2 Timothy 1:3-7

 I am grateful to God—whom I worship with a clear conscience, as my ancestors did—when I remember you constantly in my prayers night and day. Recalling your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy. I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you. For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.

I pray daily that the faith my husband and I share will find its way down through the family tree and take root in the lives of our grandchildren . . . and in their children. This is not something that we can control, of course, but we are pinning our hopes on small passages like this one. 

Timothy had a grandmother who followed Jesus. And a mother. What a legacy! I am immensely grateful for the legacy that I have, on both sides, from my grandparents. And for the legacy that my husband has, on both sides, from his.

Now, we try to keep the line going. To love our littlest ones (and those who are FAR from little, these days!) in the way that Jesus loves them. We do it imperfectly. But we are consciously aware of wanting to do it better and better. 

Lord, hear our prayer. May we, and our children, and our grandchildren, and their children, be found faithful. May we not be afraid of questions, or of theological or ecclesiological differences, but look only for fruit and for faithfulness in these kids that you’ve given us. Help us — always, always, always — to love them as you do. Thank you for each and every one of them. Each and every!

Exodus 34:1-9, 27-28

The Lord said to Moses, “Cut two tablets of stone like the former ones, and I will write on the tablets the words that were on the former tablets, which you broke. Be ready in the morning, and come up in the morning to Mount Sinai and present yourself there to me, on the top of the mountain. No one shall come up with you, and do not let anyone be seen throughout all the mountain; and do not let flocks or herds graze in front of that mountain.” So Moses cut two tablets of stone like the former ones; and he rose early in the morning and went up on Mount Sinai, as the Lord had commanded him, and took in his hand the two tablets of stone. The Lord descended in the cloud and stood with him there, and proclaimed the name, “The Lord.” The Lord passed before him, and proclaimed,

“The Lord, the Lord,
a God merciful and gracious,
slow to anger,
and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,
keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation,
forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin,
yet by no means clearing the guilty,
but visiting the iniquity of the parents
upon the children
and the children’s children,
to the third and the fourth generation.”

And Moses quickly bowed his head toward the earth, and worshiped. He said, “If now I have found favor in your sight, O Lord, I pray, let the Lord go with us. Although this is a stiff-necked people, pardon our iniquity and our sin, and take us for your inheritance.”

Then the Lord said to Moses, “Write down these words, for in accordance with these words I have made a covenant with you and with Israel.” Moses was there with the Lord forty days and forty nights without eating bread or drinking water. And he wrote on the tablets the words of the covenant—the Ten Commandments.

There is something lovely about this small story, this encounter. Moses and God are both tired out. The people have done it again — gone off the rails, in a big way. Moses is so disgusted by their behavior, that he trashes the tablets upon which God had written the law, the guidebook for their future. Yet God isn’t done with them, no, God is not. 

He invites Moses to come away . . . again. Just Moses, no one else, including animals. And Moses goes, taking two blank stone tablets with him.

Here is what I love: GOD SHOWS UP. And this description is gorgeous. God descends in a cloud and he utters words of such poignant beauty. God tells it like it is: God’s love is ever-lasting — “to the thousandth generation” — but the sins of the people have consequences, consequences for themselves and their children and their children’s children. The consequences last some time, yes. But that time is nothing compared to the ‘thousand generations’ of God’s limitless love and grace. Forgiveness is promised, consequences remain.

I have seen the truth of this in every single pastoral counseling and spiritual direction session I have ever been in. We often need help navigating those dual realities: everlasting forgiveness, and consequences — even, maybe especially, generational consequences — for sin and brokenness. 

Those closing two verses tell us that God and Moses get down to work after this lovely opening salvo. The tablets will be filled again, the law will go out to the people — a gift and a burden.

Truth is like that sometimes.

God of truth, God of love, God of mercy — thank you for keeping steadfast love for us, thank you for walking with us through the consequences of our own sinful behavior, thank you for giving us the guidebook of the law. But thank you  most of all for sending Jesus to help us reinterpret that law and live it more fully and joyfully than ever.

Psalm 32

Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.

Happy are those to whom the LORD imputes no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit.

While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. Selah

Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity; I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the LORD,” and you forgave the guilt of my sin. Selah

Therefore let all who are faithful offer prayer to you; at a time of distress, the rush of mighty waters shall not reach them.

You are a hiding place for me; you preserve me from trouble; you surround me with glad cries of deliverance. Selah

I will instruct you and teach you the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.

Do not be like a horse or a mule, without understanding, whose temper must be curbed with bit and bridle, else it will not stay near you. Many are the torments of the wicked, but steadfast love surrounds those who trust in the LORD.

Be glad in the LORD and rejoice, O righteous, and shout for joy, all you upright in heart.

Well, that mule imagery is way too familiar! How often do I want to pull away, to sulk, to avoid acknowledging the myriad ways I fall short of the mark. Yet I have also experienced the ‘steadfast love’ that surrounds ‘those who trust in the LORD.’ That’s the wonder of it all —both things are true.

This is a wonderful psalm, filled with truth, with good news, and with just enough warning to make me pay careful attention. Confession IS good for the soul, the Lord IS a hiding place, rejoicing and gladness DO lighten the heart and the step. 

The harder things noted in this brief song, these are also true, aren’t they? When we turn away from communication with our God, we do ‘waste away,’ and we begin to feel as though God’s hand is ‘heavy,’ sapping our strength as ‘the heat of summer.’  

There is an important contrast being made here, and that contrast is not between Good God and bad god, it is not between loving God and punishing God. The true contrast being described here is what happens within us, the duplicity we all live with, day in and day out. There is always that push/pull for us — desiring God/resisting God. 

This song encourages us to keep letting the better angels win the day.

Almighty God, work into my soul a deep willingness to move with you rather than resist you. Open my heart to the joy of your forgiveness, the warmth of  your acceptance, the power of your encouragement. For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

1 Kings 19:1-8

Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” Then he was afraid; he got up and fled for his life, and came to Beer-sheba, which belongs to Judah; he left his servant there.

But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.” He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again. The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.” He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God.

Again, with the wilderness — like Jesus, yesterday. And again, with sitting under a plant — Like Jonah a few days ago. All similarities end there, however, don’t they?

This is one of my favorite narratives in all of scripture, this entire story of Elijah’s exhaustion, refreshment, and then his contact with God on the mountain that comes later in this chapter. I SO relate to parts of this story. I think we’ve all met Jezebel somewhere along the way — that person or that circumstance which just topples us, especially when we find ourselves depleted after an intense time of giving out to others. 

Elijah has just left one mountaintop experience — the one where he dueled with the prophets of a foreign god — and is on his way to another, very different one. But in the middle, right here, he is struck down by fear, fear that blooms out of depletion. Ever been there? You work, and you give, you plan and you execute, you dream and you make it happen . . . and you.are.DONE.

That’s where Elijah is in this passage. A vindictive queen has sent a terrifying message and he is clean out of ideas, spent of all energy.

But God sees him. Exactly as he is. And an ‘angel’ arrives, someone bearing gifts. I have no clue what this angel looked like — maybe a passing shepherd, maybe a ‘mountain man,’ who knows? Whoever it was, this being was someone sent directly by the compassionate hand of our God, someone who brought exactly what was needed: food, water and encouragement. Catch that last word there? “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.” 

There are times when those exact words are the ones I am desperate to hear: take care of yourself, do what is necessary to replenish, plan ahead for the demands that are still coming. Yes, yes, yes.

Thank you, Lord, for being a God who sees, knows and cares. Thank you for seeing our weakness, for loving us in the midst of that weakness, and for helping us to be careful, to be kind to ourselves. Thank you that YOU are kind. 

Jonah 4:4-11

But this was very displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry. He prayed to the Lord and said, “O Lord! Is not this what I said while I was still in my own country? That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. And now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” And the Lord said, “Is it right for you to be angry?” Then Jonah went out of the city and sat down east of the city, and made a booth for himself there. He sat under it in the shade, waiting to see what would become of the city.

The Lord God appointed a bush, and made it come up over Jonah, to give shade over his head, to save him from his discomfort; so Jonah was very happy about the bush. But when dawn came up the next day, God appointed a worm that attacked the bush, so that it withered. When the sun rose, God prepared a sultry east wind, and the sun beat down on the head of Jonah so that he was faint and asked that he might die. He said, “It is better for me to die than to live.”

But God said to Jonah, “Is it right for you to be angry about the bush?” And he said, “Yes, angry enough to die.” Then the Lord said, “You are concerned about the bush, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night. And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?”

“Is it right for you to be angry about the bush?” Ouch. Is it right for any of us to be led by our anger? For me, this is a primary teaching point in the book of Jonah. First, is the expansive grace and inclusion of God. Second, is the misplaced and unrighteous anger we so often carry around with us. 

But here’s the thing: God doesn’t give up on anybody in this beautiful, small story, not even Jonah. Think about it. There is a level of intimacy between these two that is remarkable. And God’s patience, gentleness and calm assurance all along the journey they take together — well, they are nothing short of astounding. 

There is not one thing inherently wrong with anger. In fact, it can often be a gift, stirring us to needed self-protection or action on behalf of others. But anger that moves into the deeper levels of our psyche, that propels us to a live in a constant state of discontent — that kind of anger is corrosive. God, of course, knows this. And God recognizes it in his servant, Jonah.

And God calls him on it. “Is it right for you to be angry . . .?”

Clearly, it is not right. These are the last words in the book. We are not told if Jonah hears and understands what God has said. We are not told if Jonah chooses to release his anger and to receive the love, grace and goodness of God that is offered to anyone and everyone who hears the call and chooses to say ‘yes.’

I wonder what he chose to do, don’t you?

I want to be a friend who says, ‘yes,’ God. I want to release my anger, to rejoice in the generosity you offer to us all. I want to celebrate every single act of repentance and to acknowledge with humility that I don’t know what is best, that I don’t know who is ‘in,’ that I don’t know all that there is to know about YOU. Help me to walk through this season of repentance with openness, gratitude, and with a spirit of joy that goes deep into my bones. Thank you.