Thank you.

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Those of us who started attending church when we were on the cradle roll are happy to talk about God. We’re usually faithful to pray, and we’re even comfortable with praying out loud if asked. After all, Jesus became our childhood friend as we met him through flannelgraph stories in Sunday school. Talking to him was much like talking to any of our other friends.

Then we grew older and learned there was more to it than that. We realized God wasn’t on a par with any of our other friends but was unique, superior, someone who merited reverence and awe, and the utmost of respect.

Eventually we were taught that to fear the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and surely approaching God ought to be done as wisely as possible. Did that mean he wanted us to be afraid of him when we prayed? If so, then why did he tell us to “come as little children” and “come boldly to the throne of grace?” Can we come to him that way if we’re afraid?

At the very least, fearing God probably means respecting his authority and power. He’s the ultimate in both categories and can do anything he wants with anything he’s created, which includes us. If we’re on his bad side, he is to be feared indeed, since he will judge all of mankind. He also wants us to revere him as God of gods, holy and perfect.

While I was contemplating what might be the wisest way to approach the Lord, probably making it more complicated than it needed to be, I heard someone pray a wise prayer. Sandy was asked to pray at the conclusion of our women’s Bible study today. We’d had a discussion about true wisdom and fearing God. If I’d been the one praying, I probably would have started by begging God to give us more wisdom, but not Sandy.

She started by thanking God for who he is and continued to list reasons all of us were thankful for him. The middle of her prayer was more gratitude, one thing after another, and she concluded with a final series of thank you’s. Her prayer was all about the Lord and nothing about us.

How unusual, I thought, to pray for several minutes without ever asking for anything. It was simply thank you… thank you… thank you.

And it was wise.

“The Lord said… ‘Gather the people to me, that I may let them hear my words, so that they may learn to fear me all the days that they live on the earth, and that they may teach their children so’.” (Deut. 4:10)

 

Who’s who?

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I’ve been enjoying Facebook these last few months, staying up-to-date with friends and relatives through pictures and messages. Although I’ve learned to post photos, leave comments and send private notes, I’ve never learned to “tag” someone.

Facebook tagging tells who’s who in a picture. After you type a name over a face, someone else can then hover their mouse on that person, and like magic the name pops into view. My kids are experts at tagging, and I’ve come to recognize many of their friends I haven’t met, by mouse-hovering.

Although I can’t tag on Facebook, I’ve recently accomplished another kind of tagging, fastening a new nametag on Jack. His old tag, the one with my name, address and phone on it, was worn blank. If he ran off, a rescuer wouldn’t know who to call.

Every night at bedtime, I “undress” Jack by taking off his collar. (He’s got a very thick neck and sleeps better without it.) Last week, however, I went to get him dressed in the morning and couldn’t find his collar. Because we’re renovating at my house, I figured it was buried somewhere in the debris and would eventually turn up.

After three days of hunting, I had only one option left, to ask Jack. “Where’s your collar, buddy?” But he had no suggestions. I hated losing the new tag, his name on one side and my info on the other. All I could figure was I’d had a senior moment and put it in the freezer, my sock drawer or the wood pile. But suddenly, Jack came forth with an answer.

We were walking home from the beach (him naked, me dressed) when he pranced onto a friend’s lawn to sniff. I kept walking, whistling for him to come but eventually backtracking to get him. There he was, firmly planted over his collar in the middle of the yard as if to say, “You asked me, so I’m telling you.” It must have slipped over his head a few days earlier when he’d been snoofing there.

I’m glad God doesn’t need to tag us to know us. He’s known us since before we were born, name and all, and he’ll know us forever. Names are important to him, though, and not just ours.

He promises to deal harshly with anyone who takes his name in vain, and he watches to see if we’ll honor it. He invites us to call on his name for help, to worship his name in reverence, and to fear it as the beginning of wisdom. And he also promises to reward those who genuinely love his name.

I’m happy to report Jack is once again properly dressed, but I’m confident God would know his name, even if he wasn’t tagged.

“Those who feared the Lord spoke with each other, and the Lord listened to what they said. In his presence, a scroll of remembrance was written to record the names of those who feared him and always thought about the honor of his name.” (Malachi 3:16)

Is that you?

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Ever since the Easter service this morning, I’ve been thinking about the pastor’s sermon.  We walked with two of Jesus’ disciples on their 7 mile journey to Emmaus, seeing their sadness and hearing their disappointment about the crucifixion. Having listened to (and watched) Jesus teach, they knew what he looked like. Yet when he walked next to them and even conversed with them, they had no inkling it was him.

We also read that Mary didn’t recognize him, either, mistaking him for someone else. She questioned him about the empty tomb, probably focusing on his face to get the answer. It’s astounding she didn’t recognize her very good friend.

Then there’s the puzzling incident when Jesus suddenly appeared among his 11 remaining disciples inside a home. This time it wasn’t just a matter of not recognizing him. They were also terrified, thinking he was a ghost. He had to play show ‘n tell with them to convince them it was really him. When they still weren’t sure, he proved he wasn’t a ghost by eating some fish.

As we shadow the risen Jesus from the time he left the tomb until he ascended to heaven, these curious responses of non-recognition seem to be the norm. The only logical conclusion is to assume he didn’t look “like himself.” We know he had a glorified body but don’t know exactly what that means. We do know he was able to walk through walls and transport himself quickly from one geographical place to another.

We also know his countless severe wounds from lashings, a crown of thorns, nails and an abdominal stabbing had completely healed in less than three days. But what was it that made recognition happen? When did they “get it?”

The two men in Emmaus identified Jesus at the dinner table. It was his way of saying grace and breaking bread that caused them to realize, “It’s him!” For Mary it was his voice. And for the 11, it was becoming convinced he wasn’t a ghost.

In other words, his glorified self was more about who he was than what he looked like.

In this world we often act as if appearances are what count. The risen Jesus taught us, however, that the most important thing is what’s inside.

And that goes for all eternity.

“Our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be transformed into immortal bodies. Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled: ‘Death is swallowed up in victory’.” (1 Corinthians 15:53-54)