Recently we’ve explored how we build ourselves up through our “doing.” This week is more about the “triggers” that lure us into that kind of thinking. Our circumstances are one such set of triggers. Our own passions, and personal ambitions, are another.

First, let’s make one thing clear: God has given us hopes and dreams and ambitions to pursue. Not all of the “good things” we do are bad. Not by a long shot. The struggle is in who gets the credit, and in who’s really being served by what we do. Again, and for probably not the last time: Laying it down is about taking our-selves out of the equation and focusing on what God wants, rather than how we benefit from what we do. What we get out of it is the blessing, not the goal.

More often than not, we make even good things about our work and our accomplishments, as if we’re somehow made superior by them because we’ve accomplished them. We may give God lip service, and maybe even some sincere acknowledgement, but we know who really stepped up to the plate and got it done.

In The Spiritual Man, Watchman Nee points out, “The enemy well knows how we need our mind to attend the spirit so that we may walk by the spirit. Thus he frequently induces us to overuse it that it may be rendered unfit to function normally and hence be powerless to reinforce the spirit in time of weakness.” A more modern way of putting that is, “If Satan can’t make you bad, he’ll make you busy.” But Nee hints at an even more significant truth: Satan is more than willing to use our busyness and our ambition to, slowly but steadily, make us bad. As we drift from the leading of the Spirit, we leave ourselves increasingly open to things that aren’t of God.

We’ve seen this far too many times in recent church history, but it’s far from a new problem. People often start off sincerely at first and experience success, but soon it become more and more about the success and less and less about serving God. Eventually success becomes “the spirit” of the thing, rather than being something that’s measured by our obedience to the Spirit. “Spiritual leadership” that isn’t leading others closer to Jesus isn’t spiritual leadership at all.

Jesus calls us to a different work: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24). It is a challenge so difficult that only one man has ever done it entirely successfully—the One who’s calling us to it right now. And he is the one who will make true success happen, in his way and in his time. So lay down your ambition, and begin following Jesus into something far bigger than yourself.

Lay It Down Today

What gets you excited, and makes you want to get up in the morning—or at least has you looking forward to getting back home? Let’s keep relationships off the table for this activity. For now, think of something that isn’t necessarily life-giving in itself but is life-giving to you—a hobby or activity, or something that benefits others. It might even be your work. Got that in your mind? Good.

Now: How can you invite Jesus (or invite him further) into that activity? It might be as simple as adding prayer throughout your activity (and notice I said “throughout,” not just before or after). Maybe it’s tweaking that activity so your actions are more directly giving God glory rather than just about you “taking a break.” Whatever you come up with, begin making it a regular part of that activity—then see how God begins changing things up as you do.

Also—and here’s the deeper part—consider how this attitude can be brought into the more “serious” parts of your life. Where are you striving to accomplish something, and how much of that is you? How can you begin taking your hands off and letting Jesus guide those things—and when success comes, give him the glory instead of taking the credit? This will obviously take longer to develop, but start working on it today.

I have to admit, I’ve always been perplexed by people who talk about the “comfort” of the Christian life, especially in terms of it being the primary reason for believing in Christ. To be sure, there’s “comfort and joy” to be had in knowing Christ, and “a peace that passes all understanding.” But humanly speaking, there’s still life to be lived. And life can be painful—so much so that it cuts through the veneer of all that joy and peace that people both inside and outside of Christianity think we’re supposed to be exuding 24/7.

The good news is: God’s OK with that. In fact, he’s the one who’s allowed those circumstances to happen. And a big reason he allows them is this: Our circumstances reveal who we are and what we really trust. The situations we face each day—especially the bad ones—tend to bring out what we’re made of, whether we want them to or not. We may be shocked by what our circumstances reveal about us, but God isn’t—and he wants us to stop being shocked as well, so that we trust him rather than ourselves to get through those circumstances.

However, we often don’t approach it that way. We think that if God cared about us, he’d change our situation. In fact, that was pretty much the serpent’s argument in the garden, and it worked. Even paradise wasn’t good enough for us.

On the other hand, when we lay our circumstances before God, he provides a way through them, even when we think things might be impossible—or probably closer to our real issue: even when we have no control over our circumstances. I already have the control, God reminds us; are you going let me do what I need to do, or are you going to continue to fight me?

The Exodus account is a great example of laying down our circumstances. After the second plague out of ten (frogs, by the way), Pharaoh asks Moses to remove this lousy set of circumstances. Moses’ response in Exodus 8:9 is worth noting: He actually gives Pharaoh, the enslaver and persecutor of his people, permission to set the dates for this plague to be removed. Yet by doing this, he’s acknowledging that no matter what Pharaoh decides, God is still in control and ultimately will deliver Israel.

In contrast to this attitude is the well-known (and often overargued) hardening of Pharaoh’s heart (Exodus 8:14, etc.). The best definition I’ve seen of this “hardening” is “the continuation of a prior condition.” Put another way: God was pressing Pharaoh’s buttons and revealing his heart, already knowing how he would respond to his circumstances:

For by now I could have put out my hand and struck you and your people with pestilence, and you would have been cut off from the earth. But for this purpose I have raised you up, to show you my power, so that my name may be proclaimed in all the earth. You are still exalting yourself against my people and will not let them go (Exodus 9:15–17).

Sometimes, parting the Red Sea is easier than opening up a human heart.

And that brings us back to… us. We want to change our outer circumstances; God is more concerned with changing our inner circumstances—the very ones we seemingly should have more control over but don’t. (Read Romans 7 if you don’t believe me, or even if you do.) When that happens, our outer circumstances begin to change as well. So give it all to God, and let him accomplish his will through your circumstances.

Lay It Down Today

Let’s spend some more time with a question you hopefully began addressing in last week’s small-group session: What circumstances are you facing right now that seem impossible to you—and maybe, therefore, also seem impossible for God?

Ask God to open the way for you to walk through your circumstances—not asking for a solution (though he may well provide one), but to see clearly how to follow him through whatever it is you’re facing right now. Resolve to wait for God’s answer, and ask him for the strength to wait. Start that waiting right now. Don’t just throw up a prayer and stop reading, but spend time waiting. Give God the chance to speak—and give yourself the chance to hear.

Let’s pick up where we left off last week: “And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life” (Matthew 19:29).

Is Jesus always trying to separate us from friends and family? Is that what he really wants?

I don’t think you can make a rule out of this. I think the real point is: We’re always to choose Jesus first. Whatever their proximity, Jesus’ brother and sister and mother are those who choose to do God’s will (Matthew 12:50).

That said, Jesus is warning us of the division his presence, and our allegiance, may cause. We may indeed be forced to choose a side. But Jesus promises that no matter whatever, and whoever, we leave behind for his sake, we “will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life.”

Since we’re already considering this, let’s look at it from a couple other angles:

• Is the abundant life Jesus promises us simply a pleasant existence among a bunch of “Christian friends”? To be honest, I think that’s the way most American Christians live it out. Jesus addresses that too here. We may not have to leave our churches behind, but we’ll almost certainly need to step outside of the human comfort of them, in order to fully follow Jesus.
• A perhaps lesser-acknowledged yet much larger fact is: We are never alone in our relationships. Jesus is always there, in our midst, whether we acknowledge him or not. To believe anything different is to cultivate the kind of relationship Jesus says we need to lay down. Conversely, the friendships where we know Jesus is ever-present, and where we put him first, are the richest friendships we will ever have. If you’ve ever experienced this, you know this to be true.

The Bible repeatedly tells us that this world is only temporary, that everything in it will pass. That doesn’t just go for the present world system and its evils, but even the people and things we love. This is a tough truth to accept. We’re being prepared for an eternity with Jesus. We must learn to love him first. Will we be reunited with those we love in heaven? One could make biblical arguments in both directions. But Jesus makes it clear that our ultimate priority must be him.

The good news behind this tough fact is that loving Jesus doesn’t obliterate our love for those here on earth—rather, it transforms it. Remember, “laying it down” is really about laying our selves down. Much of our love for others is about what we get out of the relationship. We love others, or are attracted to them, because they make us feel good, special, important, worth something. That’s not a bad thing. The problem occurs when we base our lives upon those feelings, and rely on those around us to constantly replenish those feelings. When those people or feelings fail us, we’re devastated in more ways than we’re even aware—because when that happens we also begin to feel, however vaguely, how far we’ve let ourselves drift from God.

No matter what our worth to others, we’re worth so much more to Jesus. Likewise, no matter what others are worth to us, Jesus should be worth so much more. As we learn to live out of that reality, we not only enter further into the presence of that infinitely greater love but can now truly share that love with those we love.

Yes, I’m talking very loftily here. It’s true, we seldom live in this place. But I fear that many of us have given up even trying to pursue Jesus’ love because of this—that we have found even his “easy yoke” of obedience too restraining. The fact that we have given up is the principal reason why we settle for something—or in today’s case, someone—less than Jesus.

As one of my favorite songwriters, Bill Mallonee, phrases it: “Love is just a plea / Deepest point of need / We take a reasonable facsimile, most of the time.” We desire to feel something, and Jesus just seems too far away, so we unwittingly (or bitterly) turn away from the One who’s right next to us—the One whom we’d see if we’d only truly desired him long enough to see past the troubles we’re facing right now.

Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him…. Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. Of his own will he brought us forth by the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures (James 1:12, 16–18).

So let’s start living as “firstfruits.” Let’s begin cultivating the deepest and most satisfying relationship we can ever have—our relationship with Jesus—and allow him to transform our earthly relationships into what he desires. Let’s lay it all down, and move on to receiving his life and living it out day by day.

Lay It Down Today

Between Weeks 4 and 5 you’ll find an “interlude”—a retreat time you can either do on your own, or better yet, with your group. Let’s begin preparing for that today. Take a fifteen-minute mini-retreat, as soon as you’re able to do so.

For the first ten minutes: Quietly reflect on that time when you first drew close to Jesus. Whether you focus on one specific moment or that general season of your life, try to really reflect and recapture the sense of what that time was like. Who was with you (or who were you close to, at that time)? Where were you? What were some of the sights, sounds, and smells you associate with that time? What were you thinking and feeling? Replay all of it in your mind and heart.

Then: Take another five minutes to quietly reflect on where you are right now in your relationship with Jesus. Where you are in comparison to those first days, and why?

Finally, think about Jesus coming alongside you right now. What’s different from before? What’s better? What do you miss from that first time you drew close to Jesus?

Close by thanking Jesus for the brief time you’ve spent with him, and how your relationship with him has grown over the years. Ask him also to begin preparing you for the longer time you’ll be spending with him in a couple weeks. Also, if there are places where you feel you’ve “lost your first love,” ask Jesus to restore and rekindle your heart toward him.

Our strength—or rather, our reliance upon it—is still pride. Therefore, it must be broken. Watchman Nee, in his book Changed into His Likeness, put it this way, “The characteristic of those who truly know God is that they have no faith in their own competence, no reliance upon themselves.” When we reach that point, we’re finally and truly useful to God.

Even much of the strength we think we have comes from our need to compare ourselves to others. We may be correct in thinking we’re much more gifted than others in a certain area or areas. But what’s that in comparison to God? Before him, even our strength is weakness. Until we’re willing to acknowledge this, even what little strength we have is useless to him.

Studying the life of Abraham may be the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done in terms of understanding God’s work in our lives. Over and over, you see this cycle:

a) God calls Abraham.
b) Abraham tries to do things his own way, and fails miserably.
c) Abraham finally “gets it,” relents and allows God to accomplish his will in his way, and with his timing.
d) Abraham himself begins to truly reflect God’s will.
e) God brings Abraham to a new level—and a new test. Repeat steps b.–e.

In the end, Abraham gets where God wants him, but in God’s way and God’s way only. Abraham was an ordinary man with an extraordinary God. Let’s break down this cycle even further, using the best-known example from Abraham’s life:

a) God promises Abraham a son (Genesis 15).
b) God doesn’t appear to be doing anything, so Sarah pushes Abraham to take matters into his own hands. “Here, sleep with my servant Hagar; we’ll have a son that way.” The result: A ton of family contentiousness (Genesis 16)—as well as millennia of religious contentiousness, via the birth of Ishmael, the forefather of Islam.
c) God waits thirteen years—until Ishmael’s reached adulthood and neither Abraham nor Sarah have the human ability to bear any more children—and repeats his promise to Abraham (Genesis 17–18).
d) Oh, and first Abraham also has to pray for an entire kingdom’s worth of barren women, because he hadn’t managed to break that nasty habit of calling Sarah his sister whenever another king was around—yet another trust issue for Abraham. Imagine how it must have felt to pray for the barrenness of those women, in light of the years of waiting Abraham’s already had. But he does. And then, God delivers on his promise (Genesis 20:17–21:1).
e) Years later, God commands Abraham to sacrifice Isaac—the very same son God had promised, and given. But now, Abraham doesn’t flinch. God spares Isaac, and makes a great nation of him and his offspring (Genesis 22).

We often want to do God’s work, but nearly as often we don’t want to do it God’s way. We rationalize why we shouldn’t wait, or why some other way would be so much more “sensible” or “efficient.” But unless what we do starts with God, it’s worth nothing. We must not will to do, but will to receive—and then share what God gives us.

When we lay down our strength, we give God permission to exercise his strength. We give birth to Isaacs instead of Ishmaels. We grow fruit that lasts, not dead branches to be burned. God does something so much greater than we ever could have imagined that we have no choice but to praise him—and rejoice in our weakness that gave him the opportunity to work.

When you look at the results instead of the circumstances, what’s really the easier and more rewarding route—to give birth to an Ishmael or to an Isaac? Think about it.

Lay It Down Today

If you’re a reader—and since you’re reading this, I’m guessing you are—spend some time in Genesis 15–22 (or at least Genesis 15:1–6, 16:1–6, 20:1–7, and 20:14–21:3). Don’t try to analyze it; just read about this part of Abraham’s life, and let God do the talking. Even if you don’t read through the Genesis passages, think and pray through these questions:

• What right now has you wondering, “Why hasn’t this happened yet?” If your impatience were to get the better of you, what would you try to do on your own strength? What would your Ishmael look like?

• What small successes and evidences of God’s presence in your life can you focus on instead, as you wait for “this” to happen?

Today we finish our section on the past and begin moving into the present. But there are still some things in our way we need to push aside, so let’s spend today identifying and dealing with them.

We have been created for worship. Therefore, we will ultimately worship something, and very often it’s something less than God. Peter Kreeft, in Christianity for Modern Pagans, aptly points out, “The alternative to theism is not atheism but idolatry.” Even as Christians, the temptation to worship something in God’s creation—or of our own “creation,” for that matter—remains, and we often fall victim to it without even realizing.

If we’re willing to look closer, what we worship—read: what we place above us—is the person or thing we believe will give us the most pleasure or benefit. We may subjugate ourselves to it, but ultimately it’s still about us. So let’s frame the question this way: What do you let serve you, other than God? That’s your idol, or at least your potential idol.

Let me make this even easier, albeit in ascending order of emotional difficulty. By the time we’re done, this may feel more like a pile-on than simply moving from one category to the next, but that only means we’ve uncovered a big idol. So let’s….

Follow the money. Well, where does it go? For that matter, how much of your “essential” spending is essential? As you observe where your money goes, think about the feelings you have in relation to those “purchases.” What are you really trying to buy? Security, pleasure, reputation?

Follow your time. Same idea. Where’s your time going? And again, yes, some blocks of time are immovable or at least difficult to change. But where does your “down time” go? And do you need to spend that much time at work, or is it a choice? Either way, what’s motivating those choices?

Follow your tongue. Now it gets harder—first of all, because you actually have to listen to what comes out of your mouth. “For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh” (Matthew 12:34, KJV). So, what does your abundance look like? Or to put it more bluntly: What are you full of? And why?

Follow your fear. What causes you anxiety? What makes you defensive? What do you find yourself unnaturally worried about? Don’t stop and justify it with, “Well, I have to, because….” Just answer the question. Then answer this one: What’s that fear telling you about what you truly value? What idol is lurking behind that fear, pulling the strings?

Follow this sentence to its ultimate conclusion: “My life is wasted unless I…” As you do this, take special note of that last little word. Because ultimately, all of this idol talk is about the I. We turn to our I-dols because we don’t believe that what God has for I is good enough. And yet, our own efforts leave us feeling even emptier—as if our lives have been wasted.

Here’s the thing: God doesn’t feel your life is a waste. Ever. You don’t have to fix it. Anything in your life that does need fixing is God’s responsibility—but we have to let him do the fixing, and cooperate with him as he does.

What’s more—and we’ll delve more into this in future weeks: Your life is a small speck in the face of eternity. Any “waste” that’s happened, or is happening now, is not only redeemable but nothing in the face of God’s glory. As you lay down the idols you’ve identified, God will take that “waste” and transform it into something that reflects his glory.

As we close this section on laying down your past, there’s probably no better way to do so than with Romans 8:1–2: “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death.” The past is as done as you want it to be. God will use it as he sees fit—not to condemn you, but to transform you back into his image. So let’s lay down the things we worship aside from God, and let’s move into the present.

Lay It Down Today

Where did all that “following” lead you today? Now’s the time to lay those things down—literally, if possible.

For every idol you identified, try to find a physical item that represents it. Is it a home or car? Get out your keys. Money? Get out your wallet or purse. Reputation? Find an award or some other item.

Then, get on your knees before God. No, seriously, do it. Lay down each of these items before him. Confess how, and why, they’ve become idols in your life. Ask God to help you trust him, and to use these items for his glory instead of yours. Thank God that he is the one who’s truly worthy of your worship, and begin living into that reality.

I had originally considered calling this entry “Lay Down Your Judgment” or “Lay Down Your Grudges.” Either would have worked, and I’ll touch upon them here. But I think the title I settled on captures both those ideas, and something more.

My atheist buddy Tim has an amusing-truth kind of song called “I Hate to Be Judgmental,” which begins, “I hate to be judgmental, but some people make me sick.” Later on, though, a larger truth comes up: “I hate to be judgmental, but there's nothing else to do / Everybody's judging me—why shouldn't I judge you?” And it’s true; this judgment thing is an endless cycle. Getting worked up over someone else’s shortcomings is a pretty good time-killer that helps us feel better about ourselves.

Furthermore, it’s quite easy to extend this attitude to other Christians. I mean, we—and of course, by we, we mean they—should know better. They’re Christians, right? There’s certainly truth to that. But let’s remember, especially in a book dedicated to this premise, that all of us are still learning how to properly lay down our lives at Jesus’ feet.

Before we extend judgment, consider this: If Jesus is indeed the greatest thing, indeed the greatest person, in my life, shouldn’t that be true about every Christian I meet—and for that matter, every potential Christian? Shouldn’t I be looking for that movement of the Spirit in the other person, no matter (or especially given) what sin God calls them out of… and that Jesus already paid the price for?

When we refuse to forgive, we keep others in bondage. Jesus says it: “Truly, I say to you, whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven” (Matthew 18:18). Forgiveness, or the lack thereof, has that kind of power. By believing that we need—deserve—to be repaid for the wrongs done to us, we become, in a very real sense, spiritual slave owners. We accuse others of evil—then, instead of freeing them from it, leave them trapped in it. Are those the kind of people we want to be?

Yet we all do it. I certainly do. And at the same time, I keep someone else locked up, too—me. Slaves still need to be fed and watched over, you know, no matter how much contempt we have for them. And we fearfully await the day they rise up in rebellion against us.

With all that in mind, let’s come back to last week's "transgressor" thoughts and expand even further. Something else I've been noticing in the gospels, and I suspect you have, too: The people we'd normally think of as transgressors (or whatever word we'd substitute for that)—those who commit sins of some obvious type of self-indulgence—aren't the people who truly anger Jesus. He doesn’t let them off the hook, but he also very openly offers his compassion to them. At the same time he calls them out on the carpet, he calls them to something better. He knows that these people are only trying to fill a void in their lives, however poorly or self-destructively. Thus, he points to himself and says, "I'm what you're looking for. Lay down all the rest of it and come follow me."

Thus, the people who truly anger Jesus are the victimizers—those who corrupt others, who take advantage of children, those who hurt and damage others, and especially those who do all this under a veneer of self-righteousness. These are the people Jesus takes on constantly, and who are subjected to his anger and pronouncements of judgment. Not surprisingly, it's these people who ultimately condemn Jesus to death—enabling him to "be numbered with the transgressors." And yet, how does Jesus tell us to respond?

“But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. To one who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from one who takes away your cloak do not withhold your tunic either. Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back. And as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.

“If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. And if you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to get back the same amount. But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil. Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful” (Luke 6:27–36).

In short: You don't get to hold onto your hurt. You don't get to allow it to fester into bitterness. You don't get to hold it over their heads. Let Jesus handle it. You, lay it down.

Lay It Down Today

Today’s assignment is a two-parter:

1) Read 1 Peter 3–4. Take note of all the encouragements Peter offers us to live as Jesus told us. There’s a lot of them. Meditate on them. Pray over them.

2) Today’s reading has likely brought someone to mind—and it’s OK if it’s the same person who came up last week; that just proves you’re not done yet. Repeat the following sentence with that person’s name inserted. “Jesus forgave [name] just as he forgave me.” You may need to ask Jesus to give you a heart to truly forgive, to help you receive his forgiveness toward you, or both. So ask.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the following passage: “He (Christ) was numbered with the transgressors” (Mark 15:28, cf. Isaiah 53:12). I believe that in our own way we too are called to be “numbered with the transgressors,” and that it’s a key to moving past our old life and into the life Christ intends for us.

Because… well, let’s start with a simple truth: We are among the transgressors.

This isn’t to dismiss or excuse some of the truly horrific sins that others perpetrate upon us or others; however, for the majority of us, most of our lives aren’t about those kinds of transgressions. They’re about responding to everyday hurts—insults, gossip, other inconsiderate acts—or even “bigger” but not necessarily deeper sins committed against us—deliberate acts where we’re deemed inferior or just not good enough, or slanderous words against our reputation. It’s also about responding to every person we meet and resisting the urge to judge and deem them not good enough, whether it’s for “good” reasons or for nonexistent ones we just came up with on the spot.

Even in more extreme cases, I think this idea of being numbered with the transgressors applies. Every so often, we’re surprised by a news story about an act of extreme forgiveness. Many of us think it can’t possibly be legitimate—that they’re just saying it but that they really still harbor anger or resentment. Or maybe we just resign ourselves to the idea that we’re incapable of that degree of forgiveness in the face of that kind of abuse or injustice. Fortunately, God knows both the good and the bad we’re capable of far better than we do. He will equip us to face those moments.

Jesus lived a perfect life and died for every one of those sins—even the ones committed against us. And he calls us to follow him and “be perfect” (Matthew 5:48), by learning how to die to those sins—and the hurt we’ve suffered from them as well.

When we allow ourselves to “be numbered with the transgressors”—that’s when God can work. I don’t mean sheepishly shrugging, “Yeah, I’m a sinner just like everyone else,” but looking straight at the people around you who carry sins that offend and maybe even repulse you, and admitting “These are my people, too; I really am like them except for Christ, and he chose to be numbered with them.” It means checking our pride and self-righteousness at the door. When we do, we are opened to the opportunity to overlook the sins of others—again, not excusing or denying them, but understanding they’re part of the same mess we’re in—truly forgiving them, and replacing our revulsion with compassion.

Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, in Aramaic called Bethesda, which has five roofed colonnades. In these lay a multitude of invalids—blind, lame, and paralyzed. One man was there who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be healed?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.” Jesus said to him, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.” And at once the man was healed, and he took up his bed and walked.

Now that day was the Sabbath. So the Jews said to the man who had been healed, “It is the Sabbath, and it is not lawful for you to take up your bed.” But he answered them, “The man who healed me, that man said to me, ‘Take up your bed, and walk.’” They asked him, “Who is the man who said to you, ‘Take up your bed and walk’?” Now the man who had been healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had withdrawn, as there was a crowd in the place. Afterward Jesus found him in the temple and said to him, “See, you are well! Sin no more, that nothing worse may happen to you.” The man went away and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had healed him (John 5:2–15).

You might be wondering, “What’s the connection between this passage and what you were just saying?” But do you notice something in this story? No-one’s terribly motivated for this guy to get well—including the man himself. But Jesus is.

This scenario seems to run counter to the conventional wisdom around us. However, this is how we really are, both in terms of ourselves and those around us. We’d rather read a self-help book and feel healed, than actually be healed. We’d rather stick with the status quo, no matter how much it actually hurts, than encounter the fear of the unknown that comes with truly being healed—or in seeing other “invalids” in our lives healed. We’re a lot more like these nitpicky Pharisees than we’d like to admit.

Jesus asks the invalid at the pool, “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to heal you?” Think about this in terms of your own “internal injuries.” Would you rather identify yourself by your hurt, your blindness—say it: your willfulness in withholding forgiveness—or would you rather get on with your undiscovered future, by growing into your new life and identity in Christ?

The beginning of healing is admitting you’re hurt. That’s true of your internal state, and it’s just as true about all the broken relationships around you. So lay down your hurt. Take Jesus’ yoke. Be numbered with the transgressors. You’ll start to see them differently. And more importantly, you’ll let Jesus bring healing and grace to you—and them.

Lay It Down Today

I’ll keep this simple: Where do you need to be “numbered with the transgressors” today? Is it an act of forgiveness? Is it treating some “weird” or annoying person you avoid with the same dignity you’d want? Does it involve reaching out somehow to the more marginalized of society—not just by being charitable but by being present and available?

You know what you felt as you read today’s entry, so I won’t get in the way of what God wants to do with it. But start making it happen today. Respond to what God’s trying to tell you.

Last week's entry was about you receiving forgiveness. This week, it’s about you extending it—to others, and ultimately to yourself as well. So yes, this week we’re still more focused on the “negative” pieces of our lives, but the bigger focus is on finding our way past those pieces.

So let’s pick up where we left off. This time, though, rather than dwelling on the things that have caused us deep shame—and for now, the need to forgive others in those areas—let’s go broad instead of deep. Let’s explore the width and breadth of all those “little” things from our past that nonetheless work together to hold us back from believing in God’s best for us.

And let’s start here: The person least immune to all of this is me. As I warned in the introduction to this book, by laying out all these issues before you, I’m also taking a buzzsaw to the undergrowth in my own life.

As I finished the previous devotion (“Lay Down Your Shame”), I was confronted by my own accusations—not by shame, but by all the negative things in my past that I nevertheless allow to define me. To be sure, some of my counter-reactions to those negative things have had some very positive results. You’re reading one of them right now. For that matter, I spent three years writing a six-book bible-study series that was very much a counter-reaction to some decidedly negative circumstances in my life at the time (“I’ll show you what discipleship looks like!”). And as I reflect upon it now, my counter-reaction to my childhood is what gave me the determination that my marriage and the way our children were raised would be different—and they were.

Yet, there’s a part of me—no doubt bigger than I realize even now—that spends an inordinate amount of time identifying myself against those negative things in the past that I’m not. Seeing this in other people’s lives—and I think it’s even truer for those trapped by shame—I observe what I like to call a “spiritual Stockholm Syndrome.” That is, the penchant to identify ourselves with—and perhaps excuse but not truly forgive—those who have hurt us deeply.

I, too, am often just as trapped by it.

Our experiences, to a large degree, have made us who we are. But we are more than our experiences, let alone our negative ones. There’s a life in Christ waiting for us that goes beyond what we would limit ourselves to. “Laying down what’s done” doesn’t mean we forget the things in our past. And it certainly doesn’t mean we stop feeling anything when they come to mind, although hopefully we learn to move on more quickly. It does mean that we no longer allow ourselves to own those things, and that we no longer allow them to own us.

God can use the things of our past to create something far better than the prison those things have often become for us. (That goes for positive things as well; we’ll spend more time there in future weeks.) Very often, as we share how God has changed us in those areas, God brings deliverance and transformation to others—as well as through our vulnerability in confessing our willingness to be changed, as we continue to work through those issues.

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them (Ephesians 2:10).

Let’s face it: We’re all “pieces of work” in some way. And yet, all of us are also works in progress. By being willing to lay down our baggage, we give God full permission to get on with the work he’s prepared us for since the day we were created. And we might be surprised by how far-reaching that work will become.

Lay It Down Today

1) Take a chunk of time right now to think about how God has transformed one or more areas of your life. Thank God for the changes he’s already brought about through that.

2) Perhaps this devotional has stirred up something you’d really thought/hoped you’d moved on from, but where God needs to do an even deeper work. Spend some time giving that issue up to God. Allow him to transform it into what he wants.

3) Either way, think about this: How could sharing about your past enable someone else to get past theirs? If someone came to mind, make time to share with that person. Remember: If something truly required—or requires, if you and God are dealing with it right now—God’s intervention, it’s already important. That’s enough. So look for an opportunity to let God speak through your life, and let God take it from there.

“Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” (Luke 5:8, NIV).

One of the very first things Peter says to Jesus captures a huge issue for many of us. After a night of fishing and catching nothing, Jesus blesses Peter, James, and John with more fish than they can handle—and all Peter can see is how short he’s fallen of God’s perfection.

Which, in itself, isn’t a bad thing. It’s not unusual for us, either, to react this way when we first encounter Jesus; and we always need to remember the truth in Peter’s words. But Jesus didn’t come just so he could “go away.” Instead, he calls us to lay down a life that’s often consumed by shame at who we are or what we’ve done.

The things we’ve done—and the evils done to us—are done. We can’t undo what happened, but we can undo the hold of those things upon us. We can own our sin without it owning us. Jesus’ response to Peter, James and John confirms this: “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.” (Luke 5:10). Jesus calls each of us to lay down our shame, and follow him forward instead.

If we continue to base our identity in our past instead of allowing it to die, we will never approach God—or more to the point, we’ll never let him in; God is already approaching us. Instead, we’ll do just about anything to fill the hole that the Spirit should be occupying. We believe we need to be successful, popular, powerful, constantly entertained, or occupied, because what we are and what we have isn’t good enough. That’s where the power of temptation lies: in the idea that who God created us to be, and what he’s created us for, isn’t good enough. That God got it—and us—wrong.

This brings us full-circle to where we began this series. Letting go of this old, false self and embracing who we were truly meant to be in Jesus is what this laying-down process is all about. We’re called to acknowledge our guilt and move on, not to take up permanent residence in our shame and hurt.

In a (hopefully not blasphemous) sense, Jesus has carried and shared in our guilt all the way back to the Garden of Eden. The Fall could have been prevented—but it wasn’t. Like the first Adam, Jesus chose to look on instead of stopping those events from occurring. But let’s not forget another incident, in another garden several thousand years later, which Jesus also could have stopped from happening—but he didn’t. Jesus stopped in Gethsemane, and saw through at Calvary, what began in Eden.

The cross removes our guilt. All of it. However, it leaves responsibility. Jesus says to us, just as he did the woman caught in adultery, “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more” (John 8:11). And, to “take up the cross, and follow me” (Mark 10:21, KJV).

It’s not all work and struggle, though. Let’s circle back to Peter, because God uses him to give us a great “before and after” picture. Three years later, mere days after Jesus’ resurrection and appearance to the disciples—and for that matter, Peter’s repeated denial of Jesus—we see almost the exact same scene as the one in Luke 5, this time in John 21. Peter, James, and John go fishing again; this time they’ve got Thomas, Nathanael and two other disciples with them (and after all the bickering throughout the gospels, it’s nice to see them finally starting to work together). Again, they have another bad night of fishing.

This time Jesus shows up on the shore—close enough to yell, but far enough that they can’t yet tell it’s him. He tells them to cast out their nets, and again, the nets can’t hold all the fish they catch. Peter’s been here before; he realizes it’s Jesus.

But what’s Peter’s reaction this time? He throws himself into the sea and swims as fast as he can toward the shore. He doesn’t wait for the boat to dock—or freak because the guy he’d betrayed only days earlier is maybe a hundred yards away, back from the dead, and knows how to walk on water. This time, Peter’s going as fast as he can to Jesus. Clearly Peter’s still an impetuous kind of guy, and “a sinful man!”, but equally clearly he’s learned something about his relationship to Jesus. Peter, quite literally, is shame-less.

Now it’s our turn. Whatever has happened in our past is an opportunity for Jesus to transform it, and us, if we’ll let him. “Blessed are the poor in spirit” (Matthew 5:3). You are in fact already blessed because you don’t deserve grace, and no matter who you are or where you stand with Jesus at this moment, his grace is offered to you anyway, right now. Therefore, the challenge now becomes to receive and rejoice in that grace. The past is gone; let it stay gone. We’ll look more into that next month.

Lay It Down Today

What issues from your past came to mind as you read today? Get a piece of paper and write them down. Then bury your past—literally.

First, take some time to pray, giving over to God whatever you’ve written down, and asking the Spirit’s help to empower you to keep letting those things go. Then, take your paper and bury it (or tear it up). Thank God for your past—because it’s made you who are today, and in brand-new ways you’re now willing to let him reveal—but let whatever shame that remains in your past die, so your future can live.

No matter where you are in relation to Jesus, “sin” is an ugly word. Just saying the word causes problems, so let’s get on the same page before moving forward. In the days and weeks to come we’ll break this down into much smaller pieces. Today is about defining our terms—and our solution.

Now that we know who we are in Christ and have our heads on straight, now we can begin to deal with laying down our sin. We’ll explore this more broadly in the next entry, but today let’s start with one sin in particular, and arguably the most basic: Pride.

There’s a popular adage that’s been the chorus of at least a few good songs, which goes like this: “Everything you know is wrong.” That’s not entirely true, obviously (I think), but there’s still a lot of truth to it.

On the one hand, we put way too much stock in our own opinions and experiences, however true they may or may not be. On the other hand—and sometimes even simultaneously—we allow ourselves to become paralyzed by our lack of knowledge, lack of wisdom, or just plain lack of confidence. And by doing so, we end up acting in a way that betrays what little real knowledge we do have.

So with all this in mind, allow me the grace to put an absolute statement out there anyway: Just about everything you know might be wrong. In fact, most of what we know is some entangled mess of right and wrong. But God is never wrong.

And now, allow me to undercut even that: Because of our own fallenness and self-deception, we often don’t even get our understanding of God’s perfect will totally right.

If all of this sounds confusing, it should.

A big part of the problem—but also, the solution—lies in the connection between our minds and our hearts. There’s a refrain in Jeremiah that captures this well—“the imagination of their own heart” (Jeremiah 9:14, et al., KJV). In fact, Jeremiah often throws in “evil” before “heart,” lest we miss the point.

So often, we believe what we want to believe because we want to believe it, as if our desire by itself—or even more often, our pride—makes it all come out right. I suspect that God is far more offended by our arrogance than by our “going off the deep end,” but both miss the mark badly. Both are about us.

So where do we turn to get it right? Facts? Nope. Facts are good, but facts aren’t always the truth. Surf between news channels reporting on the same story on any given night, and you can readily see how easily different channels bend the facts to fit “the imagination of their own heart.”

Conscience? Better, but not perfect. Our conscience testifies that something’s wrong— that we’re somehow already disconnected from God—even as it potentially points us in the right direction. But though our conscience might alert us correctly, we often do wrong things in response to what it tells us. We take short cuts. We run the other way. We do everything we can to avoid the problem we know is there. More often than not, we’re more concerned with easing our consciences than we are with trying to address the disunity in our souls that our consciences have correctly perceived.

So let’s cut to the point: Our conscience tells us something’s wrong; the Spirit tells us what’s right. To receive what the Spirit’s telling us, we need to lay down our “heads”—our thought lives—before God. We need to humble ourselves enough to let God work, and to allow our convictions—or lack thereof—to be replaced by his.

True story: Romans 12:2 was my life verse even before I came to know Jesus. Here’s the King James version I first read it in more than thirty years ago: “And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.” There’s so much packed into that verse, and space doesn’t allow us to fully unpack it here. Maybe my own pre-Christian experience with it will help illustrate, though.

When I first read this passage as an I-believe-in-God-but-I’ll-be-anything-but-a-Christian thirty years ago, I immediately sat down and wrote an essay on the power of saying “no.” There was truth to that response—but it wasn’t the whole truth. I had locked squarely into “And be not conformed to this world,” and was on board with “but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind,” but “that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God”? Who cared? I didn’t. Not yet. However, without it the little truth I genuinely knew was as good as a lie.

Our lives are no longer our own. The key to a renewed mind is the willingness to lay down our thoughts in order to learn God’s. As we let go of what’s “ours” and take hold of what we know to be God’s, our minds begin to be purified. The Spirit begins to untangle truth from untruth, the wheat from the weeds. God’s will becomes less of a mystery, even as God himself remains an ever-deepening mystery. Even when we can’t immediately see or understand where God is leading us, he honors the spirit of submission he’s given us—and our resolve to stay in submission—and leads us there anyway.

yes, if you call out for insight
and raise your voice for understanding,
if you seek it like silver
and search for it as for hidden treasures,
then you will understand the fear of the LORD
and find the knowledge of God.
For the LORD gives wisdom;
from his mouth come knowledge and understanding….
Then you will understand righteousness and justice
and equity, every good path;
for wisdom will come into your heart,
and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul (Proverbs 2:3–6, 9–10).

To know yourself better only makes you more like you. To know Jesus more is to become more like Jesus. That’s what God has desired for us since the day of creation. So lay down your head, and be transformed.

Lay It Down Today

What’s your “life passage”—or at least a passage from God’s Word that’s spoken to you recently? Take fifteen minutes now, and let it speak to you some more. Sit quietly before the Lord and simply meditate on this passage. Then close your time in prayer. Here are a few guiding questions to help you process:

• Why is God bringing this passage to my mind? Why now?
• What’s the one thing that most needs transforming in my life—that God wants me to lay down right now?
• How can I invite God deeper into that part of my life and let him work?

Many Christians today believe—or at least live as if they believed—that Jesus died solely to forgive them; and that because their messes are now cleaned up, they can go on with their lives as if Christ had no further claims upon them. This is, quite simply, not true.

Let’s return to our discussion of “the “D-word” (discipleship) from last week. If you’ve been around the church for any amount of time, you know that it’s the missing link in the church today, whether you’ve been able to put your finger on it before now or not.

And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’”—Matthew 28:18-20

As some of you might know, I’ve spent the last 10 months working on a mega character curriculum for pre-K through adult, and all based on living out of our identity in Christ. As I’ve told any number of people, I don’t know who else could have been the guy for this. And I don’t say that as an ego thing (well, maybe a little, but…)—rather as a “you could count on one hand the people that God has taken down this particularly circuitous route” thing. The pastoral AND curricular backgrounds, the immersion in gospel-centered materials in the three years after said curriculum department got toasted, the background with startups (from businesses to applications to churches to my own writing), the uncanny ability to get an inordinate amount of work done in a stupid-short period of time…. Heck, throw in the fact that I got hired in response to a job posting for the wrong job (but with the right job description)… and you can see God’s hand (and His sense of humor) in it all.

Forgive the rambling—there is a point here, even if I’m still in the process of trying to nail it down fully myself….

In fact, a lot of the reason for this current post would be that I’m still processing and/or trying to live into what I’m dealing with. In fact, there’s a quote in my last book Lay It Down (buy it now, kids) that seems as prophetic now as it seemed just plain-old relevant then:

Each of our lives need to move from being of Christ to being in Christ—and finally to the point where our life “is Christ” (Philippians 1:21, et al.).

The fact, I’m still trying to live up to my own words. They've been my wrestling match for quite some time now, and especially in the last several months. Not to mention the repeated assertions/convictions throughout 1 John:

Whoever says ‘” know him” but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him, but whoever keeps his word, in him truly the love of God is perfected…. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence for the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love (1 John 2:4-5; 4:16-18).

And yet, Jesus also tells us, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37-39). That’s harder than it sounds—especially the implication that we already truly “love ourselves.” Because here’s the thing: God’s best is also my best. When I live in that truth, I am truly loving myself, far more than I am when I’m indulging/enabling/abusing myself.

Only that which is pure can conquer death. Jesus proved that. And we are in Him. I don’t need patience, restraint, humility—I need Christ. He is my patience, restraint, humility. If I am dead in Christ, then He is the only life I have.  The same, therefore, is true for my neighbor.

We do not have to separate ourselves from the world—God has separated us from the world, and we need to live out of that—in the way that God has separated us. We’ve gotten it backwards.

And yet, I am becoming increasingly convinced that God is powerful enough to change even a Christian. “You are not your own, for you were bought with a price” (1 Cor. 6:19b-20a). So where do we go from here, Lord?