Author: JRMITCH85

As I walked through the doors today I had a well laid out plan about what I was going to do today, and the tasks that were finally going to be checked off, however my day didn’t go as planned. An entire host of things that demanded my attention came up, and the day spun out of control.

I need this prayer right now.

“Lord I thank you for the chaos that has surrounded me today, and even more I thank you for never leaving my side in the midst of the chaos that lies inside and outside. May I learn to become more dependent upon You, and less dependent upon the plans and task lists I make. Praise be You in all things and in all circumstances.” Amen

In a recent trip to Berkeley, I got a chance to visit and watch games in the “new” Memorial Stadium on campus. I have seen dozens of games in Memorial Stadium, but over the last two years it has been renovated with a new press box, training center, plazas outside the stadium, concourses within the stadium, and seat configurations which have transformed this stadium from the 1920’s into a new creation. However, from the outside, much of the façade is the same as it was before the renovation.

So many of us concentrate on fixing up our exterior while leaving the inside the same. I am guilty of this. Over the last three years I have “renovated” my exterior, dropping about 150 pounds, and reclaiming my athletic roots, but some bad habits I have left alone in the core of my heart. This is inconceivable.

What have you left alone untouched in the corners of your heart? Where do you need renovation?

Heavenly Father, I relinquish to you those areas of my heart that need renovation. May you take on the ugliness that lies within, and make me a new creation in this old body. Amen.

Saturday must have been a long and dark day. Not only did they hide in fear of their lives, but even worse, they grieved deeply. Jesus was gone. His disciples had watched the soldiers carry him off to his execution the day before. Now it was Saturday, their master was dead and the grief cut deeply, leaving them utterly hollow.

They had not signed up for this. Jesus was supposed to be the Messiah. He was supposed to lead them to victory over their oppressors. He was supposed to establish Israel as a strong nation once again and allow them to bask in the joy of sweet justice. Pain, grief, and sorrow were not part of the package.

Perhaps you have felt like the disciples that dark Saturday. I know I have. Over a fifteen-month period in my life I experienced the deaths of a friend, two grandmothers, my father-in-law, and the church that we had planted, as well as the near death experiences of a sister-in-law and a niece. Wham! There I was. It seemed like everything around me was dying. I didn’t sign up for this. I thought the way of following Jesus was one of victory and peace. All I felt was pain and despair. Actually, I had lost the ability to feel. I wish I could say that I handled it with poise and dignity, quietly nodding and smiling, quoting pithy platitudes about God’s sovereignty. I didn’t. I toggled between numb denial and irritating doubt. I wondered if perhaps I didn’t measure up. Perhaps God was punishing me for something. Perhaps I’d been duped all these years and the universe really was a cold and empty place.

I have to think that the disciples had similar feelings on that dark Saturday. It seemed as if all hope was gone. We feel this way because we forget an important truth. The way of Jesus is a way of pain, grief, and sorrow. Jesus suffered much in his life – even before his arrest and execution. As a child he knew what it meant to be hidden in Egypt in fear for his life. He knew the loss of his stepfather, Joseph. He wept over the death of his friend, Lazarus. He grieved over the blindness of the citizens of Israel. He agonized to the point of blood in the garden of Gethsemane. He screamed out in the words of his ancestor, David, as he hung on the cross, “My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?”

But Jesus told us it would be this way. In John’s account of Jesus’ final teaching Jesus said that God would prune the branches that clung to the Vine (John 15:1-17). Pruning hurts. To have large parts of your life severed from you is not a pleasant experience. There is no joy in the sensation of shears cutting into your flesh. Yet, as the Great Gardener knows, without pruning there is no life.

That is the way of Jesus – the way of God’s love and grace. God purifies us with pain. The disciples learned this and went on to write to the churches about it. James said to consider it pure joy when we suffer various trials, because in the end it makes us complete and strong. Peter told us that suffering refines our hearts like fire refines gold. Then Paul, as he described the painful process of working through persecution and breaking down the walls of prejudice, reached the climax of the whole process with one word – hope.

Saturday was finally over. On Sunday the disciples came face to face with a reality that is deeper than grief. They met hope. Jesus plowed through pain and grief and came out the other side alive once more. Saturdays will come. Of that you can be sure. They will come and they will be painful. They may last a day; they may last twenty months. When they come, remember this – without Saturday we don’t get to Sunday. The love of Jesus is our hope for today and forever. We will grieve, but we can grieve with hope.

“Lean on me.” God makes this invitation to you and me in every moment of our lives. We can choose to respond, “Please, God, rescue me! Come quickly, Lord, and help me.” But as for me, my focus often remains stuck on myself. I become caught up either in all that I accomplish or in all that I have left undone. I believe circumstances are either the result of my own abilities or the fault of my own limitations. When life is all about me, I am blinded from the reality of my complete dependence upon my Creator. The noise of arrogance and anxiety deafens the call to lean on the everlasting arms.

We are designed by God to be dependent. It is a twofold dependence – first, directly upon God, and second, indirectly upon God through those people God brings into our lives. Our existence is to be one of interconnection, not isolation.

As Jesus lived his life on earth as both God and human being, he lived the ultimate life of continual dependence upon his Father; yet he also depended upon the provision from his Father through other human beings. God provided for Jesus’ human life through Mary. Mary first carried Jesus inside her body and then in her arms. The nourishment Mary took in was the first nourishment he received. She prepared his daily bread and mothered him with all her heart – satisfying one of the deepest needs of the human soul.

In adulthood, Jesus depended upon a large community to accomplish the work he was called to do. A young boy provided the five loaves and two fish that would feed five thousand. Jesus asked a woman for water at a well – and depended upon her word to evangelize her entire Samaritan town, leading many to believe in him. Overwhelmed with sorrow in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus sought solace in the company of Peter, James, and John, even as they fell asleep just when the Lord needed them most. When Jesus died on the cross, Mary was there with the other women and John, perhaps ready to hold his body one final time. Jesus called upon his disciple to do one more thing for him – take care of his mother (John 19:26-27). Even his tomb was a gift from one of his followers (Matthew 27:59-60).

Yet Jesus did not stay in this tomb beyond three days. For the One he depended on before all others raised him from death to life.

There is freedom in dependence. It enables each of us to accept our vulnerability. We no longer have to hide in shame or self-sufficiency. You and I can choose to lean on our Father amid a full range of disastrous and delightful events, praying, “Please, God, rescue me! Come quickly, Lord, and help me” (Psalm 70:1).

We lean in dependence on the Lord, we depend on those closest to us, and we lean also upon the saints who have gone before us in the faith. Sixteen hundred years ago, a European Christian leader named John Cassian published an account of his conversations with monks living in a Middle Eastern desert. One older monk, Isaac, had shared this prayer from Psalm 70 with the young John on his visit to their monastery. John’s book – and Isaac’s prayer – had such an influence that even today many Christians around the globe begin times of prayer with the Scripture verse Isaac commended to John Cassian. And on days when I am still enough to hear the call, Lean on me, I, too, join in this prayer practice, thanks in part to John Cassian, Isaac, and his fellow monks.