I recently watched a TV show I enjoy in which one young character, upon finding out something she would have to do, exclaimed “oh, my God!” An older character rebuked her, told her not to take God’s name in vain. The young girl responded with great fervor that she hoped it wasn’t in vain, she was going to need all the help she could get.
That little scene stopped me in my tracks. All my life I was taught that using that particular phrase was taking God’s name in vain. All my life I was taught that any phrase using God’s name in conversation was treating it flippantly. As a result, reference to God was reduced to carefully organized and controlled settings. This restriction had the logical effect of limiting my understanding of God’s role in my life and limiting His effect on my heart. God was an intellectual concept I believed in, a set of laws to follow, nothing more.
“Lord my God, you are very great.” “My God, I am ashamed and embarrassed to life my face toward you.” “My God, we know you!” “Lord my God, I seek refuge in you.” “Pay attention to the sound of my cry, my Lord and my God.” “My God illuminates my darkness.” “Vindicate me, Lord my God.” “Deliver me, my God.” “Then you raised my life from the pit, Lord my God!” “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
In our quest to avoid treating His name flippantly, we sometimes forget that we are indeed commanded to call upon His name. When we are in trouble, we call on Him for aid. When we have hurt Him, we cry His name in shame. When we come through the tough times we call on Him in thanks. Throughout scripture the faithful called His name in fear, pain, shame, joy, wonder, and gratitude. “My God” fills the pages of the inspired Word, and was wrenched from the throat of the sacrificial God Himself as He hung on the cross.
When I’m nervous about a test or an interview, oh, my God, be with me. When I am frightened by a bully, oh, my God, give me courage. When unfair words wound my heart and make me angry, oh, my God, give me humility and kindness. When money comes to pay a difficult bill, oh, my God, thank you! When a friend holds me close in a moment of grief, oh, my God, you have comforted me. When I read Your Word, oh, my God, how I love you. How amazing it is to have a God who is with me in every moment of my life! Oh, my God!
“Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is”
“not abandoning our own meeting together, as is the habit of some people”
“not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing”
“not neglecting to gather together, as some are in the habit of doing”
This passage may be one of the most memorized in scripture, at least among people I grew up listening to. It is whipped out like a hammer after a loose nail every time someone isn’t seen at the church building on a Sunday or Wednesday. “Don’t forsake the assembly!” is our usual misquote, with a capital A.
As the people of the Roman empire absorbed the implications of the death and resurrection of Jesus, they experienced a change so great within themselves that they could not identify with the lives they had previously led. They had been empty and became full. They had been meaningless and suddenly had a great purpose. They craved contact with those who shared the unfathomable joy of that revolution, and so they spent every possible moment in each other’s company.
Most of them worked long hours for a meager existence, and many had little to call their own, but what that had they shared. They spent the evening meal in each other’s homes, no matter how plain or poor the surroundings or the food. They socialized with each other on market days in the town square. They gathered informally in public forums or synagogues to read the scrolls available to them and help each other discover the identity of faith.
These transformed people were not a corporation with designated hours to assemble for work. They were a family, and they fed each other’s faith through their shared joy and unrelenting enthusiasm. Unfortunately, as the change they experienced shook the world around them, maintaining such intimate relationship became more and more difficult. Suspected of political revolution, some were imprisoned or killed. Religious jealousy impacted livelihoods and threatened the health and safety of the faithful. Fear began to taint the longing for fellowship, and some began to avoid what they had craved in hopes of escaping notice. The resulting loneliness only exacerbated their fears, putting faith itself in jeopardy.
The writer of the letter to some of the formerly Jewish Christians addresses this problem directly. He reminded them that they had entered a sacred space by becoming a part of God’s family. This sanctuary of the faithful was their protection against the hopelessness around them, the hopelessness and fear that caused others to torment them. If they abandoned that family relationship they became again what they had been before, and the conviction that had been safety within would become doom without.
As millennia have passed and some cultures have made the story of Jesus a familiar thing, we have forgotten the transformation that shook the entire world. Our familiarity has bred entitlement, arrogance, and indifference to the incredible gift our Savior bestowed. Rather than crave the company of like hearts, we relegate our contact to formal designated conferences, and suspiciously guard our inner selves from the knowledge of others. We are not family and our emotional ties are stunted because we either were never changed or drew back from the cost. We may show up when required without fail, but we have forsaken the assembly.
Hebrews 10:19–25 (CSB): Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have boldness to enter the sanctuary through the blood of Jesus— he has inaugurated for us a new and living way through the curtain (that is, through his flesh)— and since we have a great high priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed in pure water. Let us hold on to the confession of our hope without wavering, since he who promised is faithful. And let us consider one another in order to provoke love and good works, not neglecting to gather together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging each other, and all the more as you see the day approaching.
When I was a child my grandmother made many of my clothes and taught me to use a pattern. If you have never sewed anything or seen a dress pattern, you might have the idea that it looks like the end result and that it contains all the details needed to produce carbon copy replicas. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
You see, patterns actually tell very little about the end product, and while some details are included and necessary, those details are few and far between. In order to create a garment that will shape and drape properly around a three dimensional human being, many smaller, odd shaped pieces must be fitted together. Some larger pieces must be folded and sewn into even more odd shapes. The size of some pieces must change depending upon the size and shape of the person who will wear the garment. The pattern contains marks to ensure correct joining, measurements for correct adjustments, and marks for sufficient seam width for the garment to hold together. These marks are often not labeled with language, however, and the person using the pattern must learn which ones are which and how to apply them.
The pattern itself cannot become a finished garment. Its purpose is to be applied to fabric with the appropriate markings for the individual transferred to that fabric, which will in turn be sewn together into the shape of the wearer. A pattern can be applied to any fabric, usually one reflecting the personality of the wearer. Different types of fabrics require different treatments; finer fabrics are more fragile, thicker fabrics can only be combined in certain ways, and still others stretch or slip easily so must be cut with great care to preserve the correct shape. The placement of designs within the fabric must be considered when a pattern is placed; the direction of the fabric weave must be carefully considered to avoid misshapen garments. Thread colors, trim styles, even fastener types can all be personalized to the needs or preferences of the wearer. The pattern itself doesn’t command any of this; the person using the pattern must take time to learn each person and each fabric before attempting to make the garment required.
If the same pattern is used to make garments for three individual people, each of those three garments will also be individual. They will be similar, the same recognizable garment, but one might have more space in the hips while another is slimmer in the shoulder. One may be made of sturdy material with a more sober design, while another may be flamboyantly colored silk. One may zip and have no trim, while another may fasten with buttons and be trimmed with elegant embroidery.
My grandmother also taught me that our lives are to be made according to a pattern, the pieces of which can be found in the stories and lessons of scripture. As a child, still learning the basics of sewing, I didn’t understand what that meant, but as my faith has grown I have learned what a beautiful gift our pattern is. You see, God as Creator understands the incredible uniqueness of each individual human. He understands that with that individuality of nature comes difference in application. The pattern He has provided is minimal, with marks for connection and adjustment that we must learn to read as we learn ourselves, the fabric upon which the pattern is to be applied. Just as a garment sewn for a large person would not fit properly on a small person, or a silk garment would be inappropriate for a manual laborer, applying rules based on one person’s needs or preferences to someone with completely different spiritual requirements cannot work.
We all have the same pattern we are to follow. We are all different types of fabric, designs, and trim styles. We each have the responsibility to know both the pattern and ourselves in order to become a finished garment pleasing to God who created both.
When Indiana Jones went to find the Grail, he had to cross a wide, deep chasm with no bridge in sight. His father told him the only way to cross was to take a step out over the chasm, a “leap of faith.” As soon as Indy stepped out as instructed, believing that somehow he would be able to cross, a bridge appeared beneath his feet. It had always been there, he just couldn’t see it until he used it.
The above story is obviously fictional, but it reflects a Biblical truth. The author of the letter to the Hebrew Christians wrote that faith is the reality of hope and the evidence of the unseen. In other words, in order to see what God has in store we have to step out like Indy, knowing that something is there. After we are willing to do that, after we can allow ourselves to know that truth transcends our limited sight, He allows us to see Him.
Enoch lived in the millennia before the flood reset the earth, in a time when men lived for hundreds of years and had opportunity to explore every possible imagination, good or evil. When most others pursued their own ends and lost favor with their Creator, Enoch lived his life in harmony with the God he could not see. As a reward, he was given a gift of eternal life without death, his body changed to walk in the physical presence of God. He saw God more completely than any other before or since.
Moses, though raised with every opportunity to pursue physical wealth and power, chose the life of a nomad chieftain in order to be close to God. He sought to know God, and submitted his will to loneliness, struggle, and abuse from the people he was tasked to lead. His anger was never roused so greatly as when he saw God disrespected, and when given the opportunity asked to see his protector. He didn’t want proof, only deeper connection, just as you or I would seek to look at and touch someone we love. Because Moses knew God so intimately as to crave such a thing, God allowed the privilege to the point that Moses himself carried so much of God’s glory that other humans could not physically look at him without pain.
Elijah stood almost alone in a nation that hated God. Without divine help his life would have been forfeit many times for his persistence in declaring God’s warnings to people who wanted nothing to do with God. As a reward for a lifetime of faithful service, God gave him Enoch’s gift, and carried him to eternity without death in a fiery chariot of honor.
When Elijah’s protégé, Elisha, was called to God’s service from his life as a wealthy farmer in that same rebellious nation, he not only obeyed, but quite literally burned the trappings of his old life as a sacrifice. He removed his own incentive to ever turn back. He knew God without seeing any evidence of His existence in the land. As a result he was allowed to see Elijah’s divine chariot, and it seems that he was given an even greater gift. Many years later when enemies surrounded his home, death seemed certain, and a fearful servant cried to him, Elisha asked God to show the servant what Elisha himself could apparently already see: an angel host greater than any human army standing ready to defend them. Because Elisha believed in what was invisible, God made it visible to Him.
Daniel and his friends faced immersion in an alien, pagan culture as boys. Despite what seemed to the rest of the Jewish people as visible signs of God’s desertion, the boys trusted that He was still there protecting them and held firmly to a life that honored Him. As a result, God Himself walked with three of them in human form in fires that should have vaporized them and brought them through alive. Daniel’s faith was so strong that in spite of all odds against him that faith gained respect from one godless king after another. Because he knew without seeing that God was with him, God walked with him in human form and told him the history of the next millennium in detail before any of it happened.
When Stephen was arrested for persisting in teaching and working when opposed by the Jewish counsel, his faith shone so brightly in him that even his accusers compared him to an angel of God. He faced what he knew would be at least great pain, if not death, and told a roomful of men who hated him about the power of God. When they predictably sentenced him to a brutal death, God allowed his physical eyes to see the spiritual world he entered by the blows of his enemies’ stones. Stephen saw the glory of God and Christ ruling over all because he had believed it without sight.
I can’t say that I have heard of anyone in our own age experiencing such a gift. Even in ages past it was a rare thing, but in two thousand years not a reference has been recorded. It’s a sobering thought to consider our own faith in light of that which resulted in such intimacy. Perhaps God doesn’t give such obvious boons anymore since He lived and died and rose as a human, but what if He would and our faith isn’t strong enough? Do we have the surety of God to do right while surrounded by doubt and evil? Do we have the surety of God to actively look for glimpses of His glory, to beg for a glance at even the smallest part of Him? Do we have the surety of God to walk away from everything we are and become something else when service to Him requires it? Do we have the surety of God to continue a godly life in the face of abuse and death? Do we have the surety of God to step out over the abyss and find the bridge under our feet, or will we huddle forever whimpering on the ledge while the bridge remains forever invisible?
” Lift up your hands in the holy place and bless the Lord.” Ps. 134:2
“So I will bless you as long as I live; at your name I will lift up my hands.” Ps. 63:4
“I spread out my hands to you; I am like parched land before you.” Ps. 143:6
When a small child wants anything from his parent, he runs to them and reaches both hands up as far as he can reach, fingers spread wide with urgency. It’s an instinct born of need to reach out to the one who can fill that need. When that same child receives what is desired or needed, he raises his hands again, this time in celebration.
In Bible accounts of God’s people approaching Him in prayer, they spread their hands out to Him in a gesture of appeal, much like that of a child. They instinctively reached for the One who could fill every need. When they sang songs of praise they lifted hands high in celebration of His glory and provision. They worshipped Him.
“Therefore, I want the men in every place to pray, lifting up holy hands without anger or argument.” 1 Tim. 2:8
When we as God’s people approach Him today we must still have this attitude of child-like trust and appeal. We must come to Him without reservation, knowing without possibility of being dissuaded that He will hear and respond. When we offer gratitude, it must be more than just empty words; it must be drawn from deep within us, so joyful that it cannot be buried or contained. We must worship, our hands and our souls spread high before Him.
The word “authority” is often brought up in certain religious circles, usually in context of arguing whether or not something is allowed or spiritually “legal.” Certainly the word is used prolifically in scripture, but when speaking of God’s authority over man, the Bible paints quite a special picture.
God is most often envisioned as a shepherd and humans as sheep. The shepherd has total authority over the flock, but he does not rule them with laws. Something far deeper and more abiding holds the sheep under his will, and it begins at the birth of a lamb.
A shepherd’s life is bound to his flock; he must keep eyes on every sheep at all hours, and know everything that happens among them, no matter how large the flock. When a lamb is born, he is there to warm it, ensure the mother feeds it, and guard against the predators that lurk for the one minute his back might turn. He cradles the lamb in his arms, whispering to it and carrying it to a safer place. The shepherd’s voice is known as soon as the ewe’s, and is immediately associated with comfort and safety. If the ewe rejects a lamb, the shepherd feeds it himself, adding recognition of the shepherd as the source of life.
Such a beginning establishes both a father’s affection and intimate knowledge of the lamb in the shepherd, and unbreakable trust of the shepherd in the lamb. This trust and affection mean that for the rest of its life the sheep will do anything for the shepherd, and the shepherd will do anything for the sheep. If the shepherd calls, the sheep will run to him immediately; he is the source of everything good in her life, and she wants whatever he has to offer. If the sheep becomes ill or injured, or is separated from the flock by distraction or hunting predators, the shepherd can instantly sense that something is wrong and will quickly find the sheep to fix the problem.
There is no need for the shepherd to beat or threaten the sheep; in fact, such treatment would only confuse and frighten the sheep. There are no rules or laws to be enforced, no “command structure” to keep organized. Sheep operate on instinct and have no need of such things. They follow the shepherd because he feeds them, protects them, heals them, rescues them. They follow wherever he calls, stop wherever he rests, eat whatever he provides, simply because he loves them and they trust him. They are connected to the shepherd as surely as if they were part of him, and cannot conceive of life without him.
This is the authority of God for His people. We allow Him to provide for us, to lead us, to protect us, because He loves us and we trust Him. When we struggle, we call for Him; when our souls are threatened, we run toward Him. When He calls, it doesn’t matter what we think or want; what He offers is better and we rush to receive it. He loves us with incomprehensible love, and knows every part of us even more deeply than we know ourselves. There is no need for laws or command structures, no possibility of quibbling over legalities. We are connected to Him, part of Him, and cannot exist otherwise.
The images of flowing water and being washed clean dominate the scriptures, but one in particular is my favorite. Revelation paints a picture of a river rushing down from God’s throne through the roots of the tree of life to cleanse the world of a great curse. That image has always fired my imagination, and I sometimes can almost feel the water rushing through me carrying away every trace of unwanted filth.
There’s another image that often troubles me when I think of the great river, an ugly one not specifically painted in Revelation but one nevertheless seen in the behavior of mankind from the garden to now. It’s a person, unrecognizable under layers of grime, half buried in thick heavy clay. This person, upon seeing the flood coming, instead of rejoicing in the power that can free them from the mud and grime, begins to frantically use globs of their muddy trap to build a wall to block the water, growing dirtier and sinking deeper in the mire with every handful while salvation flows mere inches away.
In a way it’s an understandable reaction. We tend to be terrified of power held outside of ourselves, and our terror focuses our efforts on desperate self-preservation rather than reason. Perhaps, in the physical world, there is purpose in such a reaction, but spiritually it makes no sense. Christ’s sacrifice offers freedom from the mire of uncertainty and fear, a return to the purity of our origin and connection, peace unreachable from the muddy banks of human opinions and demands. Clinging to anything stemming from human concerns builds a wall between us and that cleansing, life-bringing flood.
Thunder rolled, a deep rumble that drew all eyes to the mountain. Clouds gathered to darken the peaks, lightning punctuating the unending noise. The glow of fire began to turn the roiling shadows red, flickering tongues of flame piercing the billowing waves of black. Invisible shofars reverberated in the air as the watchers clapped hands over ears in pain and terror. Men and women fell to their knees as the earth rocked beneath them. Then came the words, the unavoidable voice that held all rapt: I am the Lord your God.
The walls rose white in the sun, reflecting its brilliance over the descending streets of the city. Gold crowns at pinnacle and gate held what seemed to be the pure flame of God Himself, drawing the notice of every citizen as they went about their daily business. Thin trails of smoke rose from the inner courtyard as the priests offered the daily love offerings of individuals seeking God’s presence. The sound of singing echoed from the inner walls of the outer court and drifted to the ears of passersby, drawing them in to join the celebration. The entrance bustled with activity, the lowing of cattle vying with the calls of shepherds as excited citizens prepared for the coming feast. Already pole frames were being erected, with piles of branches and rugs near each, ready for the week’s commemoration of the wilderness years. Levite servers bustled about, children racing through the streets stopped to stare at the gleaming temple in innocent awe, while their parents sang snatches of psalms and chattered about tales of days gone by. All eyes drifted often to the towering brilliance, and whispered prayers of thanksgiving accompanied joyous smiles.
Stone by stone the great pillars rose overhead, soaring to the vaulting arches and crystal panes of the impossible ceiling. Light filled the space, reflecting from the polished buttresses as if they held the light of God within themselves. Standing on seamless stone tiles far beneath that glow one could imagine oneself within the walls of Heaven, breathing the breath of God. The voices lifted in song echoed from above, mimicking the heavenly choirs unheard by mortal ears. Eyes could not remain earthbound, but soared upward seeking communion with God Himself.
The colors blended together, casting shadows from painted lanterns that seemed to hold light unbound by physics. The bowed head of a woman, cradling the linen ready for the coming of the child, carried the anticipation in the pains that already cramped her womb. The man, almost formless in her shadow, holds the pent-up breath of every passerby gazing on the image. The great empty road in front of her, lit by the lantern yet somehow sliding the eye back to her waiting figure, gleams of possibility. When will the Savior arrive? Will the couple, chosen to provide the simple human life He will lead, find shelter in time? Like the figures frozen in the painting, breath stops in every throat watching, waiting with them.
Color washed across the sky, particles of light playing a silent symphony against the atmosphere. A ridge of white marked the edge of darkness as the last rays peeked above the banks of clouds. Below, a haze of yellow fire blazed like the glory of Heaven itself. Eyes and hands lifted in awed worship.
Over and over God has focused His people. His inspired writers told how over and over He drew their minds and hearts back to Him using grand architecture, beautiful music, inspired artisanship, captivating stories, and shocking displays of power. Over and over those writers spoke of His intention for worship being an offering of man’s entire self, a connection with all that God is in order to lift mankind out of the physical realm into the spiritual one. Over and over He has entertained the souls of His people within Himself.
Voices rise in stirring melody, singing words of praise to God. Sounds of music tremble in the air, quickening the heartbeat and wakening souls to touch the Father. Hands lift and heads bow as the weight of the Savior’s love crushes resistance.
Stories are told of hopelessness banished, lovelessness redeemed, helplessness relieved, or evil vanquished. Beautiful things, films about simple joyous themes, and music reflecting love and life wake souls to God’s presence and draw their eyes from the sorrow of darkness to the joy of His light. They entertain toward faithfulness.
Genesis 2:7 (CSB): Then the Lord God formed the man out of the dust from the ground and breathed the breath of life into his nostrils, and the man became a living being.
Since the garden, humanity has continually rejected our origin. We seek to exalt ourselves, worshipping our own ideas and creations in twisted self-absorption. Isaiah condemned physical Israel for this very thing.
Isaiah 2:7–9 (CSB): Their land is full of silver and gold,
and there is no limit to their treasures;
their land is full of horses,
and there is no limit to their chariots.
8 Their land is full of worthless idols;
they worship the work of their hands,
what their fingers have made.
9 So humanity is brought low,
and each person is humbled.
Did you notice that he said Israel was brought down through being full of their physical lives? By worshipping what they perceived as their own accomplishments? They were God’s nation, they wore His name for the world to see. They were chosen to be full of God Himself, but they had forgotten Him. Oh, they carried out the temple rituals, never missed a festival, and knew the law well enough to weaponize it against each other, but they had forgotten Him. They were full of themselves instead.
We live in a time when human propensity for self-worship is on blatant display. Humans arrogantly hold patents on God-created organisms and promote their own derivitive and inferior work as the answer to all problems. We divide into parties and subparties based on opinions we uphold as fact, and bash our fellow humans about the head with principles we refuse to actually embody.
Self-worship is to be expected from those who reject God openly, and God spent time in scripture rebuking them, but most often His scathing words were directed at His own chosen nation. Unfortunately, though His nation is no longer physical, those who claim His name haven’t really changed. We say we trust Him, we say we’re devoted to Him, but when it comes down to a choice we choose humanity’s creation and ideals over God’s.
Isaiah’s words to Israel about this behavior were poignent. Isaiah 2:22 (CSB): Put no more trust in a mere human, who has only the breath in his nostrils. What is he really worth?
Remember Genesis 2? All we have really is the breath in our nostrils, and that is His as well. His breath is the sole reason for our existence. We accomplish nothing. He created everything. Without Him, we are worthless piles of dust. With Him, we are simply the breath in His nostrils.
The Everlasting. The Omnipotent. The I AM. The One without physical form, without physical space, without limits of any kind. This God, the Alpha and Omega, Creator of all things, took on the form of His creation. We repeat this often, and quote scriptures about it, but I wonder if we truly grasp the enormity of it.
Many religions have stories of deities who took on human form. These deities were either already limited in power and as flawed as humans, or they merely appeared human temporarily to deliver messages or enjoy themselves while retaining all of their power. Only this one is different.
He didn’t appear as an emperor or great warrior. He didn’t appear surrounded by prestige and wealth. He came as a baby. An actual baby, not the perverted vision of one. He arrived squalling and cold, blinded by even the dim light of a candle-lit clay-walled barn, flailing limbs not answering any but reflexive signals from the still-developing brain of a human infant. He could have exerted power to change that, but He didn’t.
He lived as a child, experiencing the bumps and bruises and frustrations of learning to accomplish tasks using human hands and feet. He submitted with respect and honor to the training given Him by human parents whose own understanding of His law was flawed and stumbling. He endured the privation that was part of the life of a poor working family, and faced the inevitable injuries and humiliations of apprenticeship in a manual trade. He could have exerted power to change all that, but He didn’t.
He became a nomad without home or income, endured starvation, thirst, exposure, and fatigue. He wept and raged, prayed and laughed. He expended all of the energy His human body could contain on others, teaching and comforting. What power He chose to access as a grown man was also directed solely into others, even when hardship brought him to the brink of His human mortality. He became the subject of taunts, the target of prideful rage, and the focus of selfish demands. He could have exerted power to change all that, but He didn’t.
He was dragged to trial for crimes He didn’t commit, beaten and humiliated and tortured as nothing more than a pawn in a political game. Railroad spikes were pounded through the nerve bundles in His wrists and ankles before He was left to hang from a beam for hours, every breath an agony, His life slowly dripping away in the blood that oozed from wounds not allowed to close. He could have exerted power to change all that, but He didn’t.
Can you imagine what it must have been like? Can you imagine being limitless and yet trapped inside human limitations? Can you imagine being in that situation by your own choice alone? Can you imagine choosing such humiliation to rescue your creation that had rejected you, that would despise you for the poverty-stricken and unimpressive position you had chosen, that would still somehow be unable to ignore your truth and would hate you so much for it they would destroy your human life?
His body was wrapped in linen and hastily placed in a donated tomb. Because the Passover Sabbath had begun, the usual burial rites involving fragrant oils to preserve the body were delayed until Sunday. On Sunday morning, after having been released from His self-imposed limitations, as His human body showed signs of decomposition and decay, He once again stepped into it and changed it irrevocably. By that unfathomable action, He freed all of humanity as well. What a wondrous, unimaginable, selfless, self-limiting, unfathomable God.
The Word Worker 
