Skip to main content


So, if one proclaims to believe something, yet his actions contradict this belief, is he a hypocrite or is he really displaying a true "disbelief"?

In Luke 18 a rich young man of influence asks what he must "do" in order to be saved.  Jesus lists the commandments which guard the flesh.  The man responded favorably, he in fact, had kept all these since childhood.  Jesus saw into his heart & challenged a lack - give away what was precious and follow Him.  At this the man became disheartened...

This passage would not let go of me this morning.  It required my full attention and birthed the exploration of belief.

One could read the passage in Luke and quickly decide that our eternal lives are hinged on works.  Likewise, one could, balanced in the whole of scripture see how the heart attitude was exposed and there lie the key.

All i know is that as i read this passage over, another kept settling over my mind. "believe and be saved" "all who call upon the (N)ame of The Lord will be saved"...   How then can Jesus in His own Words require "action"???

It lies within the belly of the word "believe".  Was the rich young man a hypocrite?  Likely not, his sad response instead of indignation reveals he was truly seeking and his intentions were righteous.  It's just that when it came down to it - - he did not believe.  Yes, he'd "done" what was "required" yet when he was challenged to fully trust, he was exposed, even unto himself.  He'd bought in but his fear kept him from fully committing.  

You're weary. 
So, you go to the local home furniture store looking for a chair  tell the sales person your need of a study chair (you're weary of standing!). They make a good recommendation.  You look at the chair, feel its fabric, take notice of its sturdiness and it's beautiful too boot!  Yes, you proclaim, this chair is exactly what I need so that i may have rest! You bring the chair home & put it in on display in the middle of the room.  Its a great conversation piece! Others laud you on your decision and you are pleased to have their approval.  You admire your chair as you shift from one leg to another in fatigue so you lean against the wall in the corner of the room and gaze upon its beauty.  You think about how it was made, the care with which it was crafted. You tell yourself it's all you need and you're so glad to have it. After a time, and more fatigue, a friend notices that you are standing next to your chair kinda steadying yourself against it and suggest that you sit and rest.  "Uh, no thanks, I'm ok", you reply, "I'm just so glad to have this great chair to lean on!"  Your friend scratches their head but shrugs, you own the chair and that's all that matters. 
Time goes on and soon the chair is moved to a corner, it's not enough to relieve your fatigue.  In fact, you've stubbed your toe on it several times so off to the corner it went.  You now lean against whatever you can find, but you still gaze at the chair you love and cherish.  If only it had done as you had hoped...  

Finally, a loving friend comes along and pulls the chair back into the middle of the room (ridding it of the clutter that had been mindlessly tossed upon it over the years) pats the seat and insists that you sit and rest your weary bones.  You decline.  He insists. You praise the attributes of the chair. He waits.  You rest your hand on it and jiggle to test its sturdiness.  He gives you the "look". You question "Why, isn't having it enough? Why do I have to sit in it?"  He takes yo by the shoulders and gently maneuvers you toward the chair all of the sudden you scare the both of you and scream"But what if it breaks, What if I fall?!?!!?"  There it is, the truth.   It wasn't until it was "tested" that you even knew the truth - you  really didn't "believe" the chair would hold.  No matter what you'd told yourself over the years, what you "thought" you believed, now you were exposed.  Unbelief.

Buying the chair didn't give you the Rest you were looking for.  Lauding its greatness didn't either.  Leaning on it only lulled you into a false hope that was never manifest.  No, if you'd have truly believed the chair was trustworthy you'd have plopped down fully on it right there in the showroom. In its comfort you'd have endured all of life.  You'd have tested and seen it's strength & reliability. Buy this time it'd be creaking and well worn from proof of your trust.  You see, the act of sitting wouldn't save you, but it would be proof of your belief, and it would have given you Rest along the way....


Popular posts from this blog

When the pain get too big

There are times when the heartbreaks of this life collide with our weakness and the pain gets so big that even breathing is hard.  It’s like being dragged under by the surf and tumbled over and over until up is down and you’re dragged along the bottom and raw wounds meet with salted surf and the searing pain of it is only a faint echo of the pain within your soul and you gasp for breath and flail helplessly, like a rag doll, until you’re eventually released upon the shore coughing up the brine of your own tears… This is where I have been. Literally on the verge of tears at every moment.   Memories, regrets, sorrow, missing, aching, loss - churning, growing to tsunami intensity threatening to overwhelm.   Today I received a devotional from a Jewish Messianic site challenging us regarding the Sabbath.   Oh, how my soul yearned for it.   A Sabbath, a rest.   But the to-do list haunted and I headed to the shower to start the day.   All the while rest was beckoning to me…   What h

It matters not

It matters little who I am. Each one of us has a story to tell, a life filled with love, loss, heartache, joy & laughter.  I am just a busted up pitcher.  Yes, the image that came to your mind - whether one you pour iced tea from, the one with the chip on the lip so it spills as much down the outside of your glass as gets in. Or the little creamer pitcher your gramma had in her hutch, the one with the broken handle that has glue globbed on it's listing side.  Or the one that you pour oil with, the one with the faint crack you overlook because you never think to replace it while you are shopping.  Oh, or maybe it's the purple plastic juice jug that hit the heating coil in the dishwasher... melted a hole an inch from the top but you never fill it that full anyway. No matter what image came to your mind, that's me.  The true value of a pitcher is not it's appearance or even its purpose but it's what the pitcher holds that is precious.  The sole purpose of the p


Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and his Bride has made herself ready; it was granted her to clothe herself with fine linen, bright and pure"-- for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints. [Rev 19:7-8]   We’ve all been to weddings. Everything focuses around the bride. My favorite moment is to watch the groom as he catches the first glimpse of his bride, he’s overcome by her beauty – she’s prepared herself specifically and especially for this day.   Now imagine, how does the bride of Christ prepare herself to be radiant for her beloved? Righteous deeds, good works… As I pondered this passage and how it applies to this season,  I heard “Un-becoming” . I sense that this season we are in is a cleansing period, a time of preparation.   UN   becoming who we’ve become; busy, weary, anxious, overburdened, chameleon – being who others want or expect us to be. Lost, depressed, frustrated, needy.  And instead, shed the shackl

The Cost of Freedom

  Memorial Day I once thought I understood the cost of freedom. I’d heard the family stories, my momma named for her uncle shot down over France, I’d been to the parades and ceremonies, could repeat great quotes, I’d seen the movies…   But then a few years ago I walked among the names – name after name after name, reaching far, even unto the horizon;  and the faces of sons and daughters and mothers and fathers – determination in their countenance, fear in their eyes, aged beyond their years.  One caught me as I walked by, gripped my heart and dragged me up close. He stared at me, wanting me to see, wanting to be known. Though his lips unable to speak it, his lifeless eyes told of the horrors he’d seen, the death he’d lived, the life he’d taken. He was just a boy, once full of life, now, full of death. He begged “Remember me.”  And through tears I vowed I would never forget him. Him without a name, an ordinary face – just one among many…  And then I stood, in reverential silence as mirr