Currently viewing the tag: "Obedience"
This post first appeared in February, 2008.
If you were a Sunday School regular like I was, you’ll be able to fill in these blanks:
“Father Abraham had many _________….so let’s just praise the Lord!–Right arm!” (My teachers never explained exactly what waving my limbs had to do with Abraham, but then again I suppose I never asked.)
“Hide it under a ________________–NO!” And the next verse was my favorite: “Won’t let Satan WHOOO it out….”
“I may never march in the ___________….but I’m the Lord’s Army. Yes, sir!”
And one last tune. I found myself humming this after reading Matthew 7 today: “The foolish man built his house upon the sand…and the house on the sand went ___________!”
Splat! The house on the sand went splat. Or smash, or crash, depending on your Sunday School teacher. We girls would clap our hands and splat neatly, but the boys would crash on the floor in a giant dogpile. That song taught me two things: First, boys are annoying. And second, I should never build my house on sand.
When I matured enough to draw a spiritual lesson from this song, I concluded that I must build my life on Jesus, or else I would, well, splat. And while that’s certainly true enough, it’s still not exactly what Jesus said.
“Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rains came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.” (Matthew 7:24-27)
This parable isn’t about believing in Jesus. It’s about obeying Him. At the conclusion of His longest recorded lesson, Jesus says, in effect, “Now you’ve all heard My words. If you obey them, you’ll stand firm against life’s storms. But if you don’t put My words into practice…prepare to splat.” Obeying Christ’s instructions–not just hearing or believing them–gives us an unshakeable foundation.
But here’s the thing. There are several of Jesus’ words that I’d prefer to not practice. I don’t want to love my enemies; I’d rather be cold and distant to them. It’s hard to forgive. In fact, just yesterday after arguing with Andy, I told him flatly that I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. And oh, it’s hard for me to seek first God’s kingdom, and not worry about tomorrow. I hear all these words–regularly. In fact, they are as familiar to me as those childhood Sunday School tunes. I know Christ’s words. But I don’t do them.
Obedience separates those who build from those who splat. And oh, God, I do want to build for You and Your kingdom! Give me the courage and the desire to obey You. Sunday School is over, and it’s time to leave the classroom. It’s time to put Your words into practice.
This is our five-month-old basset hound, Belle. She enjoys sleeping, going upstairs where she isn’t allowed, and most of all, sniffing. Her scent-hound nose constantly twitches, enticing her from one aroma to the next. Belle can track hidden toys and food around the house. Microwave popcorn nearly drives her out of her mind.
Belle obeys our commands perfectly. When she feels like it. Which isn’t very often. “Come, Belle,” we say. She looks back at us, thinks it over, sniffs the air, and settles down for a much-needed nap.
Belle’s nose often prompts her insubordination. Who wants to come or sit or stay when you can smell pizza baking in the oven? Why go for walks on the sidewalk when there are rabbits to sniff out in the grass? Belle isn’t exactly disobedient, just easily distracted.
She reminds me of that old Rich Mullins song…“They said, ‘Follow your nose,’ but the direction changed every time I went and turned my head.”
I see myself in Belle the basset hound. I’m too easily distracted by my own comfort and selfish whims. Too eager to ignore difficult instructions from my Master. I know how to obey, but I’d rather just “sniff out” something more appealing.
“Love my enemies? That’s hard. How about if I just write something that sounds loving, instead of actually loving them?”
“Store up treasures in heaven, and not on earth? But then I might have to go without…stuff. And besides, it’s scary trusting that You’ll provide.”
And yet, in spite of the difficulty, the call to obey remains the same. I must hear Christ’s words and put them into practice. No more following my nose. I want to follow Jesus.
“One can give without loving, but one cannot love without giving.”
-Amy Carmichael
-Amy Carmichael
Every Monday, Andy gives me what I call “Amy Day”. He teaches school, drives the girls to ballet, and makes spaghetti while I read, write, and eat plenty of Mexican food. Amy Day, not surprisingly, is my favorite day of the week.
One Amy Day, I headed for the library. I found a cozy spot—just across from a homeless man, sound asleep in his chair—and settled in to read a book. I pulled several books from my bag, stacked them on the table next to me, and selected a biography about Amy Carmichael, missionary to India. Amy Carmichael left behind her family’s wealth and comfort in Ireland, sacrificed everything she knew and loved, and started an orphanage in Dohnavur. She labored for 55 years without returning home on furlough. Fifty-five years! She could’ve used an Amy Day.
I devoured the biography, pausing only to underline the good lines and dab my eyes at the sad ones. After about two hours, I noticed that my napping neighbor was now awake, but he still remained perfectly still. He stared blankly at the patch of gray carpet between us. He never raised his eyes to meet mine, never glanced at the newspapers by his side, never shifted in his chair at all. But all at once, as though someone had called his name from another room, he suddenly stood up and rushed out. Just left—so abruptly that it startled me. My eyes followed him through the rows of books and out the door, and looked back down again toward my book.
And then it hit me. As though I had been the one sleeping, my spirit finally jolted awake. I realized the shameful irony of what I’d been reading, versus what I’d been doing. Only then did it occur to me that I could’ve—should’ve!—done something to help that man. I, with a wallet of cash and credit cards. I, with a granola bar and liter-sized water bottle in my book bag. And I, with my Bible—the one I claim to know so well—on top of that pile of books next to me. Here was a man who needed so much, directly across from a person who had so much, and I did nothing. It simply didn’t occur to me.
How self-absorbed. How apathetic. How unlike Jesus Christ. I had truly made “Amy Day” all about me. I had been reading about Amy Carmichael—even taking notes on her devotion and service!—and yet learning absolutely nothing. Her poem If described me well:
If souls can suffer alongside,
and I hardly know it,
because the spirit of discernment is not in me,
then I know nothing of Calvary love.
and I hardly know it,
because the spirit of discernment is not in me,
then I know nothing of Calvary love.
I shut the book, closed my eyes and confessed to God that I truly knew nothing of His Calvary love.
God, forgive me! Forgive my apathy and complacency and selfishness. Open my eyes to the people You love, and to the ways that I can serve them…because Jesus came to serve me. Let me be a doer, not just a hearer. I want to love like Jesus, wholeheartedly, consistently, and not just when it occurs to me. Amen.
“A student is not above his teacher, but everyone who is fully trained will be like his teacher.” (Luke 6:40)
“Why do you always get to be the teacher?” asks my irritated six-year-old. “When will I get to be the teacher?”
My girls are playing school, and, obviously, they both want to be the teacher. After all, the teacher holds the power! Teachers have wisdom and authority. Nobody wants to be a lowly student. Students just do all the work.
Listening to Anne and Molly reminds me of my own childhood. I often played school with my older sister. Stacie gave me Spelling tests and Grammar quizzes. (We had no Math in our play-school, thank goodness). If I made any errors, I’d cry until Stacie gave me 100%. And of course, we frequently argued about being the teacher. Stacie was five years older than I, though, so she had a valid argument: “I have to be the teacher, Amy. I know more.”
True. She did know more. She still does, actually.
I’m 32 now. A little beyond “playing school”, and yet, when it comes to following Jesus…I still want to be the teacher.
I’d like to have the power, the knowledge, and the authority. I’d like to say what I want to say, and buy what I want to buy, and treat others as they deserve, not as I want to be treated. I’d like to be in charge, really—not just a lowly student.
“Jesus, why do you always get to be the Teacher?”
“I have to be the Teacher, Amy. I know more.” He’s the Lord. He’s…God.
“You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. I tell you the truth, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.” (John 13:13-17)
Jesus taught with power, wisdom and authority. But here’s another amazing attribute of the Master Teacher: he also taught by example. In all of my years of school, I don’t recall my earthly teachers doing the assignments with me. My college professors didn’t turn in papers on the day mine were due. My sister didn’t even take fake Spelling tests with me. But Jesus—Lord Jesus, Son of God—became a lowly servant so that I could learn by his example. He even did all the work–willingly.
I want to follow my Teacher’s example—to receive God’s blessing by DOING the things he instructs. No more resisting his authority, no more fighting for my own power, no more playing school. God, in all things, let me become like my Teacher.
Okay, who remembers this? And, be honest…who could actually do the cup routine? (I must admit, I was pretty talented at it, back in the day. Thankfully that season has passed.)
Rich Mullins never gets old to me; Andy and I still listen to his music often. Such challenging lyrics from someone who was so much like Jesus! And this song explains a truth that Rich lived: our faith must take action, or it is worthless. How can we claim to be followers of Christ, yet not actively demonstrate His love and forgiveness and servanthood?
James said it this way: “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.”
And later, “What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save him? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, ‘Go I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”
Or in other words, as Rich put it, “Faith without works, baby…it just ain’t happening!”
Tomorrow is Saturday, and around here that means one thing: Job Day. On Job Day, I, like my mother before me, torture my children with extra chores–in addition to their usual daily jobs. Toilets, laundry, the works. We even have a Job Jar, from which the kids draw out laminated Job Cards. (Nutty, you say? Yes, I say.)
Job Jars exist so that little people with messy rooms and dirty clothes will someday turn into big people with clean houses and mom issues. But nobody likes Job Day. Anne sighs and drags her feet and makes pitiful expressions that ask, “Why don’t you love me anymore?” Molly enjoys cleaning, but she chatters more than she cleans. And Nathan organizes his Job Cards, strategizing the best plan of attack on which job to do first. He lays the cards out in a line, and moves them around, and stacks and restacks them—but he doesn’t actually clean.
Lately I’ve noticed too many similarities between my children’s chore-aversion and my spiritual life. I sense God instructing me in a certain area, prompting me to act on a few particular directives, but I’m doing everything imaginable to sidestep obedience. I’ve pouted like Anne, whining to God that I can’t do the things He wants. And like Molly, I’ve chatted about obeying, and talked circles around God’s instructions without actually doing them. Most of all, I’ve organized like Nathan. God dealt me a few Job Cards, and I’ve spent months plotting a plan of action, but not obeying. Nutty, you say? Yes, I say. I’m simply avoiding His Job Jar.
I’ve never heard an audible voice from heaven, but I have been smacked upside the head by God’s Word more than once. Yesterday was one of those thumpings. It’s impossible to read the Book of James and ignore a spiritual Job Jar at the same time:
“Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.”
“Faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”
“Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn’t do it, sins.”
After reading these words, I sensed God saying, “So, are you gonna do this thing, or not?” Ouch. Delayed obedience isn’t really obedience at all, is it?
How about you? In what areas can you sense God’s instruction in your life? Do you ever ignore His “jobs”? And most importantly, “are you gonna do this thing, or not?” Let’s set aside our childish excuses and delays. Let’s ask God to show us what He wants us to do, and most importantly, let’s obey.
“Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.” (James 1:22)
If you were a Sunday School regular like I was, then you’ll be able to fill in these blanks:
“Father Abraham had many _________….so let’s just praise the Lord!–Right arm!” (My teachers never explained exactly what waving my limbs had to do with Abraham, but then again I suppose I never asked.)
“Hide it under a ________________–NO!” And the next verse was my favorite: “Won’t let Satan WHOOO it out….”
“I may never march in the ___________….but I’m the Lord’s Army. Yes, sir!” (My apologies to my pacifist friends–Michael–but I’m not endorsing. Just quoting.)
And one last tune. I found myself humming this after reading Matthew 7 today: “The foolish man built his house upon the sand…and the house on the sand went ___________!”
Splat! The house on the sand went splat. Or smash, or crash, depending on your Sunday School teacher. We girls would clap our hands and splat neatly, but the boys would crash on the floor in a giant dogpile. That song taught me two things: First, boys are annoying. And second, I should never build my house on sand.
When I matured enough to draw a spiritual lesson from this song, I concluded that I must build my life on Jesus, or else I would, well, splat. And while that’s certainly true enough, it’s still not exactly what Jesus said.
“Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rains came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.” (Matthew 7:24-27)
This parable isn’t about believing in Jesus. It’s about obeying Him. At the conclusion of His longest recorded lesson, Jesus says, in effect, “Now you’ve all heard My words. If you obey them, you’ll stand firm against life’s storms. But if you don’t put My words into practice, prepare to splat.” Obeying Christ’s instructions–not just hearing or believing them–gives us an unshakeable foundation.
But here’s the thing. There are several of Jesus’ words that I’d prefer to not practice. I don’t want to “love my enemies”; I’d rather be cold and distant to them. It’s hard to “forgive”. In fact, just yesterday after arguing with Andy, I told him flatly that I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. And oh, it’s hard for me to “seek first” God’s kingdom, and “not worry about tomorrow”. I hear all these words–regularly. In fact, they are as familiar to me as those childhood Sunday School tunes. I know Christ’s words. But I don’t do them.
Obedience separates those who build from those who splat. And oh, God, I do want to build for You and Your kingdom! Give me the courage and the desire to obey You. Sunday School is over, and it’s time to leave the classroom. It’s time to put Your words into practice.
