In an hour or a day when we have been pure, our disgust with ourselves over the things we have done gives us a glimmer of a poor reflection of the absolute abhorrence that God feels toward sin.
            Jesus defined God’s hatred of sin, first by telling us of the punishment and then by his sacrifice.  Jesus revealed more about hell than all others combined.  Sin is so appalling that hell’s fire and darkness and worms and beatings and weeping are its just punishment, even the “little” sins you and I do.  Sin is so awful that only the agonizing death of the Son of God could bring about forgiveness.
            God cursed the ground as punishment for sin; He changed creation from the beginning when “it was very good.”  The wonder is that all creation is not thorns and deserts and ugly and foul smelling and nasty tasting, which would certainly be less punishment than sin deserves.  But all around me I see the grace of God – the beauty of flowers, the songs of birds, crickets & brooks, the stars in a clear sky, the sound of music, the wonderful taste of fresh fruit.  All around God has left hints of how beautiful heaven must be.  Yes, our roses have thorns, the winds that fly kites can destroy houses, the bees that make honey can sting. But all around, in the beauty and sweetness, I see the grace of God calling to a better life in hope of a better world where no sin exists and the curse of thorns and ugliness is banished.
            Having been granted such mercy as this, even in our sins, we can but exclaim, “Surely, if you miss heaven, you’ve missed it all.”
 
     And he showed me a river of water of life, bright as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb, in the midst of the street thereof.  And on this side of the river and on that was the tree of life, bearing twelve manner of fruits, yielding its fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.  And there shall be no curse any more: and the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be therein: and his servants shall serve him and they shall see his face; and his name shall be on their foreheads.  And there shall be night no more; and they need no light of lamp, neither light of sun; for the Lord God shall give them light: and they shall reign for ever and ever.  Rev 22:1-5
 
Keith Ward                        
 

I was "raised in the church" as we are wont to say.  It may not be a completely accurate way of expressing it, but we all know what it means.  My parents were Christians and I have been in a meetinghouse with the saints since I was old enough to be carried there.  I grew up going to Bible classes and memorized all the lists—the books of the Bible, the apostles, the judges, the sons of Jacob, etc.  And I grew up hearing various proof texts so often I could recite them to friends at school.  I will not demean any of that because, frankly, I wonder if I would have ever heard the Gospel any other way in our culture.  In fact, I know others who heard it the same way I did, but who left it as soon as they were adults.  That should tell us something—there is more to it than hearing it all of your life.  You have to see it every day in the ones who teach you and I certainly did.
            As I have grown older and more versed in the Scriptures, especially the context of passages I have always used completely out of context, I have come to a deeper understanding of things.  Some of those things might cause others to squint their eyes in consternation or even be ready to denounce my being a "true" Christian.  But really, if they would seek the context of who and what I am after all these years, surely they would be more charitable—or maybe not.  That is one thing I have realized over the years—we are not only uncharitable to people, we sometimes go out looking for things to be uncharitable about.  We are ready for a fight with anyone, even those who do not wish to participate in one.
            Remember this passage?  For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, says Jehovah (Isa 55:8).  Of course you do.  Like me, you have probably used it to counter any and everyone who does not agree with us on any and every issue.  That is not what that passage is talking about.  Look at the immediate context.  My ESV uses the heading "The Compassion of the Lord" at the beginning of Isaiah 55.  Of course it is Messianic and is talking about the kingdom to come, which will no longer be Jewish only, but will contain peoples of all nations.  "Nations" is what the Jews called Gentiles, just as "goy" is the Yiddish word for Gentile and literally means "nations."  Verse 5 begins ​ Behold, you shall call a nation that you do not know, and a nation that did not know you shall run to you, because of the LORD your God, and of the Holy One of Israel… (Isa 55:5).  And in that context we have this:  Seek the LORD while he may be found; call upon him while he is near; let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; let him return to the LORD, that he may have compassion on him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon. For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD. ​For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts (Isa 55:6-9).  The higher thoughts God has are thoughts of mercy and forgiveness.  Ours are so often judgmental, even damning, instead.
            Before anyone jumps in, I do realize that this context also includes repentance (verse 7), but I have seen us set ourselves up as judge of whether even that is sincere or not.  We go on and on about whether a deathbed confession will work, about whether someone who has failed more than once in the same way truly means it "this time."  I passed on the good news of an apology once only to have it snorted at because "she didn't really mean it" when the "snorter" wasn't even there to hear it.  Unlike our Father, who is anxious and ready to forgive, who looks down the road hoping to see his lost child return, we are all too ready to chuck anything that doesn't meet our own specifications as a confession, a repentance, or an apology.
            I was taught all my life that it was wrong to think God could ever save anyone who was a sinner.  Why it took me decades to figure out that if such were the case it would mean not a single one of us, not even those of us who think we are doing fairly well, could be saved either, I am not sure.  Not a single Bible hero, as we call them, was without sin.  Some were pretty awful, in fact.  But because God is the one who decides these things, and His thoughts are higher than ours, we find that they are among the saved, the forgiven.  Look at the sermons in Acts.  Look at Hebrews 11 and Romans 4 and so many other places where those people are used as examples we should follow.
            And because of that, I am willing to pray for mercy toward those many would tell me I have no right to pray for.  If I am to have thoughts like my Father's shouldn't I do that?  Or will we continue to be so far beneath His thought processes that we pray for judgment instead?  Perhaps that is why so many of us think we have no chance at salvation unless we see death coming and can shoot off a fast prayer for forgiveness.  But even that proves we understand the point—God forgives when man so often does not.  Shouldn't we, as children of God, be better than that?
 
Remember your mercy, O LORD, and your steadfast love, for they have been from of old. Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions; according to your steadfast love remember me, for the sake of your goodness, O LORD! (Ps 25:6-7).
 
Dene Ward
 

May I just make a small observation from years of experience on both sides of the equation?  When you are suffering, when you are broken-hearted, when you are in pain and anguish or full of fear, someone who loves you will inevitably make an insensitive comment, a tactless comment, a mind-numbingly stupid comment.  Do you think they do it because they don’t love you any more?  No, just the opposite—they do it because they hate to see you in such pain, because they want more than anything to comfort you, and in that love and zeal they don’t know what to say, so the wrong thing pops out.
            I can make you a list of things NOT to say in various circumstances.  Why?  Because I have had them said to me in an assortment of painful circumstances in the past several decades.  You are not the only one who has been left with a hanging jaw and a shaking head.  And second, I can make that list because I have said a few myself.  I have friends who have miscarried, who have lost spouses early, who have lost children to accident or disease, whose marriage has fallen apart, who have been the one to discover a mate’s suicide, who have suffered the pain of a horrible disease and its ultimate end, and probably every time I have said something I wished I hadn’t.  I try to remember those times when someone says something similar to me—they love me as much as I loved my friends or they would never have tried.  They would have simply walked away.
            And so I will never make one of those lists that regularly make the rounds—“What Not to Say When…”  In fact, I am getting a little fed up with them.  Those lists seem to imply that the person hearing those words has never said anything dumb themselves, that they would automatically do better.  Pardon my skepticism.  I have known some wise people in my many years, but none of them has ever managed to be perfect in their choice of words every time.  I doubt that anyone in their twenties or thirties or even forties has either.  Should we be willing to learn better?  Yes.  But most of what I have heard has come in a scathing, sarcastic tone meant more to lash out than help someone else learn.
            God expects me to act like a Christian no matter what I am going through.  Did Jesus bark at His disciples the night before His death, a death He knew would be so horrible that He “sweat drops as blood”?  Did He browbeat the women weeping before the cross while He hung there in agony?  If anyone could have been excused for snapping back, it would have been Him, but the example He left was one of grace under pressure. 
            As His disciple I must still be longsuffering, no matter what I am going through.  I must “forbear in love.”  I must “bear all things, believe all things, and hope all things.”  Certainly I must be willing to say, “Father forgive them for they know not what they do,” especially if the thing they do comes out of a heart full of love.  It is difficult when, as the Psalmist said, My days pass away like smoke, and my bones burn like a furnace. My heart is struck down like grass and has withered; I forget to eat my bread. Because of my loud groaning my bones cling to my flesh. I am like a desert owl of the wilderness, like an owl of the waste places; I lie awake; I am like a lonely sparrow on the housetop, (102:3-7).  I have been there.  On those days, it is difficult to put up with other people’s blunders.  It is, in fact, difficult to deal with people at all.  I am ashamed of my failures and so grateful to my caring friends and family who still showed me their love, even when I didn’t show mine and probably made them wonder why they kept bothering to try.  But I am not going to excuse myself because of my despair by attacking them with a scornful list of their failures.
            God does not put in an exception clause for when we are hurting.  Like His Son, we must still exercise self-control and love, graciously accepting the comfort that those who care sometimes ham-handedly give.  Even afflictions that have nothing to do with suffering for His name can test us as much as persecution can, just in how we handle them.  Isn’t that, in fact, the real test?  Pain is never an excuse for sin.
 
For hereunto were you called: because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow his steps: who did no sin, neither was guile found in his mouth: who, when he was reviled, reviled not again; when he suffered threatened not; but committed himself to him that judges righteously: 1 Peter 2:21-23.
 
Dene Ward

A prevalent religious tenet says that we can do nothing to earn our salvation.  Now as far as that goes, it is correct.  The scriptures teach us that nothing we can possibly do will ever merit the salvation of our souls.  That is how bad sin is to the Divine Nature of God.  But that doctrine we were discussing goes on to say that obedience plays no part in our salvation at all, that to obey any command is to try to earn salvation, almost as if obedience were a bad thing.
            Common sense comes to the rescue.  How in the world can anyone possibly think that God will accept a disobedient child, especially a deliberately disobedient child?  My women’s class found at least two dozen passages in the Bible to back up this little bit of wisdom.  It took far longer to read them all than to find them, and concordances and topical Bibles put together by men who actually believe that nonsensical doctrine were a big help in finding those opposing passages.  Do you see a problem with this picture?  It takes distortion of epic proportions to put this doctrine together.
            That is not the biggest fallacy though, to my mind.  If I somehow had a hundred thousand dollar automobile and told you that you could have it if you would only drive me home first, would you for a minute think you had earned that car by doing so?  Of course not, unless you think that your time is worth a whole lot more than I do—almost $100,000 an hour in fact.  But I bet every time I needed a ride to the doctor, you would be more than happy to offer it.
            To ever equate baptism and good deeds with earning salvation is to completely misunderstand the seriousness of sin, to demean the sacrifice of Christ, and devalue salvation.  Obedience can never earn the sacrifice of Deity becoming flesh, living in a world of indignities, becoming subject to sin, temptation, and death, and finally being tortured and killed by the very beings He created.  Nothing is equal to that sacrifice, or to Eternity in Heaven with God.  Yet that very fact ought to make us even more diligent in our obedience, not less.
            No, living a faithful life, overcoming temptation, putting up with persecution on its various levels, or even dying for our Lord will never earn us a spot in Heaven, nor will menial tasks like baptism either.  What we do for God is out of gratitude for a salvation we could never have managed on our own and will never be worthy of, except as He has made us worthy with a forgiveness we do not deserve.  But if we think the ingratitude of disobedience makes us worthy, we’ve simply lost our minds.
           
Will any one of you who has a servant plowing or keeping sheep say to him when he has come in from the field, Come at once and recline at table? Will he not rather say to him, Prepare supper for me, and dress properly, and serve me while I eat and drink, and afterward you will eat and drink? Does he thank the servant because he did what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, 'We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty. Luke 17:7-10.
 
Dene Ward

You would think after all these years that I would know better.  You should never take a brand new recipe to a potluck or try it out on guests.  There is a reason cooks talk about "tried and true" recipes.  But I saw this gorgeous "Chocolate Glazed Peanut Butter Filled Torte" in a magazine, one that is usually trustworthy, and wanted to make it.  Keith and I do not need rich desserts around the house for just us two, so taking one somewhere else means we seldom have more than a piece or two to splurge on when we bring the remains back home—which may sadden my heart, but not my waistline.  It looked good, the ingredients sounded good, and I had them all which was an added bonus.  So here we go…
            This was one of those uber-rich cakes with scarcely enough flour to hold it together.  When I read that I was to cut this two inch thick layer in half, fill it, and then put the top back, I should have known there would be trouble with so little flour.  And there was.  First, it sank about halfway in the middle.  That meant when I took my long serrated knife and tried to cut it in "half" there was nothing in the middle to cut.  What I cut off looked like a tire.  Calm down, I told myself as my pulse and respiration increased, the filling will show through there and it will look like it's supposed to be that way. 
            But then I tried to remove that top.  It came away in sections.  You would have thought a Lamaze class was going on I was panting so hard by then, but I carefully put the pieces on another plate and kept them all where they were supposed to go.  "There is a chocolate ganache glaze," I kept chanting.  "Ganache fixes anything!"
            I got the peanut butter filling on and learned immediately to be careful spreading it, otherwise the cake sticks to it and rolls right up over the knife.  More panting and chanting.  Finally I got the filling spread on the bottom layer.
            Now it was time to reassemble the jigsaw puzzle of a top.  Except the cake was so moist that a thin layer of it stuck to the plate the top was sitting on.  And the large sections broke into small chunks.  Gradually, I got all the pieces put back on top of the cake.  With the peanut butter filling, the torte was now nearly 3 inches high, in spite of losing a good eighth of an inch on that other plate, but it looked like a chocolate mosaic.
            No one has been happier to make ganache than I was that day.  This will cover all sins, I told myself.  It will be shiny and beautiful.
            Oh, it was nice and shiny all right, but underneath that glistening surface you could see every lump and bump, every nook and cranny, every place where anything underneath was not absolutely perfect.  Kind of reminded me of the last time I tried on a dress a size too small.
            So now what?  Do I take this monstrosity to our potluck?  Well, it was a tiny little potluck made up of one of my classes and their families and they always count on me for an entrée and a dessert.  I had no time left to make another after having spent not only two hours on this ugly thing, but another one on the entrée and another couple studying.  And besides that, this thing was expensive.  I sure couldn't afford to throw it away.
            So the next afternoon I took my so-called torte and apologized for bringing the ugliest thing on God's creation to our lunch.  For some reason, it didn't stop them from eating it, and one even asked for the recipe.  "Sorry," I told her, "I threw it away."
            Well, guess what?  Every one of us is an ugly cake.  God took beautiful ingredients and made us "in His own image," but for some reason we all eventually turned out just plain ugly.
            We have all sunk into the morass of sin and crumbled beneath its weight.  Even when we proclaim our commitment we often manage to stick to things we should have let go of.  We fall to pieces in trials and temptations instead of standing strong.  It took Him a few thousand years of piecing things together, fixing the things we made even more messes of, and spending the most awful cost to do it, but He made us into a cake that tastes pretty good when we follow His directions.  Oh, the lumps and bumps may still show through occasionally.  Our imperfections may leave scars that simply cannot be hidden, but He is ultimately satisfied when we forget about trying to fix things ourselves and just do it His way, not worrying what others might think about how we look.  He won't give up and throw us away, but will take us to the Feast he has prepared, and will not be ashamed of what an ugly cake we were to begin with.  After all, ganache—in this case, grace—can fix anything.
 
Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. (Rev 3:20)
 
Dene Ward

All of a sudden I have a lot of magnifying glasses in my house:  a large “Sherlock Holmes” type, another that has a light and fastens to the side of the table, a whole magnifying page that can be laid over a book, and a small one I keep in my purse for fine print in places where I do not want to wrestle with my reading glasses.  Sometimes we are tempted to use spiritual magnifying glasses too, and not always in good ways.
           Often verses of the Bible are misinterpreted because of the use of the Middle English in the King James Version.  Even when newer, just as reputable versions come along and put the correct spin on a passage, the old interpretation sticks in the minds of those who learned it as children.  1 Thes 5:22 is one of those verses.  Abstain from all appearance of evil has come to mean that I must not do or say anything that might possibly be construed as wrong to an observer or listener.  “They might think you are __________.”  Fill in the blank with practically anything as long as it is a sin.
            Even if I did not have better translations to look at, here is my problem with that interpretation:  it directly contradicts the admonition of love in 1 Cor 13:7—love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things.  When I love someone I must look at what they have said or done and put the best possible construction on it, not the worst, or my love is a hypocritical love in word only, not in deed.  If there is a good way to take what they said, I should take it that way.  If there is a plausible excuse for a slight, I should automatically supply it.  I am not to take out my magnifying glass and search and search until aha!  I have found something I can misconstrue.
           Some of the things Jesus did looked awfully wrong to some of the people who saw them!  Remember all those times he healed on the Sabbath?  Even if he could prove the Old Law said nothing about that, the Pharisees could have correctly said, “But what does it look like?”  In fact, one of the rulers told the people, “You can come to be healed six other days in the week.  Why come on the Sabbath?” Luke 13:14.  He had a point, didn’t he?  Why not choose a time when no one would be able to question Jesus’ honoring of the Sabbath?  I can hear some of my brethren making that point exactly, totally ignoring the plight of this “daughter of Abraham,” 13:16.  Don’t you think Jesus described her that way on purpose?  To that ruler she was less important than his traditions, but Jesus made sure he saw her importance in the eyes of God.
          In Luke 11 Jesus was invited to a Pharisee’s home for dinner and ignored the ritual hand washing before the meal.  Since it was a ritual offered by every [Pharisee] host, there was no way he could have done it quietly—he openly refused to do it.  In Matt 12 he allowed his disciples to pluck grain on the Sabbath.  In Luke 7 he allowed a sinful woman to touch him.  In Luke 15 the Pharisees and scribes murmured, “This man receives sinners and eats with them.”  And think about this:  God even allowed him to be born only 6 months after his parents married.  Imagine what that looked like.  Imagine what people could have said—in fact what they did say—“We were not born of fornication (John 8:41).”
            What 1 Thes 5:22 really means, according to the American Standard Version, is abstain from every form of evil [every shape it takes].  Wherever, whenever, and however evil raises its ugly head, I am to stay away from it.
            I need to be very careful.  If I am using my magnifying glass just to find faults in you because of the way I think something might look, I need to throw it away.
 
Speak not one against another, brethren.  He that speaks against a brother or judges his brother speaks against the law; but if you judge the law, you are not a doer of the law, but a judge.  One is the lawgiver and judge, he who is able to save and destroy, but who are you who judges your brother? James 4:11
 
Dene Ward

When I was 14 a new young doctor came to town, one who was not afraid to “think outside the box.”  My older doctor turned me over to him and he decided to try contact lenses on me.  I had been wearing coke bottle glasses since I was 4 and my vision declined steadily year after year with the bottoms of the coke bottles getting thicker and thicker.
            In those days, hard, nonporous contact lenses were all they had.  Usually they were the size of fish scales.  Mine were not any broader in circumference but they were still as thick as miniature coke bottle bottoms and nearly as heavy on my eyes.  Most people who wore normal lenses could only tolerate them for six to eight hours.  Now add a cornea shaped like the end of a football, a corrugated football at that, and these things were not meant to be comfortable on my eyes, certainly not for the 16-18 hours a day I had to wear them.
            So why did I do it?  My prescription was +17.25.  The doctor told me there was no number on the chart for my vision.  (“Chart?  What chart?  I don’t see any chart.”)  He said if there were, it would be something like 20/10,000, a hyperbole I am sure, but it certainly made the point.  Hard contacts were my only hope.  If they could stabilize my eyesight, I would last a bit longer.  When I was 20, another doctor told me I would certainly have been totally blind by then if not for those contact lenses.
            Then soft contact lenses were invented and their popularity grew.  But they were not for me.  They would not have stabilized my vision.  I lost count of the number of times people who wore soft lenses said to me, “I tried those hard ones, but I just could not tolerate them.  You are so lucky you can wear them.”
            Luck had nothing to do with it.  My young doctor was smart.  He sat me down and said, “The only way you will be able to do this with these eyes is to really want to.  You must make up your mind that you will do it no matter what.”  That was quite a burden to place on a fourteen year old, but his tactics worked.  Despite the discomfort, I managed, and managed so well that most people never knew how uncomfortable I was.  Finally, when what seemed like the 1000th person told me they just could not tolerate hard lenses, I said, “You didn’t need them badly enough.”  Most of us can do much more than we ever thought possible when we really have to.
            Need is a strong motivation.  A couple of thousand years ago, it motivated a woman to go where she was not expected, normally not even allowed, and certainly not wanted. 
            Simon the Pharisee decided to have Jesus for dinner.  I read that it was the custom of the day for the leading Pharisee in the town to have the distinguished rabbi over for a meal when he sojourned there.  While the man would invite his friends to eat the meal, an open door policy made it possible for any interested party to come in and stand along the wall to listen--any interested man, that is.  Of course, it was assumed that only righteous men would be interested.
            In walked a “sinful” woman.  Luke, in chapter 7, uses a word that does not in itself imply any specific sin, but it was commonly used by that society to refer to what they considered the lowest of sinners, publicans and harlots.  The mere fact that she was a woman also caused someone in the crowd to exclaim, “Look!  A woman!” in what we assume was horrified shock.
            The men were all lying around a low table with their bodies resting on a couch and their feet turned away from the table in the direction of the wall, while their left elbows rested on the table.  The woman came into the room, walked around the wall, and began crying over Jesus’ feet.  Immediately, she knelt to wipe his feet with her hair.  I am told that this too was unacceptable.  “To unbind and loosen the hair in public before strangers was considered disgraceful and indecent for a woman,” commentator Lenski says.  We later discover that these were dirty, dusty feet from walking unpaved roads in sandals.  How do we know?  Because Simon did not even offer Jesus the customary hospitable foot washing. 
            Then she took an alabaster cruse of ointment, a costly gift, and anointed his feet—not just a token drop or two, but the entire contents--once the cruse was broken open, it was useless as a storage container.
            What did Simon do?  Nothing outward, but Jesus knew what he thought, and told him a story. 
            One man owed a lender 500 shillings, and another owed him 50.  Both were forgiven their debts when they could not pay.  Who, Jesus asked him, do you think was the most grateful?  The one who owed the most, of course, Simon easily answered.
            And so by using his own prejudices against him, Jesus proved that Simon himself was less grateful to God than this sinful woman.  His own actions, or lack thereof toward Jesus was the proof.  This man, like so many others of his party, was completely satisfied with himself and where he stood before God.  And that satisfaction blinded him to his own need, for truly no one can stand before God in his own righteousness.  His gratitude suffered because he did not feel his need.  Would he have gone into a hostile environment and lowered himself to do the most menial work a servant could do, and that in front of others?  Hardly.
            So how much do I think I need the grace of God?  The answer is the same one to how far I will go to get it, how much I will sacrifice to receive it, and how much pain I will put up with for even the smallest amount to touch my life.  Am I a self-satisfied Simon the Pharisee, more concerned with respectability than with his own need for forgiveness, or a sinful woman, who probably took the deepest breath of her life and walked into a room full of hostile men because she knew it was her only chance at Life? 
 
And turning to the woman, he said unto Simon, See this woman? I entered into your house; you gave me no water for my feet: but she has wet my feet with her tears, and wiped them with her hair.  You gave me no kiss: but she, since the time I came in, has not ceased to kiss my feet.  My head with oil you did not anoint: but she has anointed my feet with ointment.  So I say unto you, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, loves little.  And he said unto her, Your sins are forgiven… Your faith has saved you; go in peace, Luke 7:44-48,50.
 
Dene Ward
 

After one of my several eye surgeries, I was actually examined one day by two veterinarians.  Remember, I am one of the prime teaching tools at the University of Florida Medical School.  These young Dr Doolittle’s were doing research in pain.  Their patients cannot tell them how they feel, so they were visiting human post-op cases to ask how they felt after various types of surgery.  It was the only way to know how the animals were feeling.
            My doctor took them to three different patients, an easy case, a moderate case, and then me—the extreme.  I answered their questions with accompanying explanations by my physician, shook their hands, and on they went.  Maybe some child’s pet bunny rabbit will have an easier time of it because of a ten minute delay in my own case—and putting up with a few jokes afterward.
            Isn’t that what Jesus did for us?  Well, no, not exactly.  Instead of asking a few questions, he went through the surgery himself.  How else was Deity to understand temptation, fear, pain, anguish, sorrow, desperation, or even relatively petty things like hunger, thirst, and weariness?  He did it when he counted not being on an equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, Phil 2:6.  He did it by being tempted in all points like we are, Heb 4:15.  It was really the only way.
            And now He knows.  Now He can tell His Father in words Deity can understand what it is like to be human.   Then He can turn around and tell us how to overcome, how to persevere, how to be faithful even to the point of death, Rev 2:10.
            Don’t make His sacrifice be for nothing.
 
In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  This same was in the beginning with God.  All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made.  And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth, John 1:1-3, 14.
 
Dene Ward

In case you don't really understand Irma's magnitude, from east to west, it was 650 miles wide—the Florida peninsula averages 130 miles in width.  15,000,000 people in Florida alone were without power.  25% of the homes in Key West were completely destroyed, another 65% incurred major damage.  70,000 sq miles were impacted by at least tropical storm force winds.  The highest winds recorded were 185 mph.  That speed was maintained for 37 straight hours.  Over six million Floridians were told to evacuate.  Another few million did so voluntarily.  The score calculated by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) when measuring the power of hurricanes was 66.8, compared to 11.1 for Hurricane Harvey, and we all watched the devastation from that one (statistics from "Breaking Down Irma by the Numbers" on architecturaldigest.com).
            That is what we Floridians had to look forward to as Irma approached our coasts.  In the past we have had Category 2 and 3 storms hit the coast and, by the time they reached us, diminish to Category 1 or even mere tropical storm force (which is not as "mere" as it sounds when you are in the middle of it).  This one was to hit as a 5.  Everyone told us it would still be a 3 by the time it reached us.  That is why we counted our home as lost, carefully packing what was most important to us in the car and truck and moving them as far from the trees as we could, out into the field. 
            That is also why we spent the night that Irma came through in the car.  Would the car be blown over with us in it?  Possibly.  But far better that than being crushed under a thousand pound limb falling on the house, or being injured or maimed by the flying glass and debris when the roof blew off.  So as darkness fell and the wind and rain picked up, we scampered out to the car and climbed inside. 
            The backseat was crammed with a cooler and two boxes, so lowering the seat backs for a better sleeping position was minimal.  We clasped hands and said our final "together" prayer, and then did our best to go to sleep, which amounted to me being quiet for Keith, who was being quiet for me, as both of us sat/lay there with our eyes wide open, each praying our own continuous private prayer all night long.
            We had left the porch light on for our trip out into the field.  We are used to utter darkness out here in the country, no traffic lights, street lamps, or passing headlights, so that light was intrusive, but it also gave us a small sense of security.  Imagining what was going on would have been much worse.  Finally we both drifted off out of sheer exhaustion from the days of preparation before as well as a cold we had shared that week, and when I woke again I had to use the flashlight to see my watch.  It was 2:30 and the porch light was out.
            We had no idea what was happening, where the storm was, how strong it was.  Several times in the night, the wind howled a bit more loudly and the car rocked.  What surprised me was that behind those thick clouds a full moon actually cast a soft gray light and it was no longer black as pitch as it had been earlier.  Still, we could not tell what was happening.
            After a couple of hours we drifted back off again, rocking in our metal cradle.  At seven, almost as if an alarm had gone off, we both opened our eyes to dim daylight.  We looked out the rain-dribbled windshield and saw a 35 year old manufactured home all in one piece.  No debris, no missing roof, no broken windows.  Lots of yard trash, but no monster limbs crushing anything.  Keith got out into the rain to start up the generator and I flipped on the car radio.  The storm had weakened much more quickly than expected.  If it passed over Gainesville as a Category 1, by the time it reached us, it was to the west and down to tropical storm force winds, something no one had dare predict. 
            Keith came back for me then, and we rolled up our pant legs.  The waters were running off all around us nearly six to eight inches deep as the property drained, but we stood there and hugged each other and shouted a thank you over the slackening wind and rain, tears running down our faces.  God had answered all those prayers, and if you think one thank you was all He got from us, you still don't understand hurricanes and the One who made them.  Even now, over a month later, we are still saying thank you.
            And what did we learn from that?  A question popped up in our minds.  How many times have we said thank you for the sacrifice our Lord made to save our souls in the same fashion we said thank you for his saving our physical home, and a humble one at that?  How many times have we grabbed each other in pure, unadulterated joy and wept real tears over our salvation?  Once, maybe, at our baptism; another time or two when a particular sermon or talk hit us right between the eyes.
            We've been mulling that over for several weeks now.  I hope this week has helped you consider it, too.
 
Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift. (2Cor 9:15)
 
Dene Ward