Summer decks and dining room tables are some of my favorite places to sit with people who are learning to live loved. I love the conversations that spill out in unhurried spaces and the relationships that deepen over relaxed days of reflection, laughter, and discovery.
Last week, I was in upstate New York doing just that with people I’ve known for nearly two decades. I got home Tuesday, and these photos still carry the sweetness of those days. Many had already read Just Love, or knew enough about it to want to explore its implications together.
One of the questions that surfaced there is one I understand well: Do we really need one more voice telling us Christianity got something wrong, after 2,000 years? If this is true, why didn’t we see it sooner?
I get that hesitation. There is so much content on the Internet these days shouting, “You’re doing it wrong; this is what you should be doing.” It can be exhausting. And if sorting out truth means comparing competing voices, weighing credentials, or making an intellectual judgment between people who all sound certain, the pressure can feel unbearable. If you don’t know Greek or haven’t been trained in Bible interpretation, it can seem like you’re left to choose truth by your own best guess.
But that’s not how I process new input on this journey.
I don’t begin by trying to outthink it or decide which “expert” I should trust. I pause long enough to understand what is being said, and while I’m doing that, I hold it before the Spirit who lives in me. Does it awaken curiosity? Does it resonate with something Jesus has already been showing me? Or does it raise a caution I need to pay attention to?
I enjoy being curious. With my background in Scripture, I do ask whether something violates his revelation. Even then, I hold that humbly, because along the way I’ve discovered that some things I thought the Bible taught were actually shaped more by religious tradition than by Jesus himself. Most new ideas that come my way don’t prove helpful in the end, but I still want to remain open to any door that brings me closer to him.
I also hold new ideas up to the Jesus I see in Scripture. Can I imagine him saying this? Can I imagine him doing this? Does it make him more real, more central, more beautiful in the way I live today?
And I don’t process alone. I am constantly sharing my thoughts with trusted friends—those who know me well and whose growth in the life of Jesus is evident in the character he is forming in them.
But most of all, I listen inwardly for the Spirit’s settling or unsettling. That matters more to me than any argument, credential, or tradition. John reminded us that we have an anointing from the Holy One to help us recognize truth from error (1 John 2:20). Jesus didn’t say we would be guided into truth primarily by a book, a religious leader, or a doctrinal council. He said his Spirit would guide us into all truth (John 16:13). He is my Yuck Meter, constantly wanting to draw me into what’s true and away from what is not.
“What is the Spirit showing me?” That’s the most important question.
That doesn’t mean I embrace whatever feels comfortable or confirms what I already want to believe. I desire to know what is true, so I can live more freely and wisely in his life, which is often more challenging and risky. For me, this is a relaxed process. I don’t have to rush to a conclusion when God is the one doing the inviting. I can sit with something for weeks or months until his clarity settles.
That’s why I’m not afraid of learning whatever God wants to show me. Even at 73, I keep discovering insights about God and his life that deepen my joy, free my heart, and align me more closely with him. I trust his Spirit within me to help me discern what is true, even when it challenges assumptions I’ve carried for a long time.
That doesn’t have to make us gullible either. Much of what is shouted on the Internet or written in religious books is laced with performance and shame, often designed to make people dependent on an author, teacher, or movement. I have little interest in anything that makes Jesus less significant in my everyday life.
But when God is inviting me to see his way more clearly, I’m all in. I know I don’t have him figured out. Of all his truth, I only see a small sliver. So whether I eventually agree or disagree with a new idea, I can enjoy the conversation, the contemplation, and the growing trust that lets him keep leading me into what is true.
This won’t be a seminar as much as a conversation—an opportunity to sit together with the wonder of a Gospel far richer than a get-out-of-hell-free card. We lost so much when we traded God’s justness for our imagined righteousness, reducing the life of Jesus to religious schemes of behavior modification that were never meant to work. The Gospel offers something far better: freedom from guilt and shame through the work of Jesus, and a marvelous process of transformation as his love reshapes us from the inside out.
That’s what Tobie and I want to explore with you—not just as an idea to be explained, but as a reality to be discovered together. How does love-produced justice change the way we see salvation, Scripture, transformation, and God’s kingdom taking shape in the world?
If you haven’t read Just Love yet, give it a look. And if you can find your way to Kansas City, July 9–12, come join us for three days of conversation, connection, and discovery. We’ll gather at Westbrooke Church in Overland Park, Kansas. There’s no cost to attend, though donations are welcome to help cover expenses. If you’re coming from out-of-town, reservations must be made by June 16 to qualify for our reduced group rate.
Space is limited, and registration is first-come, first-served. To reserve your place, email wa****@********am.org with the names of those coming.
We’re calling it the Just Love Conversations, and I’d love to see you there.
In regard to Just Love, I have friends of mine in both Germany and France who have written to me letting me know that their versions of Scripture already contain the word “justice” where our English versions use “righteousness.”
So, does this book hold any application for them?
If it were just about a linguistic change, the answer would be no. Tobie and I are aware that linguistically, this is an obvious problem in English. However, it is a more subtle problem in other languages. Since the Reformation, a distorted view of imputed righteousness has spread mostly through the English-speaking Protestant world, so that even non-English readers think of the concept of righteousness, even though their text already contains justice.
They just added the meaning of “uprightness” to their word for “justice”; thus, they have the same conceptual misunderstanding, even though they have retained the word for justice.
Here’s what Tobie wrote to someone who said the same problem exists in Afrikaans, where justice may be in their text, but still not in their hearts:
The unique meaning of the English word “righteousness” has crept into Protestant theology to such an extent that “justice” now has two meanings—a spiritual version that carries the definition of righteousness and a legal version that carries the definition of justice. So, the problem persists outside of English, but without the solution of replacing the word with an alternative that is uncontaminated and has always had a single meaning.
English readers of the Bible need a word-shift, the rest need a mind-shift.
Truth be told, we both need the mind-shift.
When you read Just Love, you will first notice the linguistic problem and how it distorted our view of the Gospel. But in the second part of the book, we show how Jesus writes his justice on our hearts with the pen of his love. By filling us with his love, light, and life, we won’t be able to live an ego-centric life in the world. Our awareness of others will rise to the awareness of ourselves, and we will not need to manipulate or exploit others to get what we desire from them. Instead, we will guard their hearts as much as we guard our own.
God’s desire was always to have just people on the earth, as he transforms us, so we become a fountain of his love to the people around us without even trying.
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And if you want to hear Tobie and talk about the book, you can do so here:
And, if you’ve already read Just Love, would you please consider writing a review of it at Amazon and/or Goodreads. I’m told the algorithms need that to help a book find its audience. I am grateful for those who already have
We have made it to Colorado, though the trip out was not easy. We had some mechanical issues and severe weather to navigate, but we arrived on time and spent the first couple of days getting our issues resolved. We are now set up alongside a beautiful creek in Golden, CO, with a walking path along it that stretches out in both directions. And Mandy enjoys the creek every day.
Next week, we will head north with stops for conversations and sightseeing in Rapid City, SD, Sheridan, WY, Bozeman, MT, Kalispell, MT, and hopefully in Calgary, AB. Then, we’ll work our way homeward through Washington and Oregon. If you want to join us somewhere, let me know.
I am writing this to let you know that my newest book, It’s Time: Letters to the Bride of Christ at the End of the Age, is finally complete and ready for purchase. You can order it in paperback ($10.99) or e-book ($8.99). If you purchased the Kindle version for Part 1, the new version with Part 2 will be added to your file the next time you update it. It may already be there.
This book has been a labor of love over the past three years. When God first put it on my heart to write it, I knew this would be a very different book for me. It would be like living loved on steroids, through the darkest challenges life can throw at us. What I didn’t know at the outset was how my life would be put through the wringer in so many different ways as I wrote it. Through it all, I have discovered a depth of trust in his love and rest in his work that has rewritten the script of my life in a wonderful way.
Everything Jesus has taught me in the last five years is in this book, how the life of Jesus and his goodness can shine through us, regardless of whatever darkness we face. That’s what Creation yearns for and what the world needs to see—a people who have found their Life in him, and nothing that happens in this world can destroy it.
Now, I want to share all of that with you.
It’s Time is about God revealing himself in his sons and daughters as the end of days unfolds. I’m not a date-setter, but I will be surprised if this world makes it another decade before Jesus returns. Whether this is the end or not, I cannot say with any degree of certainty. I see signs that make me wonder, and the possibility delights my heart. If this is not the beginning of the end, then when it does come, it will look a lot like this.
The time of Jesus’s coming may be at hand; the time for letting his love be revealed through us definitely is.
Here is an excerpt from the last chapter:
These pages carry a gentle invitation to draw into the deep places where our love and trust in him aren’t based on us getting what we want, but the simple and profound magnificence of his presence in us. This is how Jesus prepares us for whatever may come. Too many followers of Jesus are playing the world’s games, thinking they are following Jesus. They have been deluded by the lie that the kingdom comes by coercion. Their wounded hearts look to lash out at their perceived enemies. Their only hope is to be loved back into life, where the tactics of darkness hold no sway.
“Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus.” (Revelation 22:20)
That phrase makes my heart soar in a way it hasn’t before. I’m convinced we live in the moments before the dawn. Certainly, darkness seems to rule everywhere we look, but for those with eyes to see, the skies have already begun to brighten ever-so- slightly on the eastern horizon.
Last week, I asked if you could help my friends in Kenya once again. They are about to lose the petrol station we built for them at a government auction due to nonpayment of fees they were unaware they owed. The profits from this station support an orphanage and education center, as well as help their graduating students find their way in life. It has been in operation for over fifteen years.
Thanks to your generosity, we’ve received almost $9900.00 of the $22,328 in a few days. I’m so grateful to those of you who felt inspired to help us here. We have to send the money at the end of this week to prevent the auction and restore the petrol station to our brothers and sisters in Kenya.
So, in case there are others still considering this, I thought I’d ask one last time. If you can help us raise the remaining funds, please visit our Donation Page at Lifestream. Please designate “Kenya” in the Note section of your donation, or email us to let us know that your gift is intended for Kenya. You can also Venmo contributions to “@LifestreamMinistries” or mail a check to Lifestream Ministries • 1560 Newbury Rd Ste 1 • Newbury Park, CA 91320. Or, if you prefer, we can take your donation over the phone at (805) 498-7774.
As always, every dime you send will end up in Kenya. We do not take out any money for administrative overhead.
Thank you for your concern and prayers for these people in Kenya.
Sara and I were married on May 17, 1975. Tomorrow, we will celebrate fifty years together, and we both feel incredibly grateful not only for the gift the other has been to us but also for God’s help in navigating the last fifty years together to greater freedom and wholeheartedness.
I used to think fifty years of marriage was an achievement, but now I know it is a gift. We have dear friends whose spouses died at younger ages, and people very close to us whose marriages ended in painful divorces. It’s always a tragedy when a marriage comes to an end, even a bad one. The promise of love got swallowed up in someone’s selfishness, trauma, or abuse. No one sees it coming on the day they get married, and none of them are less worthy of happiness than Sara and I. I take comfort in knowing that God has other ways to fulfill their joy.
Sara has always been the most fantastic wife, lover, and friend. She has brought so much joy, wisdom, and beauty into my life. I will be forever grateful for the day God brought us together and how he has walked with us through the years. We know that two flawed people got married fifty years ago, and learning to love each other more deeply continues to change us for the better.
Yesterday, we flew to Alaska for a brief land tour before boarding a cruise down the coast to Vancouver. This morning, we began a two-part podcast in which Kyle asks me provocative questions about how Sara and I have navigated this journey. We talk about the amazing wisdom God had in putting two people together for life, and how learning to love another person so closely is the training ground for discovering the power of love. Other than that, things will be quiet on my websites for the next ten days or so.
Recently, Sara and I have been sorting through pictures from our life together. We’ve had so many amazing moments with each other, our kids and grandkids, and the friendships and travel opportunities we’ve enjoyed. We have lots to celebrate and live every day in immense gratitude for all we have shared.
We’ve also had our tough times, to be sure. You don’t get through fifty years without traversing deep valleys because of tragic circumstances or struggling to communicate past differing points of view. Eventually, we would find our way to unity again and be able to continue with our love growing deeper.
So, these days, we are grateful for God’s work in each of us individually and in our lives together. Without him, we wouldn’t have made it this far. We look forward to the adventures still to come, ever more in love today than all the days before.
I’ve written about Jenny before. She’s my favorite contemporary poet, writing from a deep place of pain as she negotiates the aftermath of a virus that caused severe M.E. (Myalgic Encephalomyelitis: inflammation of the brain and spinal cord). She is unable to sit up because of the strain on her cardiovascular system that has, for twenty years, left her bedridden and in almost constant pain. I’ve written about her poems before. You can read about her latest, Winter People, here.
The winds of his Spirit are shifting. As I walk the hills where I live, rising amidst the rustling leaves and the quiet of a starlit night or the warm glow of a burgeoning dawn, I hear the refrain of the song the Lamb—Jesus calling to his beloved. You can hear it too in those moments of stillness just before you fall asleep, or sense it in the drawing of your heart to something greater when you’ve put aside your media.
It is a soothing melody with tender words and a restful rhythm. He’s not angry at those who got lost in the world or their religious performance; he’s simply inviting them to return to him. Some hearing that melody don’t even know it’s coming from Jesus. Their hearts are being drawn into the sweetness of his presence, even though they don’t yet know what to call him. They will eventually learn his name, but they are already following him as they yield to the growing revelation inside them.
Jenny’s poem speaks into this same reality and as she writes from the depth of her soul, she captures this song as well. She gave me permission to share it here. You can read it below or listen to Jenny share her poem with illustrations by clicking here for her YouTube video.
Blackness oozes out of the pores of the earth, the air, the sea, as we wring out our world, the dark tendrils gathering and slithering, spreading fast.
Death is all around. In more usual times, we struggle to comprehend even our grief for the one; in current times however, as the corpses of both children and adults pile up, the bodies of the once-loved turn into statistics, too much for the human brain, the human heart, to process. Whether a result of pandemic, genocide or war, the eyes of the dead stare at us unblinking, judging, condemning.
Even if we have written to politicians and signed petitions, even if we have protested, marched, and futilely voted, what is there left that the ordinary citizen can do in our impotence?
The darkness billows across the ground in a charge towards us, the black tendrils snaking up our legs, coiling around our bodies, forming its tip into a dark needle that jabs into our hearts, anaesthetising us into numbness without our awareness or permission. We hunker down, burrowing to where it is safe, narrowing our focus to self-protection, to me and mine, doing what is best for ourselves. We shrink so small in every definition but what else can we do, helpless as we are.
When the bullies seem to be winning, when lies are painted as truth to pit one against the Other, when everyone is confused, scared and angry, when the growing violence, greed and corruption is overwhelming, when hidden injustices and blatant injustices both brim over, we shrink further as our hearts harden for self-protection and self-prospering.
But even as the darkness and its tendrils clutch at our hearts, we cry out with longing for a different way and we open our throats to sing.
Individual voices rise up, unheard at first, alone in our little patch in which we have barricaded ourselves.
Transparent ripples of sound from these lone voices shoot up high into the sky, rippling ribbons of musical refrain winding, weaving, curving, swerving, to join together with other tributary melodies as they meet more singing voices, a diaphanous flow pouring in from hills and valleys, deserts and tropics, villages and cities, becoming streams of song in the sky, rivers carving scars in the air.
It sings of a love stronger than our own self-interest, a disruptive love that becomes subversive in a world that plans on us being selfish, a world that plans on us thinking selfishly and acting selfishly.
It sings of the deep whisper and instinct that nudges us towards tenderness, empathy, community and fairness, the song that tugs our hearts to soften to the point where we can make decisions against our own self-interest to the point where we want to put others’ needs before our own, to treat others as we would want to be treated.
This torrent of song from the raging rivers in the sky, starts to glow with light, pulsing out as we yearn, as we wait in the darkness. It is our secret hope. It is our resurrection song.
Jenny uses her poetry to help raise money for the treatment she needs, which is only available in the United States and is incredibly expensive. If you have some extra resources to help with her medical and travel expenses, please go to her GoFundMe page. She still needs almost half a million dollars. Every little bit helps.
Note: This is the eighteenth in a series of letters written for those living at the end of the age, whenever that comes in the next fifteen years or the next one hundred and fifty years. We have already released the first part of this book in print. You can also access the previous chapters here. If you are not already subscribed to this blog and want to ensure you don’t miss any of them, you can add your name here.
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As I have read the previous letters, I can’t help but wonder what God is thinking as he views the atrocities of human history. Is he angry at the wars we wage, or the power the wealthy hold over the poor? Can we even know what he feels? — Ivanna, wife and mother who also operates a bakery in Ukraine
Ivanna,
I’m so sorry for what has happened over the past three years in your country. The uncertainty, devastation, and bloodshed must weigh heavily on your heart. You are in my prayers.
Of course, we can’t speak definitively about what God thinks or feels. His ways are much higher than ours; his perspective is beyond our finite view. He does not see death as an end. However, we get glimpses of his thoughts because he makes himself known to his people. I sense things about him when I pray for people or events. They are momentary glimpses, to be sure, but there would be no communion if there were no exchange of heart and mind.
Honestly, I don’t sense much anger in him, which is shocking for someone who grew up with terrifying stories about an angry God. When we’re victimized, anger rises quickly, and we want God to share it. But when Jesus lived among us, we didn’t see him angry or seeking vengeance. What we see is love, and in that love, sorrow and grief for what we suffer and for those who refuse him. He didn’t come to bring condemnation but forgiveness and salvation. Maybe we misunderstood those Old Testament stories after all.
His redemption is not powered by anger but love, meriting our trust, not our fear. This may be most critical for last-day believers. I want to share with you a personal encounter that has profoundly impacted me, and the doors it has opened in deepening my walk with God, and having more compassion for those who are lost in the darkness is profound. But before I do, let me remind you of that moment Jesus sought to share his anguish with his closest friends.
Watch with Me
The night before he died on the cross, Jesus was “consumed with sorrow.” He went to the Garden of Gethsemane to sort things out with his Father and invited three of his disciples to share that intimate moment. His pain was immense, distressed enough that his sweat became like drops of blood. What did he hope to gain by having them there, or what would it give them?
Perhaps it’s as simple as Jesus did not want to be alone, and their presence would comfort him? Could he also have wanted to show them something about his heart? We don’t really know because they slept through it, unable to watch with him even for an hour.
He warned them to “Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation.” They couldn’t stay awake long enough and fell into temptation that night, abandoning their friend in his hour of need. Surely, they didn’t realize what was going on that night, and perhaps their slumber was a way to dissociate from the disconcerting talk of his leaving them.
The redemption of the world hung in the balance, and to accomplish it, Jesus had to choose to endure the most horrific torments of unjust humanity. He was distressed at the prospect and hoped there might be another way to redeem humanity. And yet, he settled it in his heart with, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.
Jesus did escape temptation that night, but I can’t help wondering what it would have been like for the disciples to share that moment with Jesus. Was sorrow and grief his alone to bear, or was there something for them to learn inside his suffering?
“Now You’re Ready to Hold My Pain”
Honestly, I would never have considered experiencing God’s pain except for an engagement I had with him over two years ago. I woke up early one morning for a medical appointment. As I got dressed, I felt deep sorrow and grief, which was strange since I hadn’t gone to bed that way.
The previous three years had been brutal. My wife encountered a previously unknown childhood trauma, only to be told by her therapist that she must be married to an abusive husband. She left me when I was out of town, and it took us weeks to sort through the lies and find our way back to each other. Also, I had lost a meaningful, lifelong relationship when some in my extended family spread lies about me.
Even though those situations had been mostly resolved by that morning, all the emotions were back. On my drive, I wanted to sort that out with God. I found myself praying, “Last year I lost every family relationship I valued to lies about me.” Tears streamed down my face as I relived it. And wanting to bring God into that pain, I added, “And you allowed it to happen.” As soon as I said it, I knew I was putting blame in the wrong place.
So, I repeated my pain again, this time adding, “And you watched it happen.” That was true enough, but again, not fair to him. He hadn’t watched as some dispassionate observer.
One last time I prayed, “Last year I lost every family relationship I valued to lies about me, and you were with me in it.” There it was! He had been with me through it all to bring healing where he could and guide me where others weren’t open to it. Into my pain seeped his love and even joy that I had not been alone.
After reveling in the sanctity of that reality, a strange thought ran through my head. Now you are ready to hold some of my pain. It seemed like God whispering to me, but I had no idea what it meant. What pain did he have, and why did he want me to hold it? Then, a second thought explained the first. I lost every relationship I value to lies about me.
It took a moment for that to sink in. From the serpent’s lie in Eden, down through history to those who reject him today because they don’t know who he is, God has been the victim of the worst lies. Thinking of what God has suffered by human unfaithfulness, I began to weep again, overwhelmed with a sorrow greater than my own. I know I only got a small taste of his pain that morning, but I find him inviting me there often.
The Fellowship of His Suffering
When Paul referred to the fellowship of his suffering in Philippians 3, I have always taken it to mean that Jesus comforts us inside our pain. He understands what we go through because he has experienced more pain than we ever could. Shared suffering lets us know him at a depth we would miss otherwise.
However, I never noted that it’s his suffering we fellowship in, not just our own. I skipped over that part since his pain was already past. What would he suffer now? My conception of God is that he exists in victory and dwells in peace and beauty. We hope to join him there someday. If the state of the world pained him, wouldn’t he just fix it?
Since that morning, I’ve learned that the world’s brokenness touches the Godhead deeply. Jesus didn’t just suffer during his week of passion. It wasn’t just Gethsemane, his trial, or the cross, but also at Lazarus’ tomb for the grief of his friends. Earlier, he had looked at the crowds with compassion and saw many who were “harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” The writer of Hebrews told us he often offered loud cries and tears to God. (Hebrews 5:7)
As our empathetic high priest, he holds humanity with intense love even as many reject him. How could he not suffer, not just then but now? This broken creation offers up constant tragedy, war, abuse, oppression, disease, and lies that devastate people he loves. Wouldn’t that touch God more deeply than it touches us?
My greatest tears have been shed not for myself but for the pain or loss of people I love. What is worse, our own suffering or that of our children? That morning, I discovered the agony inside of God for the lostness of his Creation. It was not pain for his loss but for ours. He holds us in his heart, quite aware of our suffering, and it powers his desire to bring redemption in the most devastating circumstances. I have come to view the world through that lens.
Holding God’s Pain
In Chapter 11, I wrote about how learning to gaze with God changed my prayer life. I no longer found myself trying to convince him to do what I wanted, but to help me see the events in my life and the world through his eyes. Knowing a small measure of his loss in the broken creation has brought me closer to him. As I gaze with God at world events, I find greater freedom from my self-preoccupation, which allows me to find a deeper place in his heart.
How do I hold pain with God? I sit with him, gazing at the circumstance that concerns me, contemplating it from his perspective. I wait until I have a sense what he feels in that. Sometimes, it takes days or weeks, as I wait for him to show me.
As I get a glimpse of that, I reflect on the emotion or insight he brings. It has shaped my prayers in interesting ways. I don’t try to fix his pain or offer my ideas for a way out. I hold my heart alongside his and see what comes. I reflect on his power and wisdom as I remind myself that everything is in his hands. That helps me look beyond the pain to hear the refrain of his love seeping through. He is not alarmed or disturbed because his plan is unfolding. He’s the Redeemer in this story and will prevail overall.
This may not be for everyone. Indeed, don’t start here. Until you’ve tasted deeply of his love for you in your own anguish and learned to trust him, trying to imagine God’s pain will only draw you into despair. Let him share your pain before you look to share his. He’ll invite you in when you are ready, but I suspect I’m not the only one who has tasted this.
I find it curious that Jesus didn’t need a lot of people to do this. He only asked three of his disciples. I wish at least one of them had stayed with him through it. It’s a tender moment to be in fellowship with his suffering and to know his heart for lost people. Sharing that is a deep place of intimacy. I am intrigued and excited at what might lie down this road for me and others who feel a similar call.
How It Has Changed Me
Why would he want any of us to watch with him in this season of redemptive history?
I’m honestly not sure what it does for him. It may simply be what friendship does; it holds each other’s pain as well as their joy. The pain I felt when my wife was gone is my teacher here. What I felt for her then and now puts me in touch with what God feels for the brokenness in his creation. It has changed me in a variety of ways.
First, I see world events differently. A few decades ago, my world was conveniently divided into a home team and an away team. God loves those who acknowledge him. I could pray with passion for God to alleviate their suffering. God hates the away team, and we can pray down his vengeance on them, which gave me false comfort in my anger and helplessness. Dividing the world that way made it simpler to route my grief and fear in times of tragedy.
I just don’t believe any of it anymore. Love taught me how misguided I was. God’s heart breaks for the whole of humanity, for those who know him and those who don’t. Today, he holds the same grief for the Palestinian mom mourning her child as he does for the Jewish mom grieving hers. That doesn’t discount the horrible evil people bring into the world, but it does change the way I pray both for victims and victimizers. I’ve been invited to a different kingdom where love defines our responses, not vengeance or righteous indignation. Just how did we think Jesus would tell us to love our enemies and think God gets to hate his?
Second, I don’t want to add any more pain to the planet. I am more mindful in my engagements with people to treat them fairly, lovingly, and honor my relationship with them. I also want to live generously toward those in pain to help relieve my Father’s anguish on their behalf.
Third, I’ve discovered how these moments with him expose the deeper places in my heart. Solomon said, “Sorrow is better than laughter, for a sad countenance is good for the heart.” (Ecclesiastes 7:3) We all crave times of joy, but it is sorrow and grief that allow us to drill down to the deepest places where we discover what is most important.
Fourth, I read Scripture differently, seeing an anguished Godhead rather than an angry one. While we may want to lash out and blame others for our suffering, Jesus is not inclined to do so. As I read the Old Testament prophets now, I see anguish for the wayward, not anger. This is the power of the laments. It is not just our pain being held there but his too. And at the same time, we see his capacity to spread redemption in the world amid human suffering.
Fifth, it has changed my heart for the lost. Now, loving my enemies becomes possible because I see them as those convulsing in pain for living outside of God’s reality. Truly, they do not know what they do to others as they compensate for their loneliness and believe the lies of darkness.
Ecstasy and Agony
Ivanna, lest you think holding some of God’s pain leads to a despairing life, I assure you it does not. Remember, God not only grieves for humanity, but he is also the most joyful presence in the universe. Jesus said he wanted his joy to be in us so our joy could be complete.
Because of him, I now know that agony and ecstasy can co-exist in the same space. I once thought they were mutually exclusive. Times of pain overwhelmed everything else and drove out my joy until they ended. Now, I can hold my pain before him and at the same time look for his joy to be there as well. I have learned that from watching him. As much as he feels the brokenness of humanity, he also delights in the redemption he brings to it.
One friend said, “It seems he wants us to hold in our hearts the agony of the world and the victory of the cross simultaneously.” I love that. That may not make much sense until you experience it, but once you do, you can find contentment in whatever situation you are in.
Jesus’s friends couldn’t hold his pain on the eve of his crucifixion, but we can today. Over the past two years, it has transformed my thinking—how I view others and how to find the redemption story in the unfolding realities of our ever-darkening world. It saves me from giving in to anger and vengeance and finding a place for love to thrive in my prayers and heart.
As the earth moves relentlessly towards its inevitable conclusion in Christ, we can partner with him by holding his pain and praying to advance his purpose in current events. If I don’t see what he sees, I’m only left to offer up fruitless requests for my comfort or agenda in the gathering darkness.
The people who will be most helpful at the end of days are those who know both his agony and his ecstasy.
I haven’t given you all a medical update in some time; I know because of the emails I get asking what’s happening. So, here’s what’s going on.
My back continues to heal from surgery. I began physical therapy last week to help strengthen the muscles around my back. I can’t do much athletic stuff yet. No quick twisting of my body or lifting anything heavy, but other than that, I function pretty normally. I can sit comfortably, which allows me to write and respond to emails. I walk 3 miles each morning with Sara and sleep comfortably overnight.
Sara and I took a few days last week to visit Solvang, a Danish village near here. (Pictured above) It was my first time out since surgery, and it helped relieve some of my cabin fever.
As to my chemotherapy, my oncologist told me last week that we could cut back to every other week instead of every week, as I have endured the previous three and a half months. In March, they are planning to cut back to once per month. He said I am now where patients usually are after six months, so I am grateful for however God may be helping out there. The treatments have become more difficult because my veins are not cooperating as well with the blood draw. Last time, it took five stabs to find the right vein that would pump enough, and I’m not much for needles. The only side-effects I’ve had from chemo, once we got the nausea regulated, is that I’m often cold, fall asleep at the drop of a hat in the evenings, and have a twitch in my fingers in the first few days after treatment. All in all, those are not too bad. I know other people dealing with treatments that are having much more difficulty than I am. My thoughts and prayers ar with them.
And I’m excited to send my most recent book to production. Yes, I’ve been sharing the rough drafts of the chapters on my blog as I’ve been working on it, but many people want an actual book in hand or at least on their e-reader. The material in It’s Time: Letters to the Bride of Christ at the End of the Age is critical enough that I’m publishing Part I now and will add Part 2 when it is completed.
For those who order by Kindle we will be able to add Part II when it is complete. Print books, however, will have to be reordered. We are making it as inexpensive as possible and still covering our expenses. E-book will be $4.99 and printed version will be $7.99. Hopefully we’ll be able to take orders and get it out next week. We’re shooting for February 18 as our release date.
Here is the full spread of the cover, front and back.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to travel again or if that’s even what Jesus has in mind for this season of our lives. Sara continues to heal from her recently-discovered trauma from childhood and I couldn’t be more proud of the way she takes it on with Jesus.
So, life continues to unfold through uncharted waters and we are grateful for how Jesus is walking with us in this season of our lives. His grace truly is sufficient each day and I love how he clarifies the way in which he wants us to walk. I pray he is doing that for you as well.
The last few years have brought a lot of change to the trajectory of my journey. Living loved is taking me to places I’ve never considered and brought more joy and fullness to my life than I’ve ever known. I’ve shared most of the changes in that journey on the weekly podcast as well as here on my blog. This has been the most transformative season of my life, bar none.
I know people have many questions and insights into how they might process some of that in their own journey, and since I’m not traveling as much these days, I thought I’d hold some occasional Zoom sessions to explore this amazing journey together.
You may want to discuss the content of my latest book, It’s Time: Letters to the Bride of Christ at the End of the Age, my current journey praying for the brokenness of the world, or raising up a new generation of young people tuned into Jesus. We can also talk about living loved, gazing with God, healing from trauma, dealing with toxic family members, or anything else you want to talk about.
We will meet by Zoom and begin this Saturday, August 10, at 1:00 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time. Lord willing, we will stream it live on The God Journey Facebook page for those who want to watch live or the recording of it after. If you want to participate in the discussion, please email me in advance for the Zoom link. And if you want to be added to a list of people I’ll contact for future conversations, even if you can’t make this one, email me as well.
This is meant to be a relaxed conversation among friends, not asking questions of an expert. I’m a brother on a journey and if there’s any way that the things I’ve learned can be a blessing to you, I’m happy to share them.
Just Love:
