Author: Jon Partlow

No one embodied the greatness of sports more than Mohammad Ali. While his record of 56 wins, including 37 TKO’s, with only five losses has been matched by other fighters, no one has matched the quality of opponents Ali faced. Ali stood on the mountain of greatness and faced some of the other greatest fighters ever, and won. If winning against the best wasn’t enough, Ali was the self-proclaimed GOAT, declaring, “I am the Greatest.” His prowess immortalized in the photo of him standing over Sonny Liston, taunting him to stand up and fight. If being the greatest fighter ever wasn’t enough, Ali could speak in lyrical verse as easily as we can speak in pros, flowing from his lips with entertaining ease and meaning. What separated Ali from all the other great athletes was that he not only believed he was the greatest of all time, but that he wasn’t afraid to say it, either.

We play for bragging rights. My brother and I played one on one basketball in the backyard. The third game and tie breaker was not for a world cup but simply bragging rights. Couples gather around the table for a night of cards. No money exchanges hands, but whoever wins has bragging rights. At least until the next time. Two regional and rival football teams face off. They may be out of contention for a title, and nothing is on the line, except for bragging rights.

In a world where winner takes all, the gospel calls us to play a different kind of game.

Paul was losing his fight to win over the Corinthian church. He was on the ropes and his opponents held the advantage. He was taken a beating, or we might say, “takin’ a whoopin’.” The opponents, antagonistic to Paul, were filled with their own bragging rights. As one reads through 2 Corinthians, their story starts to come into clear focus.

They were proud of their Jewish pedigree (11:22-23a) and promised a more powerful experience with the Holy Spirit, something Paul had supposedly failed to provide (e.g., 3:817,18). They carried with them letters of recommendation (3:1), likely from Jerusalem, giving them some form of authority. Paul never produced such letters, thus Paul lacked true authority. They were trained speakers who waxed eloquently (11:6), all the while accusing Paul of being timid (10:1, 10). They accepted financial support from Corinth, and used that position against Paul (12:16). Paul refused such backing from Corinth, but was collecting funds for the famine relief in Jerusalem. The opponents may have feared the gold mine in Corinth might soon dry up. Seeing a hole to exploit, they used Paul’s “change of plans” as a means to undermine his truthfulness (1:15-22). Paul was not to be trusted. Sure, they preached Jesus (11:4), but not the Jesus Paul preached. They preached a Jesus of success, power, and popularity, unlike Paul’s version of Jesus: weakness, poverty, and shame. And to boot, the opponents self-promoted themselves (3:1), filling their arguments with boasting and bragging rights. Ultimately, the Corinthians’ were buying what these opponents were selling. Why not? If we were honest, we would too.  

The story is told of a church looking for the perfect preacher. Candidate after candidate was rejected for the smallest flaw or perceived fault. After going through countless prospects, one of the committee members presented a letter to the board of a potential minister for their church. The letter read as follows:

“I’m over fifty years of age. I have never preached in one place for more than three years. In some places I have left town after my work caused riots and disturbances. I must admit I have been in jail three or four times, but not because I’ve broken any laws.

“My heath is not too good, though I still get a great deal accomplished. The churches I have preached in have been small, though located in several large cities. I’ve not gotten along well with religious leaders in towns where I have preached. In fact, some have threatened me and even attacked me physically. I’m not too good at keeping records, as I have been known to forget whom I baptized.

“However, if you can use me, I shall do my best for you.”

The member looked over the rest of the committee, “Well, what do you think? Shall we call him?”

That the committee was aghast might have been an understatement. How could this member believe that their good church would even consider a man who has nothing but a troublemaking, absentminded, ex-jailbird? Was the board member crazy? They demanded to know who sent the letter.

The board member eyed them keenly and replied, “It’s signed, the ‘Apostle Paul.’”

Rome played for bragging rights. They boasted an unprecedented era of world peace and marketed it as Pax Romana, The Peace of Rome. But the peace was achieved through terror, intimidation, fear mongering, and the brutal and shaming execution of the crucifixion. On roads, highway, hills and any place visible to the public they crucified those who dared to defy their government. Like a billboard on our interstates, they advertised their reign of terror. “This is what happens to anyone who stands in defiance of the State.” You can almost hear the taunt, “Na nan a na, hey hey-ey, goodbye!”

On a hill outside of Jerusalem God set up his own advertisement. While Rome was owning the bragging rights, God allowed his Son to be humiliated, shamed, abused, scourged, and mocked as by-standers hurled insults like they were hurling stones. The naked victim, no he did not have a loin cloth around his midriff, was exposed and disgraced. The innocent man was executed in the most horrific and indignant way possible. The cross was not a platform for bragging rights, which makes Isaac Watts words so profound: “Forbid it Lord that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my Lord.”

Rome bragged. God was shamed. It’s the biblical narrative often flipped by American churches. For when we distort the narrative of the cross, we will distort the narrative of our faith, our churches, and our ministries. For we will begin to operate out of personal strength, talent, and pride that looks nothing like the cross. It is what Paul was battling and contending with concerning the outside influences in Corinth.

Paul could go head-to-head with these opponents, and no doubt win a no-contest against them if not a TKO. But that might be playing into their hand. He certainly has the right pedigree himself along with proper training. And no one can doubt his service to Christ. But instead of continuing that road, Paul takes another path as he redefines boasting and bragging rights.

As Paul will say, “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness” (2 Cor. 11:30). Wow, talk about flipping the narrative!? Paul is willing to self-disclose the very things we try to hide and minimize. He’s willing to show his pain, his weakness, his vulnerability, and his suffering so that whatever good happens is credited to Jesus. That is why his list includes prison time. He lists floggings, lashings, beatings, and stoning’s. He’s been shipwrecked, more than once, and spent a night and day on the open sea. Danger threatens him at every turn. He’s known hunger and thirst and gone without food. He’s been cold and naked. He carries around the burden of the church and when members are led into sin, he feels the burn too.

Sometimes I think our image of the Apostle Paul looks too much like a Mohammed Ali hovering over Sonny Liston, taunting and thumping his chest, defeating some of the greatest around him like George Foreman and “Smokin’” Joe Frazier. But such an image is imposed by our American mindset of greatness. If we were to meet the Apostle Paul personally, I believe we’d find someone less imposing, someone less impressive. The Corinthians knew him, and that’s how they felt about Paul. Why should we who have never met Paul think any differently?

Where most want to talk about their wealth, Paul talks about his poverty. When most want to speak about the ease their life has been, Paul reveals how hard his life has been. While most will keep count of the people they converted and baptized, but draws a blank on that number. If most want to let everyone know what they’ve won, Paul makes sure everyone knows what he’s lost. While most want to brag about what they get right, Paul confesses about what he’s gotten wrong. Why? Because the weakness exposed in our lives means we are relying not on ourselves, but on God. That’s why Paul’s bragging rights don’t look like much to boast about.

I wonder what my bragging rights might entail. Would I talk about being ADHD and the difficulties that come with keeping focused on task, or how ADHD is linked to anxiety and depression making the peace of God a challenging experience? Do I let you know that as much as I love to read now, as a child I hated reading? I was slow and reading compression meant I studied twice as hard for half the grades. Sometimes my people skills are lacking. My debating skills are weak, I stumble to find my words while speaking, and as much as I want to I cannot “free bird” preach, often relying heavily on my notes. And after thirty-five years in ministry, I am the walking wounded to which I feel more like a failure than champion.

No, I don’t have much bragging rights. But then again, no one else does either. And that may just be Paul’s point.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

In 1979 my friend, Don, and some of his buddies, ventured their way up to the ski resort on Mt. Hood in Oregon for a day on the slopes. As he and his friends piled into his car they made their way to Government Camp, the last and main stop before reaching Timberline Lodge. From the camp to the lodge was a sixteen minute, winding, switchback steep road, ascending two thousand more feet. With snow already on the ground, and their car was a typical rear-wheel vehicle, they had to make a choice: take the time to put chains on the tires or make the climb without them. Chains were a must in snowy or icy conditions on Mt. Hood, but they were teenagers and were not interested in sacrificing ski time for traction.

Leaving Government Camp, they spent the next hour fishtailing, spinning their tires, and inching their way up the mountain. With no end in sight, the boys gave up and admitted defeat. They were losing precious skiing time, and who knows how much longer they had till they reached the lodge? They pulled over, unloaded the car, dug out the chains, mounted them to back wheels, and then reloaded the car. As they got back in their vehicle they knew they had a renewed hope. The next turn they made put them directly into the parking lot of Timberline Lodge. They had given up. They had waved the white flag. They had surrendered on the brink of reaching their destination.

Life is hard. Living by faith is harder.

In 2 Corinthians 4 Paul makes a bold statement, not once but twice. He tells us, “We do not lose heart.” We are not kind who give up, surrender, quit, or walk away while the ball is still in play. We may want to. We may be tempted to do so. We may be pushed to the brink, but we cling to our faith like we’re hanging on by the very last thread.

The two times Paul declares, “we do not lose heart,” act as bookends to hold his overarching thought together. In verse one he speaks of integrity and checking our agenda at the door. We refuse to deceive, to manipulate, and to “fear monger,” as it’s not about us. It’s never about us. We’re simply jars of clay who have been given the gospel as if it were a prized treasure.

Because life is hard, and living by faith is harder, Paul openly concedes how easy it might be to lose heart. Refusing to gloss over life and embrace faith, Paul is frank about the cost of discipleship. To be honest Paul actually offers four reasons why we might be tempted to quit and to give up. They can be found in 2 Corinthians 4:8-9.

First, Paul says we are “hard pressed on every side.” Like a trash compactor, stress closes in, squeezing the life out of us. Feeling we have no escape, the pressure will not let up. We’re spiritually claustrophobic and our stress levels are exceeding safe levels of operation. Our plates get full as more stuff keeps getting piled on. And it’s constant. We see no end is in sight and it’s simply too much to handle.

 Secondly, he admits that we are “perplexed.” Things happen to us and events unfold that leave us baffled and puzzled with our equilibrium making us dizzy. Like a merry-go-round spinning out of control, we want to shout, “Stop the world! We want to get off!” We wonder how this could happen, and why it is happening. The more questions we ask, the fewer answers we find. And let’s be honest, those answers are often trivial and trite, masked in faith-like language.

Thirdly, Paul confirms that we are persecuted. Everyone turns against us, leaving us alone with feelings of abandonment. Persecution means the shouting voices of hate standing against us drown out the whispers of love from the voices standing with you.

Finally, Paul confirms the worst as we are “struck down.” Such language has doom written all over it. “Struck down” almost sounds like we’ve been slain in battle, and we’re left to take our last breath on the battlefield of life. Game over and no hope survives.

Hard pressed, perplexed, persecuted, and struck down. In the midst of such pain and suffering, where is God? More importantly, how does one prevent themselves from giving up, throwing in the towel, or losing heart?

If anyone has a cause to loose heart it might be my fifth grade teacher, Edwina Schackmann. Edwina towered over everyone at maybe five feet. Maybe with heels. But she was a giant of faith. While she commanded the respect of her students and fellow teachers, she commanded even more of her faith. But her story is not for the faint of heart.  

Edwina and her husband had three boys, and her husband was a salesman who traveled the Pacific Northwest. On this particular day he invited his wife to join him on his sales trip with a stop off at the beach. Edwina packed a lunch, and with their youngest in tow, they headed on their adventure. Unbeknownst to them, their beautiful day was to turn into a nightmare. A drunk driver met them head on. Edwina’s husband was killed from the impact. Edwina suffered broken bones in her back. The baby, thrown from the car, fortunately landed in a soft patch of grass.

For months Edwina recovered in the hospital in a partial body cast. Recovering from her broken heart took longer. I’m sure a lot longer. When she taught me, her boys had grown to be respectable, Godly men making their mom (and dad) proud. I remember Edwina talking about sitting in the hospital with nothing to do. She read her bible and used her cast as a table to cut art projects and lessons for the children’s bible classes.

Edwina lost her husband. She lost a father to help her raise their boys. She could have lost her faith. She didn’t. She endured and was never one for losing heart.

Where do we go to find the strength to endure, because life is hard and living by faith is harder.

Returning to 2 Corinthians 4:8-10, for each of those reasons to lose heart, Paul offers hope. While he admits life is hard, he reminds us how God is the one who holds us together. The strength to endure does not come from within, but from the One who empowers you from within. So yes, we are “hard pressed on every side,” but God says we are “not crushed.” We may hurt, and often do, but we’re able to press forward.

Sure, “we are perplexed,” but God states we are “not in despair.” Hope will not abandon us, nor will it disappoint. We will scratch our head trying to make sense of life, but that it leads to abandon all hope is not part of God’s will.

True, we are often “persecuted,” but God promises that we are “not abandoned;” we are never alone. Jesus promises to never leave us or forsake us, so that the whispers of love quiets the shouts of hate.

And of course we can be “struck down,” but God declares we are “not destroyed.” We get hit and even knocked down, but we don’t get knocked out. We get back up and go on living, enduring, and even thriving. 

Because God is with us, sustains us, and fuels the fire within us, “we will not lose heart.” The closing exhortation bookend occurs in verse 16. Even though physically we are wasting away, inwardly we are being renewed. The strength to endure comes from God who fuels the Spirit within us. If allowed, his Spirit will keep us moving with forward progress. So it’s true, life is hard and living by faith is harder, which is why, in spite of the reasons above, “we do not lose heart.”

My friend Jamie takes a group every spring to hike the Grand Canyon. The Phantom Ranch Trail is a 10 mile hike down and another back along a path with 500 feet vertical cliffs. You walk down, but it’s a climb coming out. Every year 12 people die at the Grand Canyon from falling, dehydration, or medical problems exacerbated by the hike. A couple of years ago, Jamie and his crew met a man who was on the edge of being another fatal statistic.

With four and a half miles to the top Jamie’s group was on target to reach the entrance before dark, no later than 5:30. But then, they met a man struggling to make it out. He was physically and mentally unprepared for the hike (he was over-dressed, overweight, and had packed an 85 lbs. backpack including a tent for a day hike). He had no water. No food. No electrolytes. No friends, as the group he was with left him behind. To say he was spent was an understatement. To say he was losing heart and that his body was giving out was not far from the truth.

Knowing the switchbacks were only getting steeper and harder, Jamie convinced the man to join his party. But doing so meant a much slower pace. Much slower. With the crew acting as a buffer to prevent him from falling, they started the ascent. They walked him out by these simple instructions. They were taking 20 steps then resting for 20 breaths. Then they repeated the process: 20 steps followed by 20 resting breaths. They continued the cadence for the next six and a half hours arriving well past their scheduled arrival time. When they reached the entrance of the park, they were hardly on record time. But it wasn’t about a record, it was about not giving up against all odds. It was about not losing heart.

Maybe you’re on the verge of giving up and you’ve been feeling the hope leak out of you like a small hole in a balloon. You are losing heart, and you don’t know from where the strength to take the next step will come. Or, maybe you will encounter someone today who is losing heart. It’s easy to do when death hovers over us on a daily basis. Life is hard and living by faith is harder. Maybe the way out is the slow pace where you take 20 steps forward followed by 20 resting breaths. You repeat this process so that you do not lose heart. You repeat this process until you reach the summit, which you may not reach it very fast, but will reach it. It’s not about speed or record pace. It’s about not losing heart, to keep forward progressing moving. And who knows that right behind the next turn maybe your destination. 

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e,. only God is glorified!)

It’s always easier to look where you’re going because “seeing is believing.” Scripture challenges us to flip the scenario so that “believing is seeing.” Ask that to the disciple we know as Doubting Thomas who declared that he’ll only believe when he touches the nail scars of Jesus. Once Thomas was confronted by the resurrected Jesus, he confessed his faith. Jesus agreed that he believed, but only because he saw, then added, “Blessed are those who have not seen yet believe” (Jn. 20:29).

Paul, in 2 Corinthians 5:7, said it like this, “We walk by faith, not by sight.”

Three times in three verses Paul drops the word “for” to sum up his main thoughts at the end of 2 Corinthians 4 and the very beginning of 2 Corinthians 5. The first “for” underscores our hope that whatever grief and suffering we are experiencing now will be outweighed by the glory God has in store for us (4:17). The second “for” foreshadows our faith and is found in the middle of verse 18 as Paul says we focus on what is unseen, rather than what is seen. Specifically, our reward cannot be seen by the naked eye but we believe God is holding it for us. The third “for” appears in the first verse of chapter five which highlights the same thought as the previous one: our earthly bodies will wear out and break down, and that is ok. God has a new spiritual body awaiting us that that will not be susceptible to pain and suffering, nor will it ever experience sickness and death. All we can see with our eyes is the physical weakness our bodies experience as it deteriorates over time. Yet we see something else in the future when our bodies will endure with strength for all eternity.

Thus, as Paul says, “We walk by faith, not by sight.”

We walk by sight when we believe our mortal body is the end all to the story; we walk by faith when our longing for the immortal body is realized. We walk by sight when making spiritual decisions based on charisma; we walk by faith when we make spiritual decisions based on the Fruit of the Spirit. We walk by sight when we pull away from God during times of suffering; we walk by faith when we draw close to God through suffering because God comes closer to us in times of affliction. We walk by sight when we focus on the temporary; we walk by faith when we focus on the eternal. We walk by sight when we measure success by crowds, money, and volunteers; we walk by faith when we measure success by transformed lives. We walk by sight when we see affliction as the end-game; we walk by faith when we see glory as the end-game, even when glory goes through the path of affliction. We walk by sight when we jump on the latest bandwagon; we walk by faith when we live with our eyes focused on Jesus.

So Paul reminds us, “We walk by faith, not by sight.”

I once knew a preacher who was diagnosed with third stage cancer. He was a rough and tough navy man who fought in the War but when he converted to Christ he became a kind and joyful preacher. He spent some forty years preaching and ministering in local churches in the Pacific Northwest. With his diagnoses before him, and his death imminent, he and his wife visited their children and grandchildren in Texas. On their return flight he was settling into his seat. The stewardess walked by and stopped, staring at the man before moving on to her duties. Later, she did same thing, stopping to gaze almost in wander of the man. On her third encounter she addressed the man, saying, “I’m sorry to bother you, sir.” She continued, “But did you know your face was glowing?” Glowing. Having known this man personally, and I can almost imagine how his face was beaming, and even more when his smile broke across his face. He replied to the stewardess, saying, “I’m going home to see my Father.”

We walk by faith, not by sight.

A man went to his minister and confessed his struggle to pray. To him it always felt like a one way conversation, where God never answered, if God ever listened at all. His mind often wandered as he failed to stay on task. And what words were spoken, he felt, never penetrated the ceiling of the room where he prayed. The minister absorbed his concerns, and in comforting the man offered a suggestion. He said, “Why not pull an empty chair up to you and then talk to God as if he was sitting in front of you. The man gave it some thought but never spoke to the minister about the matter again.

Decades later the man was transitioning at home. He was in bed, nearing death. That night the patient passed and when the family found him in the morning, he was not in bed. They found the man kneeling before a chair that was next to the bed with his head resting on the empty seat as if his head was resting on someone’s lap.

We walk by faith, not by sight.

I was a child during the seventies when the search for Noah’s Ark was all the rage. A movie and some TV documentaries had come out cataloging, inconclusively, people’s attempt to locate the famous ship. Eyewitnesses claimed to have seen it and described its structure, but no physical evidence was ever produced. The movie and shows fueled a frenzy of faith discussions.

One particular afternoon, I was with a handful of neighborhood children talking about the ark and whether or not it was real. One kid said, probably echoing words he had heard at home, “If the ark is real, why doesn’t God allow us to find it so that we can all believe?” As if settling the ark’s existence would solve all other doubts and skeptics on God and faith.

I was just a kid at the time and had no comeback. My oldest brother happened to have overheard the comment as he was headed to his car. He blurted out, “Because then it wouldn’t be faith.”

The Hebrews writer might say, “Faith is being sure of what we do not see” (Heb. 11:1). But Paul says it this way, “We walk by faith, not by sight.”   

I’m reminded of the time Jesus sent his twelve disciples across the Sea of Galilee; he’d catch up with them later. In the middle of night as they were about halfway across the eight mile body of water, they were frantically working against the wind. I could almost hear Peter barking out instructions to the eleven. Like a running back hitting the Steelers famed Iron Curtain, forward progress had come to a sudden stop. The depth below them was one hundred forty feet, and they weren’t wearing life jackets, and who knows what lurked beneath the deep? We know four of the men were experienced fishermen, leaving the majority as land lovers. This boat, packed full of scared men, could easily capsize. Here they saw Jesus walking on the waters, though they were convinced it was a ghost. When Jesus called to them, Peter sought confirmation. “If it is you, Lord, tell me to come to you on the water.” (Mt. 14:28).

Jesus extended the invitation as the water was just fine.

Peter, with his eyes fixed on Jesus, began walking on the water toward the Lord. Yea, walking on the water. But he took his eyes off Jesus, focusing on the violent, threatening waves slapping him in the face, trying to sweep the legs. When his attention shifted from Jesus to the waves, he sunk and almost drowned. Almost, as Jesus reached down to pull Peter from the waters.

Peter could have said it, but Paul wrote it, “We walk by faith, not by sight.”

As Jesus made his way through the garden, he so desperately wanted those closest to him to remain close to him. They didn’t. They fell asleep foreshadowing their failure when Jesus really did need them. Jesus would face the night, alone. As he prayed, death hovered over the Savior like a dark ominous bird of prey with its talons retracted waiting for the attack. Oh, with the cross before him, how Jesus wanted this cup to pass. Luke tells us that as he prayed, sweat poured from him like drops of blood, to remind us how deep the anguish Jesus felt. But Jesus’ words, “No my will, but yours be done” (Lk. 22:42), only highlighted the truth that even Jesus “walked by faith, not by sight.”

Time and time again Scripture reinforces the theme,
                as if we are called to drink from this heavenly stream;

The youthful David faced the Goliath giant,
                with only a sling and five smooth stones, his victory was not kept quiet;

Abraham was called to leave his home.
                to venture to a land he would never own;

Israel was pinned in between Pharaoh’s army and the Red Sea,
                and it was the parting of the waters where they’d be free;

Mary embraced her call to bear her shame,
                and the child born to her would wear the Lord’s Name;

Hannah made a vow to God to give her a son,
                giving the child to God only meant the story had just begun;

Daniel was thrown into a den filled with lions,
                praying to God was his only reliance;

Everything in Peter said going to the Gentile Cornelius was wrong,
                but witnessing the Spirit descend on that family became his theme song;

Rahab hid the Israelites spies in her home,
                allowing her faith to be passed down to the next generation like a chromosome.

So if the path you tread is in need of light,
                then remember this that we all walk by faith, not by sight.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

Following the death of my father the empty void in my life felt like a black hole encompassing me, often suspecting I’d never escape to the light. On a dark spring Sunday morning, while finalizing my sermon, I was on the cusp of giving up. I didn’t know where the strength or courage would come, not only for the sermon, but also for the long rugged road ahead of me. I prayed. I prayed for God to send me comfort to grant me the strength and courage I needed to preach. More so, I prayed for endurance as I was wandering through this season of spiritually barren wasteland and deserted wilderness.

As worship was beginning I found myself in the foyer of the church to welcome members who were still arriving. Terry entered the building. We shook hands and “small-talked” just for a moment before he headed toward our sanctuary. As he reached the closed doors he turned back to me and said, “You are the bravest man I know,” then proceeded to enter the sanctuary.

I was beat down, depressed, and my cup of anxiety was fizzing to explode like I was a shaken Coke bottle. To say I saw myself at the end of my rope was an understatement. But almost like the rainbow breaking through the clouds, Terry broke through my despair. Certain that I was not as brave as he claimed I was, his words offered hope. Without him knowing the ramifications he gave me the strength to move forward. It was a moment where I was at the end, “But God” comforted me with Terry’s words to remind me, “It’s only the beginning.”

Paul had his own “But God” moment in 2 Corinthians 7:6. The relationship between the church in Corinth and the apostle had all but disintegrated. The church he planted had turned on him, rejecting his leadership and message. He tried an intervention only to be run out of town (2 Cor. 2:1-2). Afterward he wrote a letter, outlining his expectations for the church, and sent it by Titus (2 Cor. 2:3-4). Then he waited. He waited some more. In the silence he waited. Without all the modern conveniences like “snail” mail, email, texting, or a phone call, Paul was forced to wait. We know about the waiting in the silence: an unanswered, sensitive text or phone call forces us to start filling in the gaps with our anxious details. Those details are always the worst-case scenarios. Always. In that waiting, Paul fought all the negative messaging of his mind where his anxiety overcame and conquered his peace. I can almost hear his second guessing, “Poor Titus. Why did I send this lamb to the wolves for the slaughter?”

We usually don’t think of Paul as having doubts and fears, do we? We normally hoist him on a pedestal of strength and confidence, untouched by the fallen world around him. He’s an apostle who travels the world to plant churches and is a prolific writer as well. We think anything bad happening to him almost seems to roll off him like water off a duck’s back. Yet the biblical story speaks otherwise. Paul says he comes to Macedonia worn out with no rest (2 Cor. 7:5). Then he adds how much he has been harassed at every turn. Not only was he having a bad day, but every step he took was one continuous bad day after another bad day. It was worse than Alexander’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

In a run of bad days, Paul in 2 Corinthians 7:7 describes these days in two ways. First, there are “conflicts on the outside,” a likely reference to the antagonism he faced for preaching the gospel. Imagine speaking a message counter to the culture where pushback just might be physical. Then again, his preaching is in conflict with the very church whom he planted and nurtured their faith. He’s almost waving his arms and hands at the church saying, “Hey guys! The conflict and breakdown in our relationship is tearing me a part.” Conflict with people is common and we’re constantly navigating friendships to keep them afloat. Conflict with people you love and have invested yourself tend to keep you unsettled and awake at night reliving the breakdown over and over in our minds.

Secondly, he describes, “fears within.” Such fears are the second guessing, doubts, anxieties and is certainly based on the fallout with Corinth. If you are continually putting out brushfires, you will eventually get burned. Paul was up at night with his head spinning and his stomach in knots over the conflict with Corinth.

Paul faced this battle every day: outside conflicts and inside fears giving him no rest. Why not? I don’t think I would either. Relationships that fall apart coupled with inward anxiety create a perfect storm that guarantees no peace, no sanctuary, no rest. His lying awake, night after night, worrying about the friends in his church was tearing him apart, leaving him no more than a wounded warrior.

The seventeenth century theologian and historian, William Fuller, once said, “It is always darkest just before the day dawns.” If the meaning conveys that things are at their worst just before they get better, then two questions remain? How dark will it get before the light comes? And, how will God bring the light when it does come?

As if Paul was anticipating the answer, he wrote these two small words, “But God.” The shift was felt. Good news appeared like it was the rainbow stretched across the grey clouded sky.

Let’s allow those words, “But God,” to wash over ourselves for a minute. Something changed, and changed like it turned on a dime. Paul was having a few bad days, but God was about to change all of that. Paul was experiencing stressful anxiety, but God was about to bring comfort. Paul was at the end of his rope, but God provided a safety net. Paul was undergoing a worried-fueled insomnia, but God was about to bring him into peaceful rest.

Here’s the thing – God won’t be performing some miracle to deliver Paul from his trials. God is not removing Paul from his conflict, nor will he deliver him from his fears. God could, but God won’t. The truth is, he’ll do something simpler. In the end, the something unadorned will be just as powerful as a miracle, and maybe even more beautiful than a miracle.

Basing God’s action on his character, Paul describes God as one who comforts the downcast. To say it another way, when we are spiritually cold, God is the comforter blanket that brings warmth. For Paul, God comforts him by sending Titus (I told you the solution would be simple). The silent void is now filled with the return of Titus. Not only is Titus present, but he brings even better news as the Corinthians, bathing in a repentant spirit, long to see Paul. Titus’s arrival was the “But God who comforts the downcast,” as Paul says in verse 8, because you never know when simply showing up is the comfort someone has been praying for.

Not long ago I was visiting a patient. I sat in her living room listening compassionately to her stories. Finally, toward the end of the visit she confessed, saying, “Jon, do you know what I was doing before you arrived?” Since my gift is not foresight, I told her I didn’t know. She continued, “I was in my room praying that someone might come by to visit me today. I was so alone, and I felt abandoned by my family, and did not want to be by myself. I prayed to God to send me someone, then you showed up.”

I couldn’t help but reflect on my morning before this particular afternoon visit. I was trying to decide who to see and who to delay their visit for another day. This patient was a potential visit, but I kept wanting to bump her visit to the next day. The next day would have worked better for me. The next day would have made more sense for me. But something else was tugging at my heart, telling me to see her today. So I did, and in the end, and only in the end did I realize, that I was being used to be her “But God” moment. She was lonely with feelings of being abandoned and forsaken, but God answered her prayer and led me to visit her.

This morning as you make your way through contacting patients and walking into their homes and re-engaging lives, remember that there has been a moment, an hour, or even entire day or more when you have lost contact with them. Time has passed since you last saw and talked to them, and who knows what has transpired since your last visit. So keep this in mind. As you step back into their lives you just might be the “But God” moment for them where their prayer has been answered by your arrival.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

Sometimes it feels like we’re not good enough, strong enough, brave enough, or talented enough for God’s service. Even worse, sometimes we feel like we’re damaged goods, easily broken or even broken beyond repair. The truth is, we are, but we are held together by something stronger than ourselves.

Keith was one of my childhood friends. He lived about three blocks away, but maybe only a block if I cut through my neighbor’s backyard. We spent many hours at each other’s homes pretending to be going on adventures. His own long rectangular shaped backyard included a small wooded section, a shack, and a garden. While I have no memory of the plant-life in that garden, I do remember the clay jars.

You know the kind of jars I’m talking about. The dirty brown jars you can purchase at Walmart, Lowes, Home Depot or any lawn and garden store from two to fifteen dollars or more depending on size. Or better yet, they’re dirt cheap at a garage sale. Keith’s mom had a stack of them laying in the garden, right next to a small boulder-stone. Let me set the stage: two ten year old boys looking for something to do find a stack of a dozen potting plant jars next to a huge rock . . . what could possibly go wrong? After we smashed four or five of the jars, Keith’s mother bolted from her house like a greyhound racing dog bolting from a starting gate. While Keith was used to being in trouble by his mom, I wasn’t. She sent Keith to his room; she sent me home. If she told my mom, I didn’t get punished for it and I certainly never confessed my sin to my mother.

 We treated the clay jars like they were disposable, insignificant, fragile, meaningless, and cheap. To be honest, they were. Two kids raised in a throw-a-way society were handling these clay jars with the exact value we placed on them. They were a dime-a-dozen, destined for the trash anyway, so we thought. We thought wrong, but looking back on that day, we had a point.

When Paul describes the powerful moment God partners with us in ministry, he notes the imbalance. Let that sink in for a moment. God wants to work with us in his ministry. The All-Powerful holy God teams up with the frail fallibility of humanity. Mind blowing, right? It’s like God taking something of value and giving it to the insignificance of someone else. Oh, and guess what? It is.

Here is what Paul says in 2 Corinthians 4:7a, “We have this treasure in jars of clay . . . ”  

Treasures are to be safely locked up in a secure and sanctified vault where moth, rust, or thieves cannot get access. God should have taken the gospel and kept it safe and secure in heaven, next to his throne. In doing so he would have prevented it from being perverted, twisted, devalued, and destroyed. If he maintained control of the gospel in heaven, every hundred years or so, he could have removed the gospel from his heavenly vault and provided a world tour to remind us the beauty of this treasure. We could have purchased a ticket to gaze our eyes upon and marvel at this prized treasure. Instead, he freely entrusted it to us.

Here we are nothing more than a clay jar. We’re easily broken, damaged, disposed of, and insignificant as we’re just bargain-basement humans filled with flaws, shortcomings, sin, pride, and anxiety. We are fragile, both mentally and physically, not-to-mention spiritually. Some of us, if we’re honest, feel like we’re broken beyond repair. And we wonder. Why in God’s vast universe would he take the great and precious treasured gospel and give it to us to for safe keeping?

A good question, answered by Paul as he not only confirms we hold this treasure in jars of clay, but also “to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” God gives us this power of the gospel so that he can display his great work in and through us. It’s not our power, but our impotence. It’s not our strength, but our weakness. It’s not our greatness, but our insignificance. In the end when something incredible happens: God gets the credit for the work he does, not us.

Thus, it’s not about us. It never has. It’s all about God. It has always been all about God. He glorifies himself by showing his great power working through the frail and broken people as if we are clay jars. It’s called grace.

That’s how we roll. All of us are damaged goods, wounded and broken by life and situations. We’ve been wronged by people as much as we have wronged people. The scars maybe evident to all, or covered up by our masks, good works, or false pretense. But here we are the walking wounded entering people’s homes or lives to minister, to care, and to bring healing. We do that, not by our own power but through our own weakness – our own brokenness. The strength we exhibit comes from God.

Sometime back I was attending a funeral visitation for a dear friend. He was a gentle soul filled with joy, love, and grace. His nephew pulled me aside to share a story in which his deceased uncle had helped shape his perspective, a perspective he is trying to pass on to his children and grandchildren. He told me he was a young teenager when a close relative passed away. The passing was a blow to the family and they were mourning. They were hurting. In his youthful pride he told his uncle, “We need to be brave for the women.” At the time he was like thirteen years old, attempting to be the “man of the house,” convinced that being tearless was the manly and adulating behavior. His uncle gently reminded him, saying, “You know, Jesus wept at a funeral too.”

It’s not about the strength we think we have, but about the strength we have in God. It’s not about how well we hold it together, but how well God holds us together.

The late Christian song writer, Rich Mullins, may have captured it best when he wrote these words:

Well, it took the hand of God Almighty to part the waters of the sea ● But it only took one lie to separate you and me ● Oh, we are not as strong as we think we are ● And they say that one day Joshua made the sun stand still in the sky ● But I can’t even keep these thoughts of you from passing by ● Oh, we are not as strong as we think we are ■ And the Master said their faith was gonna make them mountains move ● But me, I tremble like a hill on a fault line just at the thought of how I lost you ● When you love you walk on the water, just don’t stumble on the waves ● We all want to go there something awful, but to stand there it takes some grace ● Oh, we are not as strong as we think we are ■ We are frail, we are fearfully and wonderfully made ● Forged in the fires of human passion ● Choking on the fumes of selfish rage ● And with these our hells and our heavens so few inches apart ● We must be awfully small and not as strong as we think we are.

The truth is we’re not. We are not that strong. Such lyrics drive home to the truth of Paul’s image that we are   like fragile, disposable clay jars: easily damaged, easily demolished, easily discarded. But herein lies the good news for those who feel like they are spiritually falling apart, for maybe the point Paul is making is that God acts like the duct tape holding us together.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

I wish I could see clearly. I have trouble with blurred and double vision, especially when fatigued – I have to take my glasses off to read. Not fun. Not fun at all. I also have trouble with perspective, which often keeps me from seeing clearly as well. But don’t we all? Between my own anxiety and blinders things seem blurry or distorted. Sometimes, we just need a vision-check. My own vision-check came by a fella I nicknamed, Hank.

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Almost six years ago I was hired to preach at a local church in Scioto County. A month into my ministry, Hank hobbled into my office. Time was not kind to him as his well-worn faced aged him. His clothes hung from his frail thin body. Cancer was a major set-back, but he credited God for his healing. He was the victim of a hard life and was filled with anger and bitterness, sometimes spewing unkind words about people, some of whom were those closest to him. His bent body reflected a bent anger. On top of his head was a black cowboy hat with a thin woven leather band. He wore it everywhere he went. As he sat in my office looking at me, he promised we were going to be close friends because he and my predecessor, according to his story, were close friends. I was skeptical, filled with doubt that a friendship could be sustained between the two of us. He was angry, opinionated, and we had nothing in common. My predecessor died of cancer after a twenty-plus year ministry. My predecessor presented Hank with a Bible he cherished like it was an Olympic Gold Medal. I couldn’t compete with that memory. No, it wouldn’t work and the friction between us was real. I didn’t trust him. If I was honest, I didn’t like him very much, either. Oh we were friendly, but we weren’t friends.

Time passed. A few months later Hank hobbled into my office wearing his black cowboy hat with the think woven leather band. I expected the worst; he was going to unload on me and let me have it. I braced for the assault, only to hear his rough voice say, “Jon, I think we got off to a bad start,” then he added, “I really do want to be your friend.” And from that moment, we were. We talked more. He drove me around the county, and took me to dinner at his favorite restaurant – some gas station on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River. He showed me the covered bridge made of timber from my home state of Oregon. We were friends knowing that he had my back, and in turn, I had his.

Oh, he was still angry and bitter, sometimes saying words that made me cringe or shake my head. But I was blinded and he helped me see clearer, as I started viewing Hank as my friend, not my enemy.

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Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians is really about Paul exhorting the church to reconcile their relationship with him. This is a church he started a handful of years earlier. By the time Paul writes this letter, everything he had work for had blown up. For one, a seed of resentment from Corinth was planted when Paul refused to accept pay. For us, that’s a great deal, but for a Greco-Roman world, that was almost a faux pas. They didn’t trust Paul. Secondly, an antagonistic group infiltrated the church promoting a success oriented style of ministry and Paul looked like anything but success. Loyalties to Paul and the message of the gospel he preached was in jeopardy. Writing 2 Corinthians was his attempt to call the church back to him, back to God.

By chapter five, he really starts driving home the message of the gospel in terms of reconciling relationships. To do so, he offers a vision-check in verse 16 as we no longer view people from a worldly perspective. We stop focusing on status, wealth, power, race or even build relationships around manipulation like “what I can get out of it,” instead of “what can I offer.” We stop viewing each other as enemies or competitors or as problem people, but as a new creation in Christ. Therefore, he tells us five times in verses 18-20 to be reconciled, either to God, to Paul, to each other or to all three. We call the truce. We wave the white flag of surrender. We take the hit and loss. We stop the fight and battle while laying down our arms to embrace each other in peace. No longer holding grudges, we forgive. No longer building walls, we build bridges. No longer looking for division, we seek for unity. No longer war mongering, we pursue peace. At. All. Cost.  Why? you ask? Because, as Paul says in verse 19, “. . . God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them.” So in our reconciling mode we do the same: we stop counting or holding the sins of people around us against them.

Such language is so important that Paul describes this ministry of reconciliation doled out to us as if we were ambassadors sent from God to lead in reconciliation. As ambassadors, we speak and act on behalf of God. As ambassadors we have the authority to act for God. As ambassadors we do not have the right to act beyond our mandate, for Paul clarifies in the verse 20, “We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: be reconciled to God.” No, as ambassadors, we model reconciliation.

On a side note, those of us in Spiritual Care take the lead in this reconciliation. When we perform an eval on our patients, we probe their lives to uncover whether reconciliation with their children, family members, or neighbors is needed. Later visits hopefully uncover those needs where we can lead them to reconcile with their needed people. Clearly, nurses and aids play a huge role in this as patients often reveal deep needs to those they trust the most.

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Sometime after I shifted my profession from church oriented work to hospice, Hank’s health took a big hit. His cancer returned with a vengeance. He entered our services and once more, I was his minister. The last conversation we had was at his house. He sat in his recliner refusing to sit or sleep anywhere else. I sat down from him on his couch. Next to me was his black cowboy hat with the think woven leather band. I picked it up and put it on my head, asking him, “How do I look?” His tired, old, wrinkly face was broken by an affirming smile. “You look great,” as he chuckled. Then he added, “When I die, you can have my hat.” And sure enough, Hank was true to his word. At his memorial, his family presented me with his hat, the same black cowboy hat with the thin woven leather band I wear today.

If you were to ask me why I wear this black cowboy hat with the think woven leather band, I’ll tell you it’s for two reasons. One, it keeps my balding head warm. And two, it reminds me that almost any relationship can be reconciled. Such a reminder that my friend Hank helped me understand so that I could see clearly. 

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is Glorified!)