Jesus is Watching

In the eighth chapter of John's gospel, where Jesus is verbally jousting with the Pharisees in the Temple court, a seeming throwaway comment about the location of this verbal scuffle tells us something important: "He spoke these words while teaching in the temple area near the place where the offerings were put..." Both Luke and Mark tell us of another time when Jesus sat there during the giving of offerings. Taking note of a widow giving two fractional coins, together amounting to less than half a penny in our currency, Jesus stunningly declared that the woman had given more than all the others.

Apparently Jesus regularly sat near the place where offerings were taken. Even today he observes the offerings in my church. He observes the amount we give to missions, as well as other necessary and supporting causes—a sobering reminder to Southern Baptists at this moment in our history. Jesus is watching. When tempted to argue over the allocation of funds, we need to remember He who sees our hearts is still watching. Jesus sits near the place where the offerings are made, and he knows when what we give demands greater trust. He also knows how flippant and boastful I can be in my giving.

I am all about percentages in giving, since the tithe is a percentage. Our Cooperative Program giving is a percentage, too. Yet we have not begun to give as we ought. The unnamed widow whom Jesus observed gave out of her extreme poverty and need, which forced her into a greater dependence upon the Lord. What am I giving that reflects such a sacrifice? When smugness washes over me, I tend to relax the tension of my giving and forget that Jesus’ favorite seat is near the place where the offering is taken. I forget that those piercing eyes are fixed upon my heart. I forget that giving matters more than anything else I do, because it indicates my heart condition like nothing else. The question that haunts me is, does my giving hurt? Does it threaten my security? It’s not a sacrifice if it costs me nothing.

C.S. Lewis believed in the tithe, but he also questioned the settled feeling that comes to those who live by percentages. “I do not believe one can settle how much we ought to give. I am afraid the only safe rule is to give more than we can spare." Southern Baptists have missionaries ready to go on the field but cannot send them because of the limitation of resources; something in me says we cannot, in the face of Great Commission opportunity, be satisfied with merely giving what we can spare.

On a personal note Lewis adds, “There ought to be things we should like to do and cannot do because our charitable expenditure excludes them.” We need to give, sacrificially give, and not stop giving until it hurts. Why should those we send to the nations be in want of resources while we stay in our nation and smugly leave the offering plate, satisfied that we’ve done enough?

Ed Litton

Joy in the Mourning

There is a difference between joy and happiness. They can coexist, but don't confuse the two; they're nothing alike. One endures in the presence of overwhelming darkness, the other only in the pleasant daylight. One gives the will to breathe another breath. The other can take your breath away but is fleeting.

I am in love with a beautiful woman named Kathy Ferguson. I asked her to be my wife and she said yes. She is strong, wise and fun. She lifts my weary head and reminds me that there is still living to do. She came alongside me in my grief as a friend and showed me that even the greatest loss can be endured. The quiet moments between us remind us that we each understand the other.

We come from relationships that were healthy and strong. We each have three children, two boys and one daughter. Our lives have traveled on parallel tracks that never crossed. I long admired her husband, Rick Ferguson, from a distance. There are fellow pastors you hear about but never meet. You hear about their character or strength under fire. You admire their vision and thank God for their faithfulness. One church planter who knew Rick told me, "There are some things I will never understand about the ways of God. We still miss Rick, and church planting in Colorado has never been the same."

Kathy is different from Tammy—but then why would God start a new chapter of my life with someone just the same? I’m drawn to Kathy for many reasons. Her wit is quick. Her wisdom is strong. She has opinions, but they’re tempered by a grace that quickly remembers her opinions are not the center of the universe. She loves to laugh, and the joy of the Lord is her strength. She genuinely cares about the hurting, and those who suffer the most profound losses move her. She loves her family deeply. She is wise. Her taste in men is superb. Okay, I threw that one in as a joke. We’ve both been tempered by our losses the way fire strengthens steel. We share a deep resolve and desire for our lives to bring glory to Christ. Oh yeah, she is gorgeous! I’m energized by just the sight of her.

Whatever is left of our days on this earth, we’ve agreed that we want God to use us together for His glory and the good of His Kingdom. May God continue to be glorified! May we build upon the strong foundations of our lives past as we reach for the future.

Ed Litton

What If?

Historians sometimes use a mental tool called a counterfactual, best understood by the simple question "What if?" A counterfactual can clarify actual events in history when applied to subsequent events. For example, we discover that an unseasonal fog sets in on the Hudson River, allowing General George Washington to escape the massive British navy and army at Brooklyn Heights and thus preventing the abortion of the birth of our nation. Counterfactuals shed light on the often forgotten elements of history and reveal in greater clarity God's divine providence. I am amazed how history often hinges on seemingly insignificant events that prove to turn the tide. God often shows up in the fog and provides a way of escape in perilous times.

The Southern Baptist Convention stands at a seminal moment in our history. The idea of using a counterfactual in reverse, to help us think more clearly and see more plainly our place in history and God's divine intervention, captured my imagination. The theme of this year’s Pastor’s Conference is a counterfactual question, "What if?" The biblical foundation for this meeting is found in Philippians chapter two, verse two:

"Make my joy complete by being of the same mind, maintaining the same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose." (NAS)

How can the future be changed if we as believers really seek to have one mind, one love, one spirit and one purpose? This question, properly answered, can and must change the course of the way we cooperate. I hear and read a lot of things that concern me about our current situation, but I am confident that these "realities" are but opportunities if we will meet the Lord together in Louisville, Kentucky.

What if we came together to do more than our business? What if we met to seek the Lord? What if we met to get things right with Him? What if we met to be made right with one another? What if we came together and allowed His heart for the nations to consume us to the degree that our differences faded into the backdrop of a great continuum, a God-woven tapestry begun in the book of Acts? What if we as Southern Baptists met and refused to allow God's work among us to become irrelevant to our generation? What if?

I am praying and believing that this Southern Baptist Convention will be different, in the sense that we will see a genuine move of God and our hearts will be refreshed, renewed and strengthened for these great days we are living. Will you join me in prayer to this end? Will you refuse to allow cynicism to rule your heart and believe that God has an infinite capacity to surprise our plans and that He moves in such moments in the lives of His people? Will you ask the Lord if it is His will for you to be at this year’s Pastor's Conference and ask Him to make a way if there seems to be no way?

One thing is clear in the study of history: there are moments that few expected to be so significant—yet wars, nations, and great movements hinged on these moments. What if this year’s Southern Baptist Convention would be one of those historical moments that finds us standing in awe of God, as He moves providentially to fulfill His purpose?

Ed Litton

A Stone’s Throw Away

If I had been one of the twelve who walked with Jesus, I know I would have knelt in the dark garden and, with gnarled thoughts, begun my struggle to pray. Sorrow would have consumed me to the point of exhaustion and sleep would have been irresistible. While I escaped in dreams, my Lord would have battled the unthinkable alone, praying “a stone’s throw” away from me. (Luke 22:41)

Why would the Holy Spirit inspire such a term in the mind of Luke? Why use that phrase to describe the distance between me and my Lord in prayer?

We throw stones for several reasons. We throw stones when we’re bored. We skip stones when we’re nervous, standing by a lake with nothing else to do. We throw angry stones at people. Sometimes we throw stones in prayer. That’s right, we toss our hard things at God from a distance. I find myself doing this often. I rush into His throne room with a list of wants and needs. I dare not draw too close to the King, I just toss my small stones at the throne in words, pleadings and sometimes even demands. Prayer becomes a means to an end. If I just exercise sufficient faith in the means then the end becomes a reality.

This mystifies God. Isaiah 59:16 says, "And He saw that there was no man, And was astonished that there was no one to intercede..." (NAS)

Lately I’ve found myself tossing a great many stones to the Lord without entering close in worship. Prayer that doesn’t begin in worship digresses to duty, bouncing onto the floor unanswered, leaving my heart as hard as the stones I’ve thrown toward God.

Worship helps me draw near to a place where I can see how great He is. When I see how great He is, I am struck with awe. When I am struck with awe I become curious about His mind. When I have His mind, prayer is transformed to a desire to do His will. Then and there my prayers change, the hard things are transformed in my own heart, and intercession becomes a joy again.

Stop hurling your hard, stone-like troubles at God. Don't remain a stone’s throw away from Him. Seek to know His mind. Then intercede in prayer according to His will. There is much to intercede for, but astonishingly few truly intercede—because we pray a stone’s throw away.

Hebrews 10:22 encourages us to “draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water." (NIV) We can be confident that our Lord not only calls us to draw near He cleanses us to draw near. We don’t have to stand at a distance we can draw near with full assurance.

Ed Litton

Three Snapshots of Faith

Going Not Knowing
Faith doesn’t need to know where it is being led or whether or not the journey will be successful. Faith refuses to be distracted by what is seen in any given moment. Faith moves in the face of the blowing winds of unanswered questions and unfulfilled promises. Hebrews 11:8 says, "By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going." Faith begins with believing God's revealed word, accepting as true what God says, and realizing your task is to act upon it. According to Heb. 11:6, "without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him."

This is why Abraham is considered to be the father of faith. Abraham moved forward in life in spite of the fact that he had little evidence this vision would become a reality. Hebrews 11:10 says was “looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God." Abraham saw many of God's promises come true along the way, but the ultimate promise of a city whose architect and builder is God he won’t realize until the New Jerusalem is revealed from heaven (Rev. 21:1).


Knowing but still Going
Faith doesn’t need every problem solved before it acts. Mark's gospel tells of Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome taking spices to Jesus’ tomb on a Sunday morning to anoint his body. On the way they asked each other a very practical question—"Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?" Far from being delusional, the women were all too aware of the obstacles they faced. I marvel that knowledge didn’t leave them sitting immobilized around a kitchen table until they’d secured help in moving the stone; they were knowing but still going. Little did they know the stone was no longer a problem, because He was already risen. The resurrection of Jesus solves our biggest problems and moves the hard things that obstruct our walk of faith.

Our mission in life as believers in Jesus Christ is to live by faith in the son of God. To move in trust that no problem is too big for the God who moves stones. Faith demands that we believe, refusing to let our unbelief keep us from taking action or from living in light of the promises of God.


Going and Knowing
Faith is willing to take God at His word with no supporting evidence necessary. I’m amazed by the visit Gabriel made to two people in Luke's gospel. First the angel visited a priest named Zechariah, who was in the throes of some very significant temple duties. Gabriel delivered God's promise that a boy named John, a forerunner to the Messiah, would be born to this aging, childless couple. Zechariah's response in Luke 1:18 is interesting. “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.” Compare his question to that of Mary, the mother to be of Jesus, who was visited by the same angel in Luke 1:34. “How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?” Which response was by faith and which was faithless?

Zechariah demanded evidence that would remove the possibility of doubt. He wanted to see something that would keep him from being an old fool for believing God. Wasn’t it enough that one of God's highest ranking angels had just appeared to him? Hebrews 11:1 defines faith as “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." Mary's response, however, is one of faith. She states the obvious, but not as an objection or a demand for more assurance. It isn’t wrong to note the impossible nature of your circumstances, but it is wrong to demand supporting material to remove doubts created by our own limited perspective. Such supporting material rarely strengthens our weak faith. Faith stands on God's Word regardless of the evidence to the contrary. Faith moves on what God has promised—and sometimes all you have to move on is knowledge of His character.

You might be tempted to say it would be hard to live without the fulfillment of God’s promises in your life. We all grow weary of waiting on the Lord. Going without knowing means trusting day to day in the promises of God—and when the memory of those promises wears thin, clinging to the character of God. Every day, in every way, we get to believe either in what we see, hear, smell and touch—or in what God has said. Like Abraham, like the women who went to minister to the body of Jesus, like the young Virgin Mary or even Zechariah, we must each move forward in faith. We must go about our duties, our lives, and the journey marked out for us. We must be honest about the impossible things we face, but we must always leave room for our awesome God to move the hardest things we face—be it a stone or a mountain or our own stubborn hearts. God is faithful. He is the Stone Mover!

Ed Litton

Preach the Word

The command in Second Timothy, chapter four, is straightforward and simple—or so it seems. Many a preacher gladly heard and obeyed the call of God, but in our youthful passion we often miss the other phrases surrounding this exhortation. Phrases like "be prepared in season and out of season," "keep your head in all situations," "endure hardship." Many of us imagine the art of preaching is bound up in style, meter, technique and voice quality. The truly spiritual among us know that preaching is bound in the text; proper excavation and presentation are the stock tools of the biblical preacher. So we take great pains to do the less than glamorous work of preaching in our study.

Preaching is far more incarnational than I imagined. Methodist bishop William Alfred Quayle said, "Preaching is not the art of making a sermon...it is the art of making a preacher." I have at times thought I could skillfully avoid preaching my life and my struggles—especially the humiliating ones. I now realize I cannot. No matter what text you deliver to your hearers, you can’t divorce your life from it. It may be comforting to think that my skill as a communicator could override my own struggles and hardships, but they just cannot.

We are all practitioners of what we preach. We either preach what we practice or we don't—but either way it comes through loud and clear. Haddon Robinson defines expository preaching as "the communication of a biblical concept, derived from and transmitted through a historical, grammatical, and literary study of a passage in its context, which the Holy Spirit first applies to the personality and experience of the preacher, then through him to his hearers."* While we work with the text like a potter shapes clay, God's Holy Spirit kneads us, working truth into our being. We either reveal to our hearers the reality of the text in our own lives or we reveal that we’re out of step with the text in our own lives. Both may be unconscious communication, but both preach loudly.

Some of us would love to think that a sermon can be presented as emotionless instruction, as if we were dishing boiled okra onto the hearer’s plate. You must realize that the incarnation of God's Word in you, lived out in your own suffering and hardship, seasons the message and makes the word palatable and even delicious to the hearer. It is an act of sacrifice for the man of God to be transparent and to bleed openly before his hearers. He is vulnerable and in great danger in front of others. The tragedy is that many of us preachers traffic in truths we have never lived out and frankly don’t care to experience. We can even develop an unintentional smugness that says to our hearers, "if you are like me, you won’t suffer what others suffer." No man I know would intentionally do this, but more comes through your sermon than you realize.

When my wife of twenty-five years died, I was amazed how many people in my church struggled spiritually with why God would allow me, their blessed pastor, to suffer like this. My concern is that maybe I’ve given them the idea that as God's man I’m shielded from hardship and suffering. I do know this—often I preach out of a sense of fear. Sometimes I'm not even aware of this fear but it drives my message passionately. I end up communicating an unintentional message. I have to stand on a pedestal to be seen and heard but the reality of Tammy’s death reminded many that no one is immune to suffering—not the man standing nor the one sitting.

My heart has been aching this week for the wife and daughters of Dr. Fred Winter, the pastor of First Baptist Church of Maryville, Illinois. I cannot imagine the horror of the congregation that watched as a deranged gunman shot first his Bible and then Fred to death. I didn’t know Fred, but do I know that last Sunday he stepped into that pulpit to do what he has faithfully done for over twenty years—preach the word. In the act of answering God's call and fulfilling his mission, he lost his life. What is the Message? It’s not safe to preach anymore. But then again, it never has been. Fred's message and life are one. We live in a fallen and sin-sick world that needs the words in Fred's Bible applied to people. Fred was a faithful man of God who preached the Word.

Today Fred is preaching his greatest sermon ever. His life, now in full reflection of those who loved him and knew him and his faithfulness to "preach the word," is speaking not only to the people of Maryville, Illinois, but to a nation. This is incarnational preaching at its best.

Ed Litton

Wounds from a Friend

"Wounds from a friend can be trusted..." Prov. 27:6 (NIV)

Someone recently asked me if my view of God's sovereignty helped or hurt my recovery from grief. I thought for a moment and said, "Yes!"

Life apart from an all knowing, ever present, and in-control Heavenly Father is unthinkable because His sovereignty governs my life and destiny. I know even in my suffering He has never for one moment been out of control. I know Tammy's passing from death unto life wasn’t just an act of grace to save her—it is His will. That’s where the wound comes. It’s hard to grasp anything good from such profound loss, but knowing He is sovereign and good heals me. In His infinite wisdom there’s hope, but at the same time, in His sovereignty there is deep mystery. I trust in Him—not what I understand about Him. I cannot grasp deity anymore than a newborn can grasp quantum physics. I can be cradled in his arms, loved and nursed in my sorrow, and know the goodness of my Lord in the land of the living.

Taking this path leads to greater understanding and insight into life, myself and His sovereignty. His wounds aren’t meant to harm; they’re designed to refine me, to make me a vessel more apt to fulfill His purpose and glorify His name. I trust His wounding because He is my friend. I’m discovering there is no friend like Jesus.

Ed Litton

Three Common Experiences

“Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak Whispers the o're-fraught heart, and bids it break.” - Macbeth
In giving sorrow words I find it necessary to confront three states of being in which the hurting heart may find itself.


Depression
I’m not suggesting that what I’m about to say is a cure-all, but it’s important to accept that depression is normal. If you and I weren’t capable of depression, neither would we be capable of celebration. In fact we’d truly be the “bland leading the bland.” Of course some states of depression far exceed the normal; however, everyone will find themselves depressed at times. There are numerous examples of depression in Scripture, because it’s a common malady. Elijah the prophet suffered severe depression—for reasons that are clear to readers of his story, though maybe not so clear to him. I want you to see how God dealt with this man.

“Then he lay down under the tree and fell asleep. All at once an angel touched him and said, ‘Get up and eat.’" 1Kings 19:5 (NIV)

The angel of the Lord didn’t offer Elijah instruction on how he could better manage his schedule. The angel touched him and gave him the most practical instruction: get up and eat. In other words, when you’ve suffered a setback, a layoff or death in your life, what should you do about your depression? Do the next thing. For me it was simply to breathe. Get up and make the bed. Eat. It felt at times like putting one foot in front of another was a major achievement. I marvel now at the grace of God who helps the hurting simply do what they’ve lost the desire to do. It’s seldom inspiration that leads us out of depression, but doing the simple things can lead to inspiration. God cares and reminds us of the practical.

Dejection
In Luke's gospel, some disciples are walking away from Jerusalem following the crucifixion. They’re joined by a stranger they don’t recognize. When he asks why their faces are downcast, they’re incredulous that anyone could be ignorant of the tragic events that had taken place in the city. Listen to their words that define their utter sense of dejection.

"...but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place." Luke 24:21 (NIV)

Hurting people often demand answers from God. After Tammy died, I had a lot of questions, but I knew that answers would not bring her back, nor would they satisfy the aching of my heart. For me, answers in and of themselves would never be enough. You see, the disciples on the road had the facts straight. They knew what they’d just experienced and had already put the events into context. They were accurate—but their conclusions were wrong. You can hear their dejection in the phrase "it is the third day since..." They accept the reality of the death of their hopes and all that seems to remain is dejection. They don’t recognize Jesus until He expounds on all the Bible foretold of these events, connecting the dots of all God promised through the Prophets and relating how these things impacted their experience. They’re amazed, but it isn’t until late in the evening that the light goes on. They finally see that the very Savior whose loss led to their dejection is now sitting before them alive.

This leads me to one undeniable conclusion. God's answer to our hurting heart is often not an answer—but Himself. He’ll remind us of His promises, but He sometimes walks beside us like a stranger until our eyes open to see it’s Him.

Despair
Despair comes when we realize we’ve blown an opportunity that will never come again. We all experience these things. We think about what should have been our response or what could’ve been our opportunity and wind up with a feeling of unutterable self-loathing. This kind of despair may be far more dangerous than depression and dejection combined. The desire to attack ourselves, berating and belittling our very existence drains us of the energy that sustains life.

Jesus has an answer for despair. To a group of snoring disciples who missed a golden opportunity to pray for and with Jesus, he simply said, "Rise, let us go!" Matt. 26:46 (NIV)

What should I do after I’ve failed my Lord again? Get up from despair and do the next thing. Refuse to lie in a pool of my own bloody despair. Rise and trust His goodness and grace for the next opportunity to be faithful. Trust Him as I walk with Him down the path to the next thing. Others may think me glib for refusing to sulk in my failure, but faith requires that we move, not allowing failure to corrupt the next move of faith. Far from ignoring failure, faith refuses to make a habit of it.

Ed Litton

Agents of Grace

Grief still pays me unexpected visits sometimes, coming upon me like an unseasonable storm. Lately it has been in situations when one of my children needs a mother's comfort or care—and I feel helpless to be that for them.

My son Tyler was diagnosed at the age of fourteen with a disease that has no cure. Tammy, in typical style, moved swiftly past the immediate pain of that news and began to deal with the practical realities of the disease. There were hospital stays, procedures and medications. Tammy handled them all with skill and a mother's care. She would read up on the disease and become an overnight expert. I would sit in silence with the doctor as she ran through a list of questions I never would have thought to ask. That’s just what a mother does. It’s been said that a woman's beauty is revealed in and after pregnancy. Actually, I think she’s transformed by a sacrificial love that is awesome to behold, actually it is breath taking. The first time I laid eyes on Tammy, I knew she was beautiful. But when she became a mother, a new, more defined beauty emerged.

Thankfully for almost six years our son has been free from symptoms as the disease stayed in remission. Just over a week ago, though, Tyler came to me with the news that the symptoms have returned. So did my grief. I felt overwhelmed by the list of things that Tammy had managed to keep so orderly. I didn’t know where to begin or what to do. So I formed a plan of action with her as my role model. The problem was I knew I would never be able to do it all—especially providing the comfort a mother alone can bring. Yet it has to get done, and swiftly.

Today we went to the hospital for a test. We arrived early and sat down to go through the procedures for outpatient admission. The first woman we spoke to welcomed us with sweetness and kindness. She found Tyler's file, confirmed his appointment and told us his name would be called in a few moments. When Tyler was called and we got up out of our seats, this dear woman, stopped Tyler and cupped his face in her hands. She whispered something to him, and I watched him hug her as she held him. Tears formed in my eyes as I realized that what I couldn’t give Tyler God provided through a stranger, a mother, an agent of grace. As we walked down the hall I asked Tyler what she’d said. She’d given him words of comfort and faith in the Lord's plan for the whole of Tyler's life. She spoke hope into his anxious heart, another thing a mother does.

As a father, my concerns for my children are many. I feel saddest when I think of how they’ve been deprived of an amazing mother. Yet God has a way of breaking through the storm of our grief and showing us a glimpse of His glory through one of his agents of grace.

I want to be an agent of grace. I don't think you can plan such a ministry. I think, rather, you simply make yourself available to the Lord, love people, and stay sensitive to His Spirit's prompting voice.

Before the day was over another mother made one of the most amazing meals and brought it to our home. Another one of God’s wonderful agents of grace.

Tyler is going to be fine. Thank you, Lord, for your agents of grace.

Ed Litton

Lets Talk About Our Investments

How is your 401K? How’s your retirement account doing?

Honestly, I do not like those questions. If you’re like me, this line of questioning is painful just about now. America and most of our neighbors in this world are in a severe economic downturn…okay, a precipitous slide…no, it may better be termed an economic avalanche.

In this economic environment it’s too easy to complain about my losses in the stock market. The question I don’t want to answer is this: Why did I invest so much in things that means so little? Why place so much confidence in things that can’t last, which are here today and gone tomorrow?

Jesus once said, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal." Matt. 6:19-20 (NIV)

The other day my financial adviser tossed out a mantra I know he must have repeated a thousand times before he said it to me. "You've got to think long term." How long-term do I need to think? Until retirement? Further?

Yes, further. Jesus makes it clear that Investing in anything that can be eaten by moths or rust, destroyed by the second law of thermodynamics, or stolen by thieves who break into our confidence and loot our investments is a short sighted. Jesus gives us the wisest financial advice ever given: keep the long term in focus because this hurting, corrupted, fallen and painful world is slowly and surely passing away.

The greatest retirement plan in the world is out of this world. I’m not planning to stop putting money into my retirement account, but I will try not to over-invest in this world. God is faithful to provide all my needs according to His riches in glory. Today, my greatest investment is to give the hope of eternal life to another person who will live forever.

Trusting Him!

Ed Litton

40K Faith

How do you know if gold is real? How can you determine the proof of gold? Experts tell me that one way, maybe the best way, is to melt the gold down. In the fire the purity of gold becomes obvious. You can take it to the experts at a pawn shop or a jewelry store, but even then the best guess rules. Only heat reveals gold’s true purity.

This is also true in the Christian life. The only sure way to determine the quality of your faith is to test it in the fires of adversity.

1 Pet. 1:6-7 says, “In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith — of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire — may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”

So trials are necessary for a reason we may not fully appreciate. These melting experiences prove the quality of our faith. We suffer grief in all kinds of trials for what reason? So that our faith, which has higher value than gold, may be proven genuine. The end result is that Jesus Christ, the author and perfector of our faith, may be praised, glorified and honored.

Following Tammy's death in August of 2007 I had the most amazing experience. I was overcome gently but profoundly by a sense of assurance. That sense was far more profound that can I make it sound. It was the most solid awareness of the credibility and security of my relationship with Christ that I have ever experienced. It was almost a revelation. I remember the thought clearly. I believe the Lord spoke to my spirit, "You really are a believer."

As most believers do, I have struggled over the years, slightly not profoundly, with assurance of salvation. I knew that salvation comes as the work of God but that there are certain marks in a believer's life which identify a genuine experience of grace. I knew those marks were present in me. I settled that issue a long time ago and had a sense of strong assurance.

This later experience after Tammy’s death was unique. It was as if God revealed to me that my suffering of this trial was proof that I was His child. My response of faith, not the strength of my faith, was proof I was a believer. My hope in God’s provision and the willingness to trust Him was proof. Then there was the word of God that came by His Holy Spirit that day. I’m grateful for the sweet ministry of the Holy Spirit throughout my grief. He comforts when we let Him. He whispers hope and encouragement as well as assurance. I was given a sweet peace that I wasn’t looking for nor that I thought I needed. That in and of itself was the sweetest part. You see, the Lord gave me something I didn’t think I needed and for which I wouldn’t even have asked. He gave this gift because He is good. The truth is He had already given the gift of truth in the Word of God, and my faith is borne and strengthened by that written Word.

I’m grateful for the proof of faith.

Ed Litton

Riding With Arnold Palmer

A very good friend and I were at the same conference recently in Florida. We were playing golf in two different foursomes at a private country club. Between us was a foursome that contained golf legend Arnold Palmer. I saw him several times but was content not to hit him with my ball or with a club swinging wildly out of my hand.

My friend Gary played the first nine holes, then bowed out of the game and went for a walk. He began following quietly Arnold Palmer's game. Eventually he saw they’d noticed him following at a distance, so Gary went to Arnold and boldly asked permission to follow just to watch him play. The response was gracious, and my friend hugged tree after tree in order to watch a great athlete play a great game. At the final hole Arnold motioned for Gary to come over. After they’d introduced themselves, Gary asked if he could take Mr. Palmer's picture on his cell phone. "No, I want my picture taken with you." Another player snapped the shot of my friend with a toothy grin, his arms wrapped around the great Arnold Palmer. Then Arnold looked at my friend and said, "Gary, do you want to ride with me back to the clubhouse?"

When I heard the story I admit I felt a twinge of envy. Why hadn't I thought of that?

Well, let me tell you what I see in this simple and great little story. All too often, I, like Gary, feel drawn to the Lord. I sometimes get bold and watch Him from a distance. It feels safe watching as a fan of His amazing swing, the perfection with which He moves in this imperfect world. I sometimes feel my prayers would only be an interruption to a great and busy man. I would be overwhelmed if he posed in a picture with me. It would be enough to simply ride to the clubhouse with Him.

But every day He wakes me for our life together. Every night He meets me in the darkness with His comforting presence. Every noon hour His faithfulness guides me in perfect wisdom and love. God is with me. That is an overwhelming thought. It is also thrilling in its truth. The reality of Jesus coming as my Emmanuel weighs profoundly upon my life. I worship Jesus. He is God in the flesh. He came not to play a game but to break the curse of sin and death. He’ll never leave or forsake those for whom He suffered and died. He is alone worthy of my love, devotion and praise.


Ed Litton

Love the Sinner, Hate the Sin?

Our world strongly fights the Christian distinction of loving the sinner and hating the sin. As Believers we find ourselves increasingly surrendering into silence about sin and fearfully refusing to confront its deadly consequences. Yet in the midst of this, we are commanded by Christ to love the sinner as valuable for one reason only, God loves him. This is a serious challenge for every believer in Christ yet it is possible because Christ treated people and their sins this way. This is a good place to be reminded of the truth of the words of Dr. Martin Luther King.

I am grateful this Thanksgiving that Christ loves me and hates my sin enough to provide the only remedy for my sin. He died on the cross to bear the punishment my sins deserve. Why? He loves me and hates my sin.
Amazing Love defined by an act of utter unselfishness.
Thank You Lord Jesus!
Ed Litton

Out of the Valley

Today I’m wrestling with a question. Does there come a point when you realize you’re beyond the valley of the shadow of death spoken of in David’s 23rd Psalm—when you labor through to a sunlit upland where the music of birds explodes and color splashes the sky and gloriously drapes the landscape? Is it a sudden awakening or a slow realization? I’m sure the answers are as individual as grief is itself. Fifteen months after I entered this valley where death lingers like a shadow, I’m not sure where I stand.

Though I’ve been helped along these switchback trails by the tracks of others before me, the way has often been hard—no, impossible to navigate. Like many difficult hikes I’ve taken in life, I started this journey with my head down, fighting fear of the unknown. The most taxing part of the experience may be the darkness of the shadows, which can rob you of the desire to keep going.

We don’t walk this valley alone. Yes, we have our Good Shepherd, but the enemy is present too. He obeys no rules derived from a convention of war. He won’t hesitate to attack wounded prey, and he won’t bring comfort to the dying. The only thing keeping his evil in check is the Shepherd's powerful refusal to abandon His sheep.

One of the greatest challenges of the valley of the shadow is the irony that we walk blinded by sight. What is visible becomes our greatest obstacle to walking by faith. 2 Corinthians 5:7 tells us "We live by faith, not by sight." And just as truly we die in the absence of faith. In the valley we can’t physically see the Shepherd of our souls, but we can see the results of His goodness. By faith we feel the warmth of His presence. We see His comforting, His provision and His plan unfolding. Through the eyes of faith, we see Him intimately as the nail pierced hands hold us in moments of weakness. We know His presence in the darkest of night. We see Him beat back the wolves of loneliness and with His own two hands fight the mountain lions of despair.

I don’t really know where I am in this journey—I only know I’m not where I started. I don’t know how much farther I have to go, but as I stop on this hillside and look back, I realize I’ve come a mighty long way. I inhale the fresh air of my Shepherd’s loving provision and let the sun wash my tear-stained face.

I don’t know how much of the valley of the shadow remains, but I care less today than I did fifteen months ago. My overwhelming desire is that I never live a day, or a moment therein, without the awareness of my Good Shepherd’s presence, provision and protection. He is faithful and true! Jesus alone is worthy of my praise! I love Him more now than ever. I bow before His sovereign will and worship Him for His choices in this life. I accept the pain He inflicts with gladness, because He alone understands why.

I know this may sound over the top, but bear with this trail-worn heart of mine. I wouldn’t miss this journey for anything in the world, because I get to take it with Jesus. He is more precious to me today than fifteen months ago. I wouldn’t go back.

Surviving and Thriving by His Grace!
Ed Litton

Cleaning Out The Closet

In days past, I missed the significance of small things.  I never fully understood how painful they could be.  Last Friday I had to do something I’ve been avoiding for almost fifteen months.  In one sense, I’d written it off as a little thing.  In fact, though, cleaning out Tammy's closet was big.  Her clothes, which she kept neatly organized, have been hanging just the way she left them that Thursday morning of August 2007.  I’ve cried in that closet, touched the dresses she wore, and then shut the door, knowing someday I’d have to deal with them.  That day proved easy to avoid.  In the early stages of grief there are much more pressing things to take care of than cleaning a closet.  Cleaning a closet is no big deal—or so I told myself.

In reality, dealing with the clothing of your loved one is difficult.  It seems to say they really aren’t coming back.  I never consciously entertained the idea Tammy would need these things again, but letting go of the last vestige of a person can be a great challenge. In my head I know the clothes she now wears are of far greater quality than anything hanging in that closet…yet the memories, the smell, the order all spoke of her.  Truthfully, I was stunned by the beauty and frugality of her clothing.  She could get more out of less than anyone I’ve ever known.  For years I kidded from the pulpit that if I used Tammy as an illustration I’d have to buy her a dress.  This would be the last time I would hold one of her illustration dresses in my hands.  

Be patient with those who grieving.  It doesn’t help to tell them that not cleaning the closet of their lost love is a sign of grief gone bad or weakness.  They’ll find a way some day to do it.  Just pray that God will give them strength, and He will answer that prayer.  I cried.  No, at moments I howled with a grief that I’m glad no one but my Lord could hear.  Those clothes represent so much.  Her beauty.  Her sense of style.  Her wonderful smell.  Even the order of her closet, especially compared to mine, was a painful reminder of a loss too great to calculate.  I’m not holding back at this moment; this was much harder than I anticipated.  

Even so, there was a feeling of health in this necessary act of reconciling my loss with my need and desire to live.  I reminded myself that Tammy was so much more than what she wore.  Memories associated with her clothing, of things we did as a couple or as a family, filled the room.  I was instantly grateful for her once again.  Cleaning out the closet was a watershed moment.  I’m glad I wept tears that I thought might have dried up. 

That afternoon I took the contents of Tammy’s closet to a home for women fighting drug addiction.  She loved the ministry of the Home of Grace and always prayed for and supported that great work.  So it was fitting that these women, finding new beauty in Christ, should wear the clothes that reflected Tammy’s beauty.  

When I pulled my truck around to the back door of the building, several women came to help me carry in the hangers of clothes.  They touched me with their understanding of my brokenness, their gentleness no doubt shaped by sorrows of their own.  I began to weep. The awful pain filling my heart was mixed with the joy of knowing that Tammy's things would help women who now hope to have the noble character of women touched by God's grace.  That was Tammy's story, and she wore it well.

In the middle of suffering, the child of God can rest in the assurance that the Lord is working and moving for our good and His glory.  I now walk into an empty closet, but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels settled.  I think I’m ready for what comes next.

Ed Litton

The Sunrise

You would not believe the art displayed at this morning's sunrise. The sheer beauty of it stopped me in my tracks. I stopped running, stood silent and in awe. I don’t know how long I stood there, but after some time I became aware my mouth was hanging open in utter amazement at the craft of our amazing God. I now know why the morning stars sing and the angels shout for joy (Job 38:7).

Awed at the intensity of the amber sky, I could almost taste the sweetness of vermilion, the softness of shadows, the whispery edges of soft, fraying clouds stretched over the morning canvas. I wanted to paint it, show it, picture it so you could see it. As the sun rose, the clouds melted into long running streams. Smaller, darker clouds appeared in contrast to the primary blue sky, but they could only intensify the glory of this spectacular sunrise.

I had to go, but not for an appointment. I knew this art was for a moment only; by the time I walked home and looked back, it would be gone. God often makes beautiful, glorious things for short expressions of His brilliance, road signs for a hectic life that He is worthy of our praise, attention, love and worship. As I walked into my house, I looked back to the east. Sure enough, the sunrise had faded into the luminance of the day. Such was the way my morning began.

How often we miss Him. We pass Him on the street, we miss His might and power in small moments. We need only look beyond the obvious, and there we find the DNA of His genius, the power of His glory. According to Job 26:14, “these are but the outer fringe of his works; how faint the whisper we hear of him! Who then can understand the thunder of his power?” Imagine what He can do with a life canvas surrendered to Him. Imagine His greater works.

You are such a work of art of the Master. Stand in that thought and do not reject it. He’s the painter, you’re the canvas, and His glory is seen in you.

I stand in awe of the beauty He has created and recreated in you.

Ed Litton

Turn Into the Darkness

In my early days with this unwanted friend called grief, I remember pain driving my thinking processes. I found myself considering things my heart couldn’t have borne in the days before my loss.

I readily identified with a man who suffered a much greater loss than I. His name is Jerry Sittser. Jerry is a professor at Whitworth University in Spokane, Washington. He was traveling with his mother, his wife, Lynda, and their four children. A drunk driver traveling in the wrong lane hit the car with such force that Lynda, Jerry's mother and his youngest child were instantly killed. In his struggle with grief, Jerry Sittser tells of a dream. In the dream he was facing west, watching the setting sun. He began to run toward the sun to stay within its warmth and glow. In his dream Jerry was running to stay up with the sun so darkness would not overtake him, but he knew he was losing. His sister Diane appeared to him and counseled him to turn into the darkness and run toward the east. By doing this he would soon see the sunrise.

For those who grieve, little things matter. Most things in life take a lesser seat on the bus when you've lost the love of your life. Running from darkness seems natural. Running into or toward darkness is counterintuitive. It requires courage but amazing trust. Facing the uncertainty you fear isn’t easy, but it does have one simple and profound reward. It takes you to a place that only a God who sees in the dark can navigate. He, being the Good Shepherd, leads us through the valley of the shadow of death. Turning into the darkness of grief holds a tantalizing promise. You will again witness the rising of the sun. When I run in the early morning hours, stars dot the Alabama sky above me. I love watching the greater light chase the lesser lights into the day. Jesus has helped me through the dark night of my soul. The most glorious part of my journey is to see Him rise over my darkness and brighten the world I live in.

Jerry Sittser writes: "I discovered in that moment that I had the power to choose the direction my life would head….I decided from that point on to walk into the darkness rather than try to outrun it, to let my experience of loss take me on a journey wherever it would lead, and to allow myself to be transformed by my suffering rather than to think I could somehow avoid it."

Whatever your darkness is, you can face it with the Lord Jesus Christ. He not only refuses to abandon you, He waits patiently to reveal Himself to you. I would not trade the revelation of my Lord in the past thirteen months of darkness for anything. Anything? That's right.
Turning into my darkness!
Ed Litton

Disappointment with God

Sometimes we assume things that are far from life’s reality. For example, we assume we’ll have the health to do what we believe God called us to do, and we assume we’ll have the time and resources to do it. It’s natural to assume you’ll always have the love of your life by your side.

I’m sometimes asked if I feel cheated or angry about losing Tammy. Of course those are very real human emotions and, yes, I do struggle with them. Following her death, I realized that every dream I owned had her front and center. She was my dream buddy. We were in the throes of re-dreaming our lives, our family, and our ministry together. It was exciting to dream with her. She was so full of life and willing to go anywhere and do anything. She was developing a confidence that thrilled me and made me proud. It’s nearly impossible to imagine doing life without her. Yet death has separated us for now. The dreams died, but not the ability to dream. Am I disappointed? Yes, but not with God. Of course it’s tempting to blame Him, but I dare not, because He’s not the problem, nor is His plan for Tammy the problem. The problem is me.

I once assumed God's obvious grace and goodness to me had a lifetime guarantee. Never did He promise me Tammy would always be by my side. Never did He promise life would be a smooth road. Never does He promise things will go as I’ve planned. Like many people, I’m guilty of presumption. James poignantly addresses this problem.

"Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes” (James 4:13-14).

Life must be dreamed, planned and engineered to the best of our ability. This is the responsibility of every believer. What we cannot do is fight the Lord's right to a deeper or broader plan that governs the affairs of His children. We must hold to the knowledge that our lives are but a mist, or we’ll be consumed with disappointment in God and with life itself. We mustn’t slip into a twisted logic that pushes God away as impotent.

How then do you struggle? Disappointment can overwhelm us unless we meet God with a greater sense of trust—even when we don’t understand Him. We can trust His infinite wisdom and affection for us as we fall into His hands and wait for His moving. James encourages us to say, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that" (v. 15).

So this day begins for us with plans, schedules and appointments...Lord willing. We’ll do life to the best of our ability, according to His sovereign will. We’ll live and do this or that, and He’ll be glorified by our trust.

I am so satisfied with Jesus!

Ed Litton

Day by Day

Life comes in small bite-sized chunks of time called days. The truth is, though, we often obsess over even smaller pieces of time called seconds and minutes. Jesus said we’re to focus on one day at a time. Our minds wander to far-off places as we imagine how we’ll face the problems of that day. Still…life is daily. Painfully daily. God only allows us this day to “live and move and have our being.” (Acts 17:28) So what do I make of this day?

2 Corinthians 4:16 says, "Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day." Here’s the harsh and ugly reality of life: we’re wasting away. We suffer from the wasting disease of sin and decay. We suffer the effects of Newtonian physics and the second law of thermodynamics. Everything is going from a higher state of being to a lower state of being. When my teenager cleans her room—wait, that has never happened yet—oh well, when and if it ever happens, let’s say we sealed it off and no one entered that room for six months. Upon reentry we would discover that the room, even though clean six months ago, is in a lower state, with dust covering the once clean desktop. That’s the reality of entropy. Paul writes that even though we’re outwardly wasting away, we’re being inwardly renewed day by day.

The only truly renewable energy source in the world is “Christ in me, the hope of glory.” (Col. 1:27) Each day as I meet with Him to set my heart and mind upon Him, He restores my soul, renews my mind and prepares me to live supernaturally in this day.

It’s with the long chain of such days linked together that a life is built secure. Let me challenge you to meet with Him day by day, so that you don’t lose heart in the Christian life. I believe that establishing this discipline in an earlier day of my life helped me profoundly when one tragic day came into my life. I awoke that morning as clueless as a puppy. I had no way of knowing the heartache in store for me. The next morning was a very different experience. Then there was the next day and the next. Having a daily time with God does not remove the sharpness of life’s pain. It does, however, keep you from losing heart. Proverbs says my heart is the wellspring of my life. It’s where God blesses me and refreshes me day by day. Keep the refreshing waters flowing and keep them uncontaminated, and they will refresh you and renew you day by day.

Life is daily.
Ed Litton

Good Grief

In the twilight of my day, my daughter came to me, broken and longing to talk about the pain of her winter of grief. My heart knew that I was entering a holy place as she began to talk. I moved carefully and slowly as this beautiful young princess of my heart poured out grief from the cracking edges of her heart. As painful as it was for us both--there, just over her shoulder, stood joy. The joy of knowing that she would soon feel deeply satisfied to have spoken the unspeakable. Her tears will help her sleep this night. Her sorrow will soften her pillow tonight. Her sheets will feel fresher because of honest confession. Her soul will rest because of God's grace. Sleep will come, peaceful sleep, as winter slowly fades from our lives.
The loss of your love is not good in itself. The pain is piercingly chilly, but the warmth of spring comes. Flowers bloom and hope gently and fragrantly fills your air. This is good grief.
Ed Litton

P.S. My name is Kayla Litton and I approve this message!