On May 8, 1902, Mt Pelee erupted, killing 30,000 people.  It may have been the end of their world, but I doubt it held a candle to the fiery cataclysm in Genesis 19:  Jehovah rained upon Sodom and Gomorrah brimstone and fire from Jehovah out of heaven, and he overthrew those cities and all the Plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities and that which grew upon the ground, vv 24,25.

            We know how Lot wound up in Sodom, but did you ever wonder where his wife came from?  When Lot left Ur with Abraham, Abraham’s wife is mentioned, Lot’s wife is not.  Is that because she was not important to the story, or because she wasn’t there yet? 

            Although Lot moved to the plain of Jordan in Gen 13:11, he was actually living in Sodom by 14:12.  We first have mention of “the women” in 14:16, but that could have referred to servants—remember, at one point he had quite a few.  Lot’s wife is not specifically mentioned until he is actually living in Sodom.  Between 12:4 and 18:10, twenty-four years have elapsed, plenty of time to marry and have marriageable daughters, especially in a day where marrying them off at puberty was the custom.  Since Sodom is not actually destroyed until chapter 19, it is quite possible that Lot’s wife was a native of Sodom.  It would certainly make her attachment to the city, and her looking back, much more understandable. 

            Jesus utters the words of the title above when he is warning his followers about the destruction of Jerusalem in Luke 17.  When the time came, they were to flee, giving no thought to the life they were leaving behind.  Any delay caused by the desire for that life would cause them to lose any hope of a future life.  The warning, Remember Lot’s wife, also carried with it the idea of regretting what was left behind.  As a matter of fact, the next morning Abraham looked at those same cities Lot and his family were told not to look at, Gen 19:27,28, but he did not turn into a pillar of salt.  He was not sorry these wicked places were destroyed; he was probably wondering if Lot and his family had made it out alive.  Lot’s wife, on the other hand, was looking back like the man who put his hand to the plow and looked back.  God wants a real commitment from us, with no lingering attachment to the old way of life.

            So no, we do not really know where Lot’s wife came from, but it is safe to assume she loved her life in Sodom.  If she came from there, that might explain it—family, friends, and familiar surroundings.  But if she did not, she still might be the reason he finally made the actual move into the city.  She left only because she was forced to, Gen 19:16, and because she so plainly regretted it, God counted her with the Sodomites and destroyed her too.  Being in Sodom was not the crux of the matter, but rather, being like Sodom, and liking that place all too well.

            How about me?  Do I live the Christian life because I love it, or because I feel forced into it, regretting the loss of my old life and wishing I were there?  Do I put my hand to the plow and look back?  Do I get along so well with the world that no one sees a difference between me and them?  If God were still in the salt business, what would I look like today?

Being filled with all unrighteousness, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness, full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, malignity, whisperers, backbiters, hateful to God, insolent, haughty, boastful, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, without understanding, covenant-breakers, without natural affection, unmerciful, who, knowing the ordinance of God, that they that practice such things are worthy of death, not only they who do the same, but who take pleasure in them that do them.  Rom 1:28-32

Dene Ward

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For hints, help, and instructions on using this blog, click on the FAQ/Tutorial page on the left sidebar

            I learned as a child in the Florida school system that Juan Ponce de Leon was the first Spanish explorer to land here.  No records are available but he was believed to have been born in July, 1474, and traveled with Columbus as a very young man before ultimately setting off on his own.

            He had heard stories about a magical spring that could cure diseases and make you young again, so he began the search, finally sighting land on March 27, 1513.  A few days later he landed; no one is sure the exact date except that it was “late March.”  The land he set foot on somewhere near St. Augustine was so beautiful he called it Florida.  Spring in Florida is beautiful.  I understand why he was impressed.  If he had landed in July, we would have had a much different name.  (What’s the Spanish word for “oven?”)

            We do have a lot of natural springs in Florida—probably half a dozen within 30 miles of where I sit—but none with the magical powers he looked for.  I can find a Fountain of Youth quite easily, though.  I have it laid out right next to me as I type.  The eternal life promised to the faithful may be the most obvious application of that concept, but I can think of yet another.

            As I watch my grandsons play I find myself remembering my own childhood, realizing as an adult how unfettered it was by worry, pain, and sorrow.  I never for a moment wondered where my next meal was coming from.  I never worried about storms, not even hurricanes.  I never worried about bad people doing bad things to me.  I had a Daddy I trusted implicitly.  He would take care of me.  That’s what Daddies do.

            Once when I was still in early grade school, I had a bad dream.  My Daddy came in and sat on the bed next to me, asking me about the dream and then carefully undoing every worry it had evoked in me.  When he finished I could go back to sleep because of his reassurances.  That’s what Daddies do.

            One morning in first grade I was upset about something—I don’t even remember what now.  But my Daddy noticed that I had tears in my eyes when I got out of the car.  As I stood in front of my classroom, waiting for the bell to ring, I looked up and there he was, striding down the sidewalk.  He had parked the car and come looking for me to make sure I was all right.  That’s what Daddies do.

            Daddies provide.  They protect.  They comfort.  Do you want a Fountain of Youth?  Stop worrying about things you cannot fix.  Stop being afraid of things you cannot handle alone.  Stop wondering how you will manage.  Cast your cares on a Father who loves you.  Once again become a little child who has a Daddy who will always be there, always watching out for your needs and taking care of your problems.  If you don’t have that, it’s only because you insist on ignoring His outstretched hand.  You insist on trying to control everything yourself—as if you were the Daddy. 

            Do you begin your prayers, “Father in Heaven?”  Then act like He is your Father.  Trust Him.  Begin this day with a new exuberance, one born because you have surrendered your cares to Him and finally found the Fountain of Youth.

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!" The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, Romans 8:14-16.

Dene Ward

           On December 9, 1973 Marshall Efron’s Illustrated Simplified Painless Sunday School began on CBS.  Seeing that little tidbit of information brought back words I hadn’t thought of in years.  “That’s just asking too much.”

            You’d think that I could remember who said that to us one evening while we sat studying the Bible in his home.  You’d think I could remember where he drew the line that kept him from serving the Lord.  It isn’t often you find someone that honest.  Most people offer excuses instead.  They understand that they are telling God they are not willing to sacrifice for him.  In fact, they will usually make a list of everything they have done before adding, “But that’s just asking too much.”  What they fail to see is that if they are willing to give it up, it isn’t a sacrifice.  The sacrifice comes when you don’t want to give it up; the sacrifice comes when it hurts. Serving God is not supposed to be “painless.” 

            Too many of us believe that just because we got up, dressed up, and drove to another location instead of sitting there watching some sort of “Painless Sunday School” on television that we are sacrificing for the Lord.  We will sit in the meetinghouse on Sunday morning.  We will even sit for the full two or three hours, whatever our group has chosen.  Just exactly what have we given up?  Sleep?  Another day of fishing?  A little more yard work?  Doesn’t sound like much of a sacrifice.

            Many will alter their lifestyles a bit.  What have they given up?  Hangovers?  Gambling debts?  STDs?  If you aren’t stupid, that’s another easy sacrifice to make.  It only becomes difficult when the dependency has developed.

            What we steadfastly refuse to give up is ourselves. 

            Can we admit wrong?  Can we yield to others?  Can we toe the line, even when the thing in question affects us individually?  It’s much easier for the non-music lover to give up instrumental music in the worship.  Trust me.  I know.  It’s much easier to bide by the Lord’s words concerning marriage when you have a solid relationship, and when your children have also chosen well.  It’s much easier to serve when you actually like the people you are serving.  Yet ease is the very thing that makes it not much of a sacrifice.  The true sacrifice comes when, instead of twisting scriptures to suit ourselves and frantically searching for loopholes, we do what hurts.

            The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise, Psalm 51:17.  Pain is what makes a sacrifice sincere.  Humble repentance that involves giving up selfish desires and yielding to others who do not deserve it are the most difficult sacrifices to give, and therefore, the ones that God wants most to see in us.  Until we manage that, anything else we do in service to God is a sham, no matter how beautifully we sing, how generously we donate, or how knowledgeably we teach.

            When Jeroboam became king of the northern 10 tribes of Israel, in spite of God’s promise to him of a lasting dynasty if he only obeyed, he looked at those fickle people and said, “I know exactly how to keep them here.”  He made it easy to serve God.

            And Jeroboam said in his heart, Now will the kingdom return to the house of David: if this people go up to offer sacrifices in the house of Jehovah at Jerusalem, then will the heart of this people turn again unto their lord, even unto Rehoboam king of Judah; and they will kill me, and return to Rehoboam king of Judah. Whereupon the king took counsel, and made two calves of gold; and he said unto them, It is too much for you to go up to Jerusalem: behold your gods, O Israel, which brought you up out of the land of Egypt. 1 Kings 12:26-28.

            “It’s asking too much,” he told them.  “Let me make it easy for you.”  And just like that, the people in the north left the God who had delivered them from slavery, defeated their enemies, and provided all their needs. 

            What is it that Jeroboam would offer you?

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ, 
Philippians 3:7-8.

Dene Ward

Do you know what the acronym CARE stands for?  Cooperative for American Remittances to Everywhere.  I never would have guessed that one.  The organization is made up of several charitable groups and their first “mission” occurred on May 11, 1946.  They sent 20,000 care packages to survivors of World War II in Europe.  Those first packages were US Army Surplus meals, each originally intended to feed ten soldiers as they invaded Japan, a plan that was no longer necessary after that country’s surrender.

After they ran out of those, CARE packages were put together from other
necessities provided by donations and varied according to the disaster they were relieving.  Today that phrase “care package” has entered the language as anything sent to a person in any sort of need from anyone who loves them. 
I sent them regularly to my two sons while they were in college, and
those usually contained a supply of cookies, brownies, and other homemade
treats, as well as a check or gift card.  When Lucas moved to the panhandle, his care package contained all those things he might need the night before the moving van arrived with his belongings--paper plates and cups, plastic forks, toothpaste, toilet paper, bath soap, water bottles, plastic trash bags, and sandwich makings, along with the by now requisite cookies.

My church family and I had opportunity to send some packages to our
brothers and sisters in Zimbabwe who are having a difficult time just finding
the necessities of life.  When the women I study with every Tuesday morning asked the church for some monetary help, we were flooded with so much we were able to send more than just food, so we asked these people what they might need.

They did not ask for anything fancy, just staples like beans, rice, and
powdered milk.  They did not ask for new clothes, just needles and thread to sew up the torn gray garments they are already wearing, and safety pins to replace missing buttons.  They asked for laundry soap bars—powder doesn’t work down at the river where you beat your clothes on the rocks.  They asked for water purification tablets because they are becoming ill, and some even dying, from drinking the plainest liquid on earth.  They asked if we “might possibly” send some Tylenol to help ease aches and pains and fever, as if they were asking for a luxury.  They asked for a little Vaseline to soothe lips dried in the ongoing drought.  They never even mentioned money.

I was so amazed at these attitudes that I started wondering what I might
ask for in a care package, what my list of “life’s necessities” might look
like.  Once I asked some teenagers, Christian teenagers mind you, and was horrified by the list I got.  It included a cell phone!  I think it is a safe bet that any American reading this should not ask for anything material at all.  We have
far more than we actually need to simply survive, certainly more than these poor brothers and sisters overseas.

But what should I ask for in my care package? Probably all of us have the same needs: more love and compassion for others, more patience, more endurance during trials, more self-control during temptations, more knowledge of God’s word, more wisdom to make the decisions of everyday living, more gratitude for what He has sacrificed for me, more faith in His power and promises, more belief in the forgiveness and hope He has offered, and far more grace to cover my continuing failings.

The thing is, we already have that care package, we just sometimes forget to open it.

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith  --  that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.  Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations,  forever and ever.  Amen.  Eph 3:15-21.

Dene Ward

I was standing before my 4th grade class while the teacher took out the canned goods my parents had sent for the food drive.  We had always participated before, but never before had I brought such treasures.  All my fellow students oohed and aahed as the teacher pulled out beef stew, chicken noodle soup, Beanee Weanees, Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee, along with some fruit and applesauce.  I clearly had the best offering of the bunch, at least in the minds of children.  Even the teacher was impressed.  The only thing that confused me was her writing my name on each can with a big black marker, as she did for each student.  We took them to the shelves lining the back wall of the pink portable school room “until they’re needed.”

That same day our history lesson suddenly jumped forward a few hundred years to World War II.  The teacher said she had a surprise for us. “In the war, soldiers had to wear identification called ‘dog tags.’  While we study this section, you will get to wear your very own dog tags just like they did.”  And there they were, my own shiny silver dog tags hanging from a chain, with my name, my daddy’s name, our address and phone number (Cypress 3-3363, if I remember correctly), my birth date, and something odd up in the right hand corner that no one ever explained, O+.

I suppose the strangest part of this whole World War II study was the “You are there” experience.  The teacher said she wanted us to know what life must have been like for those poor people who lived in the war zone, so from then on, whenever she shouted, “Plane!” we would all dive under our desks with our hands clasped behind our necks until she gave the “all clear.”  Far from being frightened by all of this, we were thrilled.  As it happened, a couple of television series about the war were running that year, and it was like playing a part in it.  None of us had ever been touched by the horrors of a real war, so it was just a big game to us.

After a few days, our war study ended.  We were instructed to leave our dog tags at home, and, for some reason, the poor people no longer needed the food, so we all took our cans back home.  Why none of us questioned any of this is beyond me.  It was a simpler time, I suppose, when children just did as they were told without asking why.

I gradually forgot about that odd experience, but when I was a teenager studying American History I suddenly figured it out.  On October 14, 1962 American satellites had just discovered Soviet missiles carrying nuclear warheads on the island of Cuba, and the Cold War was on the brink of becoming the hottest war ever fought. 

We lived on the west side of Orlando, about halfway between Cape Canaveral and Strategic Air Command at MacDill AFB in Tampa, two prime targets.  Should we be attacked while in school, the dog tags identified us until a family member could be located, the blood type expedited care if we were injured, the food fed us a few days if it took that long to find us a place to go, and all that “war” practice was to keep injuries at a minimum—from the normal things anyway.  There was not much they could do about radioactive fallout.

I cannot imagine how it must have felt to send your child out alone in times like that, but, as I recall, no one stayed home.  We sat every day with our dog tags jingling as we jumped up and down to the shout of “Plane!”  My parents went to work every morning and so did the neighbors.  Life went on, but we took some pretty elaborate precautions—it would have been foolish to do otherwise.

Things are not really that different now.  We’re not afraid of bombs falling at any moment, but there are much worse things out there to harm our children.  Are you taking any precautions?  Do they know who they are and where they belong?  Do they know what to do in case their faith is attacked?

Send them out well-armed.  The doctrines of Satan, most notably humanism, lie between the lines of practically every school textbook. Look through them the first day they cross your threshold. “Values clarification” is just a fancy way of saying “situation ethics.”  You need to know the teacher who is teaching it, and her own moral code.  Talk to your children every night about things they have heard from teachers or friends.  Start doing this their first day of school.  If you wait till they are teenagers, it is too late.

The Cuban Missile Crisis lasted just a few days, but look how carefully the parents prepared “just in case.”  You have a crisis today that lasts far longer.  You need to prepare even more than those parents did.  The “just in case” is a whole lot more terrifying.

Give ear, O my people, to my law; incline your ears to the words of my mouth.  I will open my mouth in a parable; I will utter dark sayings of old, which we have heard and known, and our fathers have told us.  We will not hide them from their children, telling to the generations to come the praises of Jehovah, and his strength, and his wondrous works that he has done…that the generation to come might know them, even the children that should be born, who should arise and tell them to their children; that they might set their hope in God, and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments, Psa 78:1-4, 6,7.

Dene Ward

Pearl Reid Skirvin was born on October 12, 1889.  The daughter of an Oklahoma City real estate tycoon, she never knew anything but high society.  She married George Mesta, a Pittsburgh machine tool magnate, and was widowed after only 8 years.  She never remarried, never had children, and became heir to both her father’s and husband’s fortunes.  Somewhere along the way she changed the spelling of her first name and became Perle Mesta, an influential hostess and political fundraiser in Washington DC.  And somewhere else along the way, she was labeled “the hostess with the mostes’.”  As a young child I had heard of her myself, but her glamorous parties were things far beyond my family’s imagination, much less actual attendance.

I remember my first attempts to be a hostess.  I had watched my mother feed guests for 20 years.  She seemed to do it effortlessly, not that she didn’t work at it, but it never seemed to stress her out.  Me?  I was always worried that my recipes wouldn’t turn out, that I had chosen something no one liked, and that the house wasn’t clean enough. 

For several years I kept a file with an index card for each family we had invited for a meal.  I listed the dates they came, what I had served, and at the top a list of things I knew were disliked.  Roger Pink hated liver, I remember—not that I would ever serve specially invited guests liver, but you can see how concerned I was with being a good hostess.  These days you get pot luck, and I don’t worry so much any more.

Being a good host or hostess had almost sacred connotations in the scriptures.  Inns were few and far between.  Everyone depended upon the people they encountered in their travels to put them up, and those people knew they would someday have similar need, so they readily offered the hospitality.  You cannot read Genesis without seeing the importance of hospitality—a host laid down his life for his guests.

So the metaphor in Proverbs 9 was an apt one for the times.  Two hostesses seeking guests, one named Wisdom and the other Folly.  A quick reading will only obscure some of the finer points.  This is too short a venue to touch them all, so sit down some time with a pen and paper and make two columns.  Go through the verses yourself and find the contrasts between the hostesses, their offers, and the guests who take advantage of the proffered hospitality.  Then figure out which side you are on. 

But three quick points: Wisdom offers a great feast—“she has slaughtered her beasts; she has mixed her wine,” v 2.  Folly offers only bread and water, v 17, but notice how enticing she makes it sound:  Stolen water is sweet and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.  Not only is her meal scanty, it’s forbidden.  If the only reason I want to do something is because someone else told me not to, the proverb writer says I “lack sense,” v16, as do all of Folly’s guests.

Wisdom offers her feast to all, but specifically to “those who lack understanding” and are wise enough to realize their need.  Folly offers hers to those who are “going straight on their way,” v 15.  They already think they know what they need to know.  They may indeed be simpleminded, v 16, but they don’t realize it.  Going to someone to ask for advice is beneath them, unless of course it’s someone who will tell them what they want to hear. 

Wisdom tells her guests that they must break off from bad company, v 7-8.  Folly, on the other hand, loads her guest list with the worst company of all, and bids the fool to come join them, but he does not know that the dead are there, that her guests are in the depths of Sheol, v 18.

You won’t find a more chilling metaphor, but if you insist on ignoring good advice, trusting in those who scorn the word of God, and whooping it up with the Devil, you will find yourself exactly where Folly holds her parties, consorting with the spiritually dead, and killing your own soul in the process.

Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted, while evil people and impostors will go on from bad to worse, deceiving and being deceived, 2 Timothy 3:12-13.

Dene Ward

In 1854 the United States bought a rock in the middle of San Francisco Bay called Isla de los Alcatraces—the Isle of the Pelicans, originally a seabird haven founded by Juan Manuel de Ayala. On August 11, 1934, 137 prisoners were installed there in what had been turned into a maximum security federal prison--Alcatraz. Al Capone spent time there, as well as George “Machine Gun” Kelly, and Robert Stroud, the “Birdman of Alcatraz.” 36 attempted to escape and were caught. In 1962 three men did escape, and were never found. To this day no one knows if they drowned in the cold bay waters or made it to safety and successfully hid.

We don’t like to think about being a prisoner. As Americans we bridle against anything that affects our freedom, our “rights.” As Christians we proclaim that we have “freedom in Christ,” Gal 2:4; 5:1,13. Maybe we were once “slaves of sin,” Rom 6:16-18, but no longer—we are free, free, free!

Let’s just assume that we are free from sin, that we overcome more often than not, that it certainly isn’t a habit any longer. Oh, if that were the only thing we needed to free ourselves of.  

Far too many I know are still slaves of others’ opinions, of some rigid sense of dignity, and of an overwhelming feeling of inadequacy when confronted once again with the mercy of a loving God.  

Being inordinately worried about what others think is simply a brand of egotism. We are placing our own expectations of them on a pedestal. We are afraid of what they think about us, when they probably don’t think about us one way or the other. Yet we hear one statement, view one action, and suddenly we concoct a whole scenario about their opinions of us that may or may not be—in fact, probably is not—true. It rolls around in our minds over and over to the point that we cannot sleep, cannot eat, or even make ourselves sick over it. What did Jesus say to Peter when he asked about John’s future? “What is that to you?” We would do well to remember that line far more often than we do. Stop being taken prisoner by others. Fulfill your obligations to them, but do not try to take responsibility for theirs. “What is that to you?”

And then we find ourselves in the prison of dignity. I vividly remember walking through the Philadelphia Zoo on the first weekend of our honeymoon. It started to rain, and I was busy trying to find shelter “so my hair won’t get wet,” I told Keith.  

“Who cares if your hair gets wet?” he asked as he grabbed my hand and we went running down the sidewalk in the rain. We found our way back to our midtown hotel drenched, but laughing all the way. When your dignity keeps you from enjoying life, from playing with your children, from worshipping your God, it’s time you let yourself out of prison.

But the most ironic slavery we have placed ourselves in is also the saddest. Here we have a God who loves us enough to die for us, yet we tie ourselves up in knots over our inability to repay Him. Instead of joy over our salvation, we cringe when we think of our unworthiness. We try and try and try to be perfect, always knowing it’s an impossible task, and so “hope,” instead of being the “full assurance” the New Testament teaches us, becomes a miserable “maybe.” We find ourselves praying that when we die we will see it coming so we can fire off one last frantic prayer for forgiveness.  

Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom, 2 Cor 3:17. Funny how some of these people who spend so much time worrying about whether they “do” enough for the Lord are some of the very ones who talk the most about the Holy Spirit. My Bible says their fretting is a sure sign they don’t have the Spirit.  

The New Testament plainly teaches that we are to have self-control. That doesn’t just apply to alcohol, drugs, gluttony, sexual immorality, and the other “fleshly” sins. For whatever overcomes a person, to that he is enslaved, 2 Pet 2:19. Did you catch that? It can be anything, whether sinful or not. A relationship, an attitude, a habit, your upbringing, your past mistakes--whatever controls your life makes you its slave—its prisoner.  

Let it go. There is truly only one Master worth serving.

"All things are lawful for me," but not all things are expedient. "All things are lawful for me," but I will not be enslaved by anything, 1 Corinthians 6:12.

Dene Ward 

“They didn’t come see me when I was sick.”

You’d think by now I’d be used to it.  I’ve heard it everywhere I’ve been, but it still amazes me that people who have been Christians for decades still view suffering the wrong way.  Yes, we suffer in this life.  All of us suffer in one way or the other.  So why do those few think that the reason for their suffering is so they can be “Queen for a Day?” 

Probably only a few of you remember that show.  I was very young myself.  Originally it aired on a local radio show in LA, but it was picked up for national broadcast by NBC on January 3, 1956.  It has been called the first “reality show” and it was roundly criticized even in its day.  It went like this:  three or four women showed up to tell their stories of woe and suffering and the audience voted on who was suffering the most and that one “lucky” woman received a robe, a crown, a bouquet of roses, and several prizes, in effect being treated like a queen for one day.  A contest to see who is suffering the most?  Really?  But isn’t that what so many in the church do?  “I deserve more attention than so-and-so because I have more problems than she does.”

People who constantly complain about not getting enough attention are giving themselves away for, as Jesus says, “Out of the heart the mouth speaks,” Matt 15:18.  Indeed, if my suffering were as severe as my “Woe is me!” attitude, I wouldn’t be thinking about the attention I do or don’t get, but about the trial itself.  But all that is beside the point.  Suffering is not about being served.

Peter tells us that suffering refines us, makes us pure and stronger (1 Pet 1:6-9).  James seems to indicate that suffering brings wisdom (Jas 1:2-6).  But I think that even those things don’t reach the ultimate reason we suffer.  Suffering is about discipleship.  A disciple is not above his teacher, but everyone when he is fully trained will be like his teacher, Luke 6:40.  Why do we think we can be a disciple of a suffering servant and never suffer like he did?

So why did Jesus have to suffer?  Hebrews tells us that because he suffered he is able to help those who also suffer (2:18), and that as a high priest he is able to sympathize with us (4:15.).  He learned obedience by the things he suffered “with loud cries and tears,” (5:8).  Yes, he really suffered and the whole purpose of his suffering was so he could help others who are suffering the same way.

So why do I suffer?  Doesn’t it make sense that as a disciple of Christ, I am suffering for the same reason he did, so I can accomplish the same thing he accomplished?  We neither suffer so we can be the center of attention nor so we can stand as judge over others who give that attention.  We suffer so that we can better serve those who are suffering similar things.  Even the purity, strength, and wisdom that come from suffering helps us accomplish those ends.  As with everything else in a Christian’s life, my suffering is not about me, it is about others. 

Have you been forsaken by an unfaithful spouse?  Be willing to talk openly to those who are going through the same things.  You may well be the only one who understands the thoughts that go through one’s head, the looks you get from others, the ordeal of custody battles and the instant poverty that sometimes accompanies this betrayal.

Have you survived cancer?  Look for new victims who feel the constant pressure of wondering not if it will return, but when.  Look for still others, not just cancer victims, but anyone with a bleak prognosis.  No one understands the axe hanging over their heads like you do.

Have you been the victim of violent crime?  No one understands the constant terror that one lives with after that, the burden of overcoming paranoia—seeing a boogeyman behind every face in a parking lot, in a grocery aisle, passing you in a car as you walk to get the mail.  No one else can understand the embarrassment of once again becoming a little child who is afraid of the dark.

Have you lost a child?  Have you lost a child to the world?  Have you faced financial ruin?  Have you lost everything to a fire, a hurricane, a tornado?  Are you facing disability or the caregiving of a spouse who no longer knows who you are?  Everyone has faced something, and God expects you to use that experience, and the strength and wisdom you have gained from it, to help someone else.  You are the Lord’s agent on this earth.  Don’t let all your pain go to waste.

None of this can be accomplished if I am still whining about a loss that occurred years ago.  No one can be helped if I am still expecting everyone to pat me on the back for every little thing that comes along.  At some point God expects me to get over it.  Some afflictions are more difficult than others.  Some trials need a longer recovery period, but mature Christians eventually grow past the selfish need for attention. 

We don’t suffer so we can be “Queen for a Day.”  On the contrary, suffering makes us both eligible and obligated to help others.  God expects me to search out those who need my special experiences and serve.  Just when has He ever expected anything less of His people?

So Jesus also suffered outside the gate in order to sanctify the people through his own blood. Therefore let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured.. Hebrews 13:12-13

Dene Ward

On March 4, 1865, Alexander Gardner photographed Abraham Lincoln at his second inaugural.  “With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right,” Lincoln said that day, “let us strive on to finish the work we are in—to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for his widow and his orphans; to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves, and with all nations.”

There in the photo behind him stands his betrayer, John Wilkes Booth, the man who would shoot him in the head at Ford’s Theater just over a month later on April 14, right after the intermission ended and the play, “Our American Cousin” began again.  It seems ominous that Booth would have been in that picture--some speculate the he had intended to do the deed that very day--but by definition, betrayers are always somewhere close to the ones they will betray, looking for an opportunity.

If there had been a camera invented that Passover night 2000 years ago, don’t you think you would see Judas there, dipping his bread with Jesus, perhaps sharing a smile or warm word with a fellow apostle?  I am not certain when Booth made his plans to murder his leader, but Judas that night already had his plans made.  In fact, Jesus sent him off to carry them out.

Usually we don’t have cameras going on Sunday mornings, but if we did, I wonder how many betrayers would be caught communing with their fellow disciples and their Lord?  Do you take the Lord’s Supper planning to go out and continue in sin the next week?  Do you already have it on your calendar?  Will you leave His presence and refuse to confess your faith in Him before your friends and acquaintances?  Will you sigh and give in just because the fight is long and hard and you don’t like what it will cost you to win?  Do you simply approach the week with absolutely no plans of how to thwart the enemy and his lures, stumbling like a fool straight into his hands?

How many of us take the bread that represents “the body” God “prepared” for Him to live in an ignominious life (Heb 10:5), then refuse to present our own bodies in a living sacrifice every day?  How many of us take the juice that represents the horrible death He died, then refuse to crucify ourselves so He can live in us?  How many of us sit with Him weekly in this family meal, then go out and act like someone else’s brothers instead of His?

If God took a picture of us all on Sunday mornings, which ones of us would be called the Betrayers?

A man who has set at nought Moses’ law dies without compassion on the word of two or three witnesses: of how much sorer punishment, do you think, shall he be judged worthy, who has trodden under foot the Son of God, and has counted the blood of the covenant wherewith he was sanctified an unholy thing, and has done despite unto the Spirit of grace? For we know him that said, Vengeance belongs unto me, I will recompense. And again, The Lord shall judge his people. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. Hebrews 10:28-31

Dene Ward

I was a college girl, just a year older than Patricia Hearst, the heiress to the Hearst publishing empire, when a group calling itself the Symbionese Liberation Army kidnapped her from her off-campus apartment in San Francisco.  Two months later, on April 15, 1974, she appeared on grainy black and white security camera footage helping those same captors rob a bank.

She was eventually captured and sent to prison for awhile because the jury could not accept the psychiatrist’s diagnosis of Stockholm Syndrome, a malady officially named after a bank robber kept hostages in a Stockholm bank vault for 131 hours.  Like Patty Hearst, they emerged from the ordeal exhibiting sympathy for their captors.  The mind does strange things when under stress. 

Doctors say this happens when the abductors constantly tell the victim there is no hope, that no one knows where he is and no one will rescue him.  They spin lies about their own “mistreatment,” while abusing the victim at the same time.  They tell the victim he is going to die, not just once, but over and over.  Then for some unaccountable reason they do something nice for that same victim.  The victim grows not only to depend upon his captor, but to identify with him as well.  That is Stockholm syndrome, and anyone who has struggled with sin should recognize the symptoms.

But I see a different law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity under the law of sin which is in my members, Romans 7:23.

In meekness correcting them that oppose themselves; if peradventure God may give them repentance unto the knowledge of the truth, and they may recover themselves out of the snare of the devil, having been taken captive by him unto his will, 2 Timothy 2:25-26.

Sin abducts a man and tells him lies like the one Satan told Eve—“God is just selfish, you won’t die--you’ll be just like him.”  It tells him he’s stupid to listen to anyone else.  It tells him that no one else cares, that no one can save him, and that he will die anyway, so why not die having fun?  Satan, the father of all sin, tells the captive that he is the only one who really cares and the only one who can do anything for him.  Satan is the one who started Stockholm syndrome, not that bank robber in Sweden.

We tell people over and over that sin is deceptive, that once you are in you may never get out.  Sooner or later you reach a point where you won’t listen to anyone.  …being darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God, because of the ignorance that is in them, because of the hardening of their heart; who being past feeling gave themselves up to lasciviousness, to work all uncleanness with greediness, Ephesians 4:18-19.

What scares me is this doesn’t have to be heinous sin to work.  People who spend their days gossiping will become impervious to any sermons on the subject.  Satan has told them, “You’re only trying to help,” and they believe him.  People who begin every sentence about a person with, “I’ll never forget when he did [this] to me,” will never heed the lesson about the unforgiving servant who was handed over to the torturers for his lack of mercy.  “That’s different,” Satan tells them, and they believe that too.  Any sin can deceive you.  Any sin can take you captive, even the smallest.

What can we do?  Never excuse sin in yourself.  Look to Jehovah, the Psalmist says in 25:15, and he will pluck you out of the net—he’ll rescue you from those abductors.  Exhort one another, the Hebrew writer says in 3:13, so that you won’t be so easily deceived.  Prove the spirits, John tells us in 1 John 4:1, and look for the way of escape Paul adds in 1 Cor 10:13. 

Don’t open the door when Satan knocks.  Don’t let yourself be taken captive.

But I see a different law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity under the law of sin which is in my members. Wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me out of the body of this death? I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord...There is therefore now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus made me free from the law of sin and of death. Romans 7:23-8:2

Dene Ward