Follow Me

Among the first recorded words of Jesus are, "Follow Me." Follow Him, and He will make you a fisher of human souls. Follow Him, and He will show you true peace. Follow Him, and He will give you the riches of the Heavenly Kingdom.

"Follow," as used here, encompasses virtually every English meaning of the word: follow the path and don't wander off; stay behind the Leader and don't run ahead or lag far back; follow instructions and don't try to invent your own way. The original Greek also carries the sense of "accompany" or "assist." When we follow Jesus, we are more than His subjects; we are His companions, right-hand people, and friends. 

Many of us want to follow Him but wonder why the path never seems clear. Often it's because we have our stubborn minds made up to follow only at our own speed and on our own terms. While relatively few of us flatly refuse to obey clear instructions, many of us are all too willing to listen with half an ear if we suspect God may tell us anything we don't want to know. Or, conversely, we nag Him to provide instructions in detailed long-term format so we aren't distracted from the important work by the nuisance of keeping in constant touch with Him. We don't really want Jesus to be our Leader; we want Him to be our daily planner who organizes our own preferred duties, our front guard who goes before us while we choose path and pace.   

If, as a child, you ever lost Mom in a public place, you have some idea of the results that attitude can serve up.

Of course, unlike that frantic mother, Jesus knows exactly where we are even when we're lost. He simply waits for us to call to Him, in sincerity and repentance, to show us the way back to the path. Often, we can't see His leading clearly because we don't yet feel lost enough to know the desperate earnestness of seeking Him wholeheartedly.

But as God told the Israelite exiles (in Jer. 29:13) who became lost when they stopped following Him: "You will seek me and find me [and My plan for you] when you seek me with all your heart."

He Who called His first disciples
Where the lake in sunlight basked,
Still does call us where we labor:
"Follow Me, and find your task."

He Who called the weak and weary
To a "load" that meant release,
Still is calling us to trust Him:
"Follow Me, and walk in peace."

He Who called the ones reluctant
To abandon earthly care,
Calls us still to full surrender:
"Follow Me to Heaven's share."

Lord, You led the way through suffering,
On through death, to life again:
May we find the faith to answer,
"We will follow to the end."

Budding

In the nineteenth century, Thomas Bailey Aldrich wrote a short verse entitled "Maple Leaves":

October turned my maple's leaves to gold;
The most are gone now; here and there one lingers:
Soon these will slip from out the twigs' weak hold,
Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.

We can't take any of our possessions with us when our bodies finally give up the ghost. But even while we remain very much alive physically, we kill a bit of our spiritual effectiveness every time we balk at God's directing us to let go of something earthly. And that can happen to very mature Christians as well as to "baby believers."

One reason few of us are immune is that only occasionally does Jesus ask a new or potential convert to throw aside a vast accumulation of earthly attachments immediately and all at once. Occasionally, He does tell someone to "Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor" (Mk. 10:21, NIV, emphasis added). But more often He guides us along the path to spiritual maturity like a coach training someone for a marathon with longer and longer runs. First, He directs us to give up the more obvious sins: sexual immorality, dishonesty, bitterness, taking advantage of others. Once we're in fairly good shape there, He shows us the little areas where we didn't really think we needed improvement: that old grudge we almost forgot but never let go of completely; that annoying person we don't particularly want to love; opportunities to serve where we were always too proud or too busy. Many a Christian's spiritual growth stalls right there.

If we keep on, we find ourselves being hit in the really deep, painful areas. Almost everyone who seriously wants to become the most effective Christian possible will sooner or later be called to "take a break" from some much-loved activity, harmless and wholesome in itself, and use that time to concentrate more fully on God. Our Lord's purpose there is not, as some people think, to forever keep us from the "sin" of having fun. Rather, He wants us to fully appreciate that He will tolerate no rivals for first place in our lives--that only by wholly cutting the emotional bonds that tell us there are still a few earthly things we can't live without, can we come to appreciate that God is all we need, and more than sufficient for our needs.

If we absolutely refuse to let go of the things we count on, He may forcibly remove them for our own good. Sometimes in nature, a few leaves hang on all winter and are only dislodged by new growth literally pushing them off. The human counterpart to that process can be extremely painful.

But when we see the beauty of fresh new leaves replacing dead brown ones, few can doubt that God knows best.

The leaves of our tree turned brown last fall,
And most fell free as the cold grew sharp,
To cover the earth in a blanket of brown,
And feed the soil till the spring's first spark.

A few of the leaves clung to their twigs;
Though dead and shriveled, they held their grip,
Mere pale reminders of the green days now past,
Pathetically rustling as months did slip.

Then came the bright warmth of spring's first rays,
And fresh new buds pushed out from beneath,
And the dead winter leaves dropped away at last,
Like baby teeth clearing for grown-up teeth.

We all cling tight to some things long dead,
Regrets of what can bring joy no more:
But when death is swallowed in our Lord's new life,
All old bonds are left outside Heaven's door.

In Remembrance

Yesterday, the United States celebrated Memorial Day, honoring members of the U. S. Armed Forces who lost their lives in the line of duty. Even those who oppose all war on principle--or any individual war in particular--do well to remember kindly those who have suffered for the belief that freedom is important. (As one military wife said, "My husband is also defending the right of his fellow Americans to say rotten things about him.")

The day before Memorial Day--and on many another Sunday throughout the year--many of our churches celebrate a far more important memorial as we follow the Scriptural command to "do this in remembrance of me.... whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes" (1 Cor. 11:24, 26, NIV). While we associate "dying for freedom" with struggling to the end, Jesus won the decisive war of all time without once striking back at His attackers. Only by willingly absorbing the worst that the full force of evil could do, could He free others from the evil that enslaved them.

Not everyone who has died for his country has done it with true love or courage, or in a truly honorable cause. But when Jesus died for the world, He displayed the ultimate example of all three. Only by remembering that--and regularly reminding ourselves of its truth--are we prepared to serve Him in love, courage, and humility.

There were twelve men surrounding the table,
And the Leader, Who stood at the head,
His eyes full of love and of sorrow,
Spoke blessing and peace on the bread;
And He said, "Take this loaf as My body,
To be broken so all can be free;
From now on, when you think on God's mercy,
Eat the bread in remembrance of Me."

His death set us free from sin's prison;
His light warms a world dark and grim;
So let us, as we sit at the table,
Take the bread in remembrance of Him.

There were twelve men surrounding the table,
And the Leader took juice from the vine;
His eyes full of love and of sorrow,
He prayed as He poured out the wine;
And He said, "Take this cup as a covenant,
As My blood spilled so all can be free;
From now on, when you think on God's mercy,
Drink the wine in remembrance of Me."

His blood cracked sin's chains that enslaved us;
His gift fills life's bowl to the brim;
So let us, as we sit at the table,
Take the cup in remembrance of Him.

There were few who stood near through His suffering,
When our Savior hung there on the Cross,
Where, eyes full of love and of sorrow,
He prayed for a world that was lost;
But soon hundreds would rally around Him,
As He rose so the world could be free;
And He left them His words for the future:
"Do all this in remembrance of Me."

His sacrifice, freedom, and blessing
Are for us no less than for them;
So let us, as we think on God's mercy,
Eat and drink in remembrance of Him.

Not Mine

Lately, my calendar has been plagued by an epidemic of last-minute changes; I count 22 reschedulings and cancellations (most on less than 24 hours' notice) since the beginning of February. I tend to take it poorly. My nature gravitates so strongly toward orderly and careful planning that I even get annoyed at pleasant surprises.

Unfortunately, refusing to accept the unchangeable doesn't leave a person any less stuck with it. As God said to Paul in the saint's rebellious days, "It is hard for you to kick against the goads" (Acts 26:14, NIV). The metaphor refers to a sharp-pointed stick, a "goad," that was used to prod animals forward when plowing. As an ox's kicking backward at the annoyance only made the goad stab deeper, so a person's ranting or sulking over the "unfairness" of life only intensifies the pain of disappointment.

More than that, complaining feeds our rebellious nature and steers us toward the dangerous ground of telling God that we know better than He does, or that we don't care what He wants. There's nothing wrong, of course, with praying that things will go "well"--if we phrase such prayers as respectful requests rather than demands, and if we accept that God doesn't owe us anything. Too often, we approach prayer as spoiled brats rather than as humble servants.

The tendency to defy God gets even worse when we do have a choice of whether or not to go through with the whole awful matter. Jesus, Who was "tempted in every way, just as we are" (Heb. 4:15), had His own thoughts of backing out as He stood face to face with the reality that the Cross--the ultimate physical and spiritual agony--was finally imminent. We can never fully appreciate how difficult it was for Him to finally pray, "Not my will, but Yours be done." We do know, however, that had Jesus insisted on His own way instead of putting the Father's will first, we might as well have continued living for worldly pleasure--because we'd have no hope, ever, of anything better.

Jesus accepted the hard parts of God's will for our sake. Do we owe Him any less?

He knelt in the garden grove praying,
His eyes nearly blind with grief
As they looked ahead to the suffering,
And His heart craved a word of relief.
His voice shook with sobs at the vision,
Yet it rang with a note sublime:
"My Father, I long to escape this;
But let it be Your will, not Mine."

Blood mingled with tears as they tumbled
From His eyes to the rocky ground,
While the ones whom He loved slept onward,
So blind to the truth profound;
And He lifted His gaze to the heavens,
His cheeks wet with His tears' sharp brine:
"My Father, is this how it must be?
Then let it be Your will, not Mine."

They came for Him there in the garden,
And led Him away in the night;
He raised not a hand in resistance;
He made not one attempt to fight;
As He writhed in the pain of His death-throes,
His cry rang down the vaults of time:
"My Father, I die for the guilty,
So let it be Your will, not Mine."

His death paid the price to release me;
His pain salved the guilt of my sin;
He calls me His own, and He leads me
In the war He alone can win.
However my pathway seems darkened,
His light from within can shine:
My Savior, whatever the battle,
Please let it be Your will, not mine.