The mystery of hope

But God is the only Savior

Hosea 13:4 [The Lord says] You must acknowledge no god but me, for there is no other savior.

And what a Savior! I encourage you to take a few minutes to ponder the words of this wonderful celebration of mystery: the hope we hold even in tumultuous times.

Blossoms in winter: 11 blooms this time.

Come, Behold the Wondrous Myst’ry

Keith and Krysten Getty, Matt Boswell, Matt Papa, Michael Bleeker

Come, behold the wondrous myst’ry in the dawning of the King,

He, the theme of heaven’s praises, robed in frail humanity.

In our longing, in our darkness, now the light of life has come.

Look to Christ, who condescended, took on flesh to ransom us.

Come, behold the wondrous myst’ry, he the perfect Son of Man,

In his living, in his suffering never trace nor stain of sin.

See the true and better Adam, come to save the hell-bound man,

Christ, the great and sure fulfillment of the law, in him we stand.

Come, behold the wondrous myst’ry, Christ the Lord upon the tree.

In the stead of ruined sinners hangs the Lamb in victory.

See the price of our redemption, see the Father’s plan unfold,

Bringing many sons to glory, grace unmeasured, love untold.

Come, behold the wondrous myst’ry, slain by death, the God of life.

But no grave could e’er restrain him: praise the Lor, he is alive!

What a foretaste of deliverance, how unwavering our hope:

Christ in power resurrected, as we will be when he comes.

What a foretaste of deliverance, how unwavering our hope:

Christ in power resurrected as we will be when he comes.

A love song from a broken heart

But God yearns for his people

Hosea 11:1-4, 7, 8, 11; 12:6 When my people were children, I loved them … I myself taught them to walk, leading them by the hand. But they don’t know or even care that it was I who took care of them. I led them along with my ropes of kindness and love. I myself stooped to feed them. … But my people are determined to desert me. … Oh, how can I give you up? How can I let you go? My heart is torn within me, and my compassion overflows. … Someday, the people will follow me. … And I will bring them home again, says the Lord. … So come back to your God.

In Hosea 10, God spoke like a farmer. In chapter 11, he is a parent, broken over his children’s rebellion against him. A New Testament parallel is Jesus’ parable often called “The Prodigal Son.” In both cases, the father yearns for the return of his beloved, fugitive child, longing for restoration.

Shutterstock: Adam Jan Figel

I may have commented before that when I write stories, the characters themselves tell me what happens to them, and I just write it down. One scene, reminiscent of Luke 15, still brings tears to my eyes.

In Horse Thief 1898, Cally and Teddy went missing because they had been kidnapped by abusive relatives who wanted to use the orphans as farm labor. The loving people who had been caring for them did all they could to find and free them, but it was the children themselves who found their way home.

Nathanael, prepared to attend Ignacy Paderewski’s Carnegie Hall piano concert,

… sat on his porch swing singing an off-key tune to [his baby] Jimmy, waiting for James to bring the brougham. How grand to hear the famous Mr. Paderewski in the new concert hall!

Tobias wandered out holding the hand of his brother Ben, faces scrubbed, hair still wet.

“Father, look! Is that—”

Nathanael leaped to his feet, thrust Jimmy into Tobias’s arms, and ran down the street, his arms open wide.

Cally and Teddy were filthy. It didn’t matter.

Just so, our Father is thrilled when we come home to him. Even when we’re filthy. He is the one who makes us clean again; to quote Curt Thompson, “Seen, soothed, safe, and secure.”

The plow’s blades are sharp

But God’s planting produces a harvest of love

Hosea 10:1-4, 12 The richer the people get, the more pagan altars they build. The hearts of the people are fickle. … They spout empty words and make covenants they don’t intend to keep. So injustice springs up among them like poisonous weeds in a farmer’s field. … The Lord says, “Plant the good seeds of righteousness, and you will harvest a crop of love.” Plow up the hard ground of your hearts, for now is the time to seek the Lord, that he may come and shower righteousness upon you.

In April 2013, I asked Karis how she wanted to celebrate her 30^th birthday. By then she wasn’t very mobile and often rested in the recliner we positioned for her in our dining room, looking out on our back yard. Most Pittsburgh yards slope either up or down. Ours curves up with a flattish strip along the back fence.

For her 30^thbirthday (May 5, 2013), Karis requested turning the grass strip into a perennial garden, created with transplants from her friends’ gardens. As she enjoyed the flowers, she would remember their amazing and beautiful love for her.

A Notre Dame friend, Georges, offered to take on the project of transformation. With a borrowed rototiller, he broke up roots and plowing the grass under.

Once Georges declared the space ready, we invited friends to come over and plant something from their gardens. Spring brought a profusion of blooms to delight and encourage Karis as her kidney failure worsened.

All this came to mind when I read this passage from Hosea. Weeds (in our case, grass) can be dealt with several different ways. The most gentle and time-consuming is to pull them out. They can be killed with chemicals. Or they can be plowed, like Georges did to create Karis’s perennial garden, using sharp blades to destroy both the plants and their roots.

Through Hosea, God asked his people to plow up the hard ground of their hearts, so the seeds of righteousness could flourish. Georges’ rototilling illustrates for me how painful that work can sometimes be, when it’s not just a weed here or there, easy to pull out by hand, but rather a whole section of my heart given over to bad habits, attitudes, and behavior because of neglect or resentment or idolatry (something else becoming more important to me than loving God and others).

I’ve had to do some painful plowing of my heart the last couple of weeks. You too? I can’t wait to see the beautiful crop of love God promises to grow from his seeds of righteousness.

Yikes!!

But God will hold us accountable for our choices

Hosea 8:1, 4, 13; 9:17 My people have broken my covenant and revolted against my law. … By making idols for themselves they have brought about their own destruction. … To me their sacrifices are all meaningless. I will hold my people accountable for their sins. … My God will reject his people because they will not listen or obey.

Strong words from God through a prophet who himself was ordered by God to forgive and welcome back a wife who betrayed him, don’t you think?

And what about God’s words in the last chapters about God’s unfailing love and compassion; his desire to forgive, redeem, and heal his people?

Here’s another question: How DOES God hold together all the dimensions of his nature? His holiness and his mercy. His justice and his compassion. His gracious patience and his truthfulness. His forgiveness and our need for accountability.

Rather than suggesting trite responses, I invite you to sit with these questions.

One resource I recommend again is Jen Wilkin’s books. In a very approachable way, she takes on some of these questions in None Like Him (God’s unique character traits—ways he is different from us) and In His Image (ways we’re called to be like him, to reflect his character).

Why does it matter that we be held accountable for our sins? Can that be considered an act of care for us?

Another resource is what Scripture has to say about God’s discipline, for example in Hebrews 12.

Do we want the supreme Gardener to pluck the weeds from the gardens of our hearts?

Shutterstock: Kostenko Maxim

I would love to hear your thoughts!

Wailing on the couch?

But God wants to heal us

Hosea 7:1, 14-16 [The Lord says] I want to heal my people. … But they do not cry out to me with sincere hearts. Instead, they sit on their couches and wail. … They look everywhere except to the Most High. They are as useless as a crooked bow.

Wow. I did not expect to be so impacted by the writing of an obscure prophet writing almost 2500 years ago.

These verses from Hosea 7 pack a punch, don’t they? I have done altogether too much wailing in the last year, doing nothing constructive. Not even taking my grief, concerns, and complaints to the Most High in exchange for his peace that is so much deeper and broader than circumstances.

Shutterstock: fizkes

Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything.

Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done.

Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand.

His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:6-7).

The objective of living “in Christ Jesus” is not to obtain personal comfort. It’s to love and serve God and other people. But experiencing his peace is a good starting point for being of some use in the world. Wailing on my couch accomplishes little.

Dave and I made a plan for survival through the challenging events we’re living through: I’m allowed to “vent” my frustrations and anger once a week, so I don’t explode, and the rest of the week we don’t talk about it. This forces me to cry out to the Most High and to examine my heart in light of his love and sovereignty. And it frees us to do the work God has called us to do, without giving other people’s words and choices undo power over our time and emotions.

The phrase “wailing on the couch” has become our shorthand for reminding me to take my concerns to God, and to do whatever I can do for other people, rather than indulging in my own feelings of distress about what they are suffering.

Lord, please straighten my useless “crooked bow.” Teach me to listen to you rather than to wail. Direct my actions. Anchor my heart in your faithful compassion.

Press on

But God says our love matters more than sacrifices

Hosea 6:1-3, 6 Come, let us return to the Lord. He has torn us to pieces; now he will heal us. In just a short time he will restore us, so that we may live in his presence. Oh, that we might know the Lord! Let us press on to know him. … [The Lord says] I want you to show love, not offer sacrifices. I want you to know me more than I want burnt offerings.

Over the last week and a half, as we marked eleven years since Karis left us, I have re-read Karis: All I See Is Grace. I couldn’t remember which parts of her life—of the three thousand pages of my first draft—had made the editing cut and into the book. I hadn’t remembered how often she referenced this passage from Hosea.

To understand this, it’s necessary to know that Karis had a high view of God’s sovereignty. She believed that NOTHING happened without the permission of God. He, all-powerful and all-knowing, could end or cause anything at any time. Often, she believed, he did not act when he could have because he so honors human free will. He wants us to choose him of our own volition. He wants us to obey him because we love him, not from force or manipulation. He gives us more latitude in our choices than perhaps we are wise enough to handle. Yet we learn from our mistakes. Painful as their consequences may be, God doesn’t usually step in to shield us from the results of what we have chosen. But this doesn’t mean he doesn’t see, or know, or care what we are going through.

A harder concept for me is Karis’s belief that her birth defect, with all its mosaic of positive and negative impacts on her life, was chosen for her by God. That his purposes for her required the suffering she endured. That had she not spent so much time in clinics and hospitals, she would not have met the people with whom she was meant to share God’s love.

I tend to think that Karis was born without functional intestinal nerves not because God so willed, but because we live in a fallen, imperfect world in which this kind of thing can happen. The question for me is whether we allow God to act within our circumstances to accomplish his desire to love others through us.

Either way, it’s clear God longs for us to know him. To personally know his heart of love toward us. To put ourselves intentionally in the way of knowing him better, in every way we can “pressing on” to know him and to love him, not whatever image of him we have inherited or invented. This, for Karis, was her lifelong quest.

Sovereign by Chris Tomlin

“Don’t fret”

But God calls leaders to account for their treatment of the poor, helpless, and oppressed

Hosea 5:1, 4, 5, 7-8, 15 Hear this, you priests. Pay attention, you leaders. … You have led the people into a snare by worshipping idols. … Your arrogance testifies against you. … You have betrayed the honor of the Lord. … Sound the alarm! … Admit your guilt and return to me.

Amos 2:4-7; 5:15, 21, 24 This is what the Lord says: “The people have been led astray by lies. … They sell honorable people for silver and poor people for a pair of sandals. They trample helpless people in the dust and shove the oppressed out of the way. … You twist justice, making it a bitter pill for the oppressed. … You trample the poor. … Instead, hate evil and love what is good: turn your courts into true halls of justice. … I hate all your show and pretense. … Instead, I want to see a mighty flood of justice, an endless river of righteous living.”

Before I went to sleep, my friend said, “Don’t fret.”

But several times I woke up in distress.

I kept dreaming that I was with friends in a church, or a school, or a home, when ICE came and dragged my friends away. Not criminals. Not illegals. My friends, who had followed all the protocols to enter this country legally. Friends who love the Lord and their families, who work hard and pay taxes, even though they don’t yet receive the benefits of citizenship. Friends who were suddenly jerked away from their children, leaving them in shock and confusion.

Each time, an ICE person yelled, “Sorry, we can’t find enough criminals so we need you to meet our quota!”

Distraught, I went to the Lord. It seemed that current events fit alarmingly well into the prophets I’ve been studying: Hosea and his early contemporary, Amos.

When Hosea and Amos prophesied, King Jeroboam II of Israel had expanded its territory and its trade, making some people very wealthy and many others poor and destitute, ignoring the laws of Moses that would have preserved a level of economic equality. Instead of caring for all people equally, the king and his cronies engaged in and fostered syncretism. They pretended belief in God, while in fact practicing idolatry. They did all kinds of horrible things (including sexual slavery) to keep their god Baal happy, since they credited him with being the source of their prosperity. Instead of protecting needy people through the courts, the needy were “trampled” (Amos 2:7), used and abused and treated unjustly.

Amos preached at Bethel (“House of God”), which Hosea often calls Beth-Aven (“House of Wickedness”) because of the syncretism at this place of worship. Amos was not poor himself: the Hebrew words he uses in calling himself a shepherd denote an owner of sheep and orchards, not a laborer. Yet he anguished over the oppression inherent in the wealth gap of his day. He quotes God as saying, in the words of Eugene Peterson, “I’ve had all I can take of your noisy ego-music … Do you know what I want? I want justice—oceans of it. I want fairness—rivers of it. That’s what I want. That’s all I want” (Amos 5:24, The Message).

Curious about parallels to our time, I discovered that the wealth disparity in the United States has shifted dramatically in the last forty years. “Trickle down” economics hasn’t worked. The most recent figures I found show that the top 10% control 67% of the wealth, whereas the bottom 50% has access to only 2.5%. And this disparity continues to increase, as those with money and power control the laws and the courts to benefit themselves.

Can we expect God’s blessing on us under these conditions?

Interesting in terms of timing: the lesson this week for my international Zoom discipleship group includes Acts 2:42-47 and 4:32-37. “There were no needy people among them” (Acts 4:34), because everyone shared what they had, voluntarily and joyously.

How did this early church portrait become so distorted in practice over time? I know there are still many, many followers of Jesus—we ourselves are supported in missions by these beloved ones—who lovingly and generously share what they have in order to further the work of the Kingdom. Yet I’m left wondering what has happened to the community of believers, that we have supported such a different model nationally.

Don’t fret? “Trust God,” my friend told me. “Everything will work out fine in the end.”

I believe that is true. Ultimately God will bring justice to the world. Come, Lord Jesus. Meanwhile, though, people’s lives, already traumatized, are being smashed to pieces.

I appreciated a song we sang in worship yesterday (God of All Comfort, Resound Worship):

God of all comfort, God of compassion, reveal your mercy through us your church;

Disturb our slumber, move us to action, to show your kingdom on the earth.

Make us like Jesus, full of your Spirit, declaring good news to the poor,

Proclaiming freedom for every captive and the favor of the Lord.

Show us the value of every person, show us your image in every face.

We all are equal, we all are broken, and need the kindness of your grace.

We stand together, here in the margins, here in the hardship and the pain.

We cry for justice and restoration, until the silent sing again.

Remembering …

Yesterday we marked eleven years since we said goodbye to Karis. Her sister Valerie reminded us of a beautiful song by Rich Mullins which I consider Karis’s “signature song.” I am flooded with memories of hearing it, both at home and in the hospital. Enjoy.

Karis in the Montefiore solarium listening to Rich Mullins

There’s more that rises in the morning than the sun
And more that shines in the night than just the moon
It’s more than just this fire here that keeps me warm
In a shelter that is larger than this room

And there’s a loyalty that’s deeper than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs that I can sing
The stuff of Earth competes for the allegiance
I owe only to the Giver of all good things

So if I stand let me stand on the promise
That you will pull me through
And if I can’t, let me fall on the grace
That first brought me to You
And if I sing let me sing for the joy
That has born in me these songs
And if I weep let it be as a man
Who is longing for his home

There’s more that dances on the prairies than the wind
More that pulses in the ocean than the tide
There’s a love that is fiercer than the love between friends
More gentle than a mother’s when her baby’s at her side

So if I stand let me stand on the promise
That you will pull me through
And if I can’t let me fall on the grace
That first brought me to You
And if I sing let me sing for the joy
That has born in me these songs
And if I weep let it be as a man
Who is longing for his home

Loving shame more than honor

But God grieves over us

Hosea 4:1, 3, 6, 7, 12, 18 The Lord has brought charges against you, saying: “There is no faithfulness, no kindness, no knowledge of God in your land … That is why your land is in mourning. … My people are being destroyed because they don’t know me. … They have exchanged the glory of God for the shame of idols. … Longing after idols has made them foolish. … They love shame more than honor.

Nearly three thousand years ago, long before writers like John Bradshaw and Brené Brown helped us understand shame, the prophet Hosea linked it with not knowing God, not understanding his compassion and love, his yearning for a close relationship with his beloved people.

Instead, in Hosea’s day, both leaders and ordinary people turned to idols [anything that takes God’s place in our hearts], pleasures, addictions, violence, unfaithfulness in relationships, sexual depravity, cheating, and other forms of robbery.

Has anything changed in the last three thousand years?

The Hebrew word Hosea uses is gâlôwn, translated shame in most English versions. Associated words are disgrace, confusion, dishonor, ignominy [public disgrace], reproach. This shame is vile, base, and despicable.

“My people are being destroyed because they don’t know me,” laments the Lord (Hosea 4:6, 2:20). “Oh, that we might know the Lord,” cries Hosea (6:3).

The kind of shame Hosea describes is extremely painful. Why would we choose shame rather than honor? Perhaps we fear God’s judgment? Fear the loss of things we’ve come to love? Fear rejection by others if anyone detects our true struggles? As Brené Brown often points out, shame thrives in secrecy, in darkness, in isolation. Shame flees when brought into the light. Yet we fear exposing our shame to God, to others, and even to ourselves, even though that’s the best way to be free from it.

A friend recently described to me her cycle of shame. She feels lonely, or disappointed, or betrayed. To ease those feelings, she escapes into her addiction, soothing herself with a temporary pleasure. When she comes out of that, she’s embarrassed and frustrated with herself that she gave in to a temptation that she knows is harmful to her health. When she’s alone, those feelings are so uncomfortable that she again buries them with her addiction. And on and on her cycle of shame spirals. When she’s with other people, her shame prevents her from indulging, and prevents her from finding help, because she doesn’t want to expose her struggle and become an object of pity or of disdain or of judgment.

Every one of us can relate. Each of us has our own way of trying to escape painful feelings. If we realize it’s not just us, maybe we can become more willing to let an understanding friend listen to our struggle. And go with us into the presence of God, who longs to heal us and show us his compassion—as my friend courageously did with me. And I with her.

This high priest of ours [Jesus] understands our weaknesses, for he faced all the same testings we do, yet he did not sin. So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most (Hebrews 4:15-16).

Dog and cat theology

But God still loves his people

Hosea 3:1, 5 The Lord still loves his people, even though they have turned to other gods and love to worship them. … But afterward they will return and devote themselves to the Lord their God. … In the last days, they will tremble in awe of the Lord and of his goodness.

You feed and walk your dog and give it affection and shelter.

Your dog thinks, “You must be God.”

You feed and care for your cat and give it affection and shelter.

Your cat thinks, “I must be God.”

We, too, inevitably worship. If not ourselves, then something or someone else.

We worship what we most prize or most fear, that which at our core orients and motivates us, that which we count on and build our lives on. Our highest value may be our own pleasure or happiness or “fulfillment,” which we think we can obtain on our own or we manipulate others into creating for us.

Hosea talks a LOT about the misplaced worship of the people of his day—which doesn’t end well. Yet he keeps repeating this message of hope: God still loves you. He invites you to turn to him, so that he can heal you and share his goodness with you (Hosea 3:5; 5:4, 15; 6:1; 7:10; 11:5; 14:1-2).

Humans fight with each other over what or whom they worship, fearful, often, that if others get more, we will get less. We take sides to defend what we have and are often aggressive in taking from others what we tell ourselves the “others” don’t deserve or have obtained unjustly. We even claim God is on our side (making him into our image, rather than God making us into his) and decide the others are not only wrong; they are evil.

Thinking about this, I received an email from Jim Hobby (houseofgladness.com). Jim wrote, “The question for us is never whether the Lord is on our side. Human “sides” will never circumscribe the Lord’s side. Every human ‘side’ will always fall short of God’s kingdom. The question is whether we are on His side. Are we following Him, imitating Him, listening to His voice, being transformed by His presence, transcending our ‘side’?”

God keeps on inviting us to his side. Not because we deserve it. Simply because he loves us. And when we choose to worship him above all else and all others, including ourselves, we may discover those “others” aren’t so very different from us. We all need God’s provision and care and affection and shelter. And forgiveness for our arrogance.