Sweat of Your Brow, Part 1: I Can't Get No...

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     A strange thing happens to a man when he takes hold of a pressure washer gun. The machine’s engine is roaring, and the work is right in front of him: a dirty house, a moldy slab of concrete, maybe a deck that really needs to be shown who’s boss. With the opening shot, ugliness is blasted away, and the man gets to thinking, “Wow, I could clean the WHOLE WORLD with this thing! If I just had a long enough hose and a steady supply of gas… Maybe I should get a sponsor. Honey, I’ll be back home in a few weeks, and you’ll be tickled pink with what I got done!”

     And then reality sets in: the sun begins to set; his trigger hand cramps up; the extra can of gas he was counting on actually went into the lawnmower last week, and he forgot to refill it. Such is life. And work.

     The expectation that a person can clean the whole world with a pressure washer is, to say the least, unrealistic. And yet, there’s satisfaction in the work. Dirty stuff gets clean almost instantly. If only that kind of satisfaction could carry over into every other form of work.

     For decades I operated under the assumption that work, in and of itself, is a consequence of the Fall. By “the Fall,” I mean The Big One, the Genesis 3 Fall, where sin entered the human experience, causing separation from God – and, of course, death. I thought, because of Adam’s screwup, I should expect work to be difficult and unsatisfying. Many’s the paycheck I drew with resentment, realizing I had given time out of my life in exchange for the boss’ money – and while the boss’ money was replenishable, my time was not. I couldn’t wait to get my hands around Adam’s throat.

     Though I can’t say for certain when my understanding of the nature of work was flipped on its head, I can certainly say that it has. And over the course of our next few letters, dear Church, if your understanding of the nature of work needs to be flipped – and I reckon it does – I hope to be the flipper. Are ya ready?

     An upside-down understanding is easy to come by. Scripture itself requires a clear-eyed look at what led up to the Fall. Absent that clear-eyed look, the Fall and the Curse become synonyms referring to the same event. They are not. Below is a key piece of Bible, familiar to most of us, I’m sure, that needs to be understood better. Here it comes, in the King James Version, for maximum theatrical effect:

…cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field; In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return (Genesis 3:17-19).

     Totally looks like a curse – I get it. Why it’s not a curse on mankind is a topic we’ll get to in a future letter. This time around, what I want to highlight is the order in which events took place.

     Work predates the Fall. Genesis 2:15 says The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to work it and keep it. Did you catch the chapter number? Early in Chapter 2 of Genesis, Adam was the happiest (and only) human on earth. He also had a job. And with his work and stewardship, the Garden flourished. Late in Chapter 2 of Genesis, the second human came along, and Adam was happier still. In verse 23 we find the first recorded words of a human being, Adam’s joy over finally having another imago Dei around the place. And we would do no harm to Scripture if we assume Eve began to “work” and “keep” the Garden along with her husband. Clear eyes will see that work was well underway before the serpent did his dirty work, before the deception of Eve, before Adam’s sin.

     What does that mean for us now? Well, I could go into several trains of thought on how God set, in the beginning of human history, a laser line that has established the standard for marriage and family and all other human relations. But since the topic at hand is work, I’ll stick to it.

     In 1965, the Rolling Stones blew the rock charts to smithereens with their hit song “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.” Yeah, I was around for that. I remember gathering around a record player in an upstairs bedroom of my grandma’s house with my aunt and two uncles – all of whom were not much older than me, one of whom had bought the 45 single – and marveling at Keith Richards hitting those now-famous riffs on his newfound fuzz guitar. Maybe the riffs are so famous that the underlying message snuck in unnoticed.

     Here's what I recommend to all humans, married/unmarried, employed/unemployed, young/old: Live as much Genesis 2 as you possibly can, even though Genesis 3 happened. As it pertains to work, the satisfaction we gain won’t be like the satisfaction Adam and Eve had before the Fall, but satisfaction can still be had.

     That kernel of thought is what I want to plant at the moment. And now I’ll shut up for a while.

  

Grace and Peace (and satisfaction beyond the pressure washer),

 

John  

 

 

 

   

Surprise

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, God comes up with something unexpected… simply because he wants to.

     My bride and I thought the cherry tree was done for. We didn’t get a crop this year; most of the fruit fell to the ground while it was still green. And despite the “scare tape,” the birds managed to pick off most of what did ripen. And then the leaves fell off – about two months ago. We plan to give the tree a righteous pruning come winter, and hope for better results in ’25.

     We don’t need the cherry crop: it is neither crucial income nor sustenance. When Kay loads those tart cherries into a pie crust, the outcome is wonderful, for sure – put on an extra pot of coffee, we’re going to be here a while – but still, a luxury, not a necessity. I stopped grieving over the cherries and moved on to other issues a while back. Leave weeping to the willows.  

     One thing that has stuck with me, though, is the drought we’ve been in. Money crops are suffering; farmers and their families will suffer too. I was on the back porch early Wednesday morning, asking Jesus why we’re having this exceptionally dry weather. He upholds the universe by the word of his power (see Hebrews 1:3); a couple inches of rain wouldn’t be too much to ask.

     While I was praying, movement caught my eye toward the north end of the yard: a hummingbird was flitting around the cherry tree. Stupid bird, you’re supposed to be headed south soon, and here you are trying to draw nectar from a tree that has none. In a moment, another hummingbird came along. They must really be desperate. I went on praying, and gave the birds up to failed instincts.

     But the birds kept at it. The movement, now somewhat of a nuisance, kept drawing my attention. On one glance I finally spotted a few patches of green where green hadn’t been, and a few flecks of white that were out of place. The cherry tree was blooming. As Moses said, “I will turn aside to see this great sight” (Genesis 3:3), and I went for a closer look. The tree had a few dozen waxy, June-fresh leaves and maybe fifteen to twenty blossoms, all in one patch. Not enough for a cherry crop, but enough to get a couple hummingbirds started on a long migration.

     Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens,

    your faithfulness to the clouds.
    Your righteousness is like the mountains of God;
    your judgments are like the great deep;
    man and beast you save, O Lord.

    How precious is your steadfast love, O God!
    The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
    They feast on the abundance of your house,
    and you give them drink from the river of your delights.
    For with you is the fountain of life;
    in your light do we see light (Psalm 36:5-9)

     I don’t generally think of hummingbirds as “beasts,” but they and “the children of mankind” share a common reality: God saves; the Lord pours out his steadfast love; he gives them, all of them, drink from the river of his delights.

     Meteorologically, we are in a dry season. But the river of delights flows always. The fountain of life springs fresh. The steadfast love of our Father encompasses the heavens and the deeps and the mountains and the hummingbirds.

 Surprise!

 

 Grace and Peace (and water for your souls),

 

John  

O My Soul

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     What do people usually do or say when they catch you talking to yourself? Do they chuckle, or make circular motions with a finger near the head? (“Watch out: somebody’s done gone looney-tunes!”) Do they show some measure of pity, as for a puppy with a thorn in its paw? The reactions vary, but invariably, we don’t like to be caught talking to ourselves.

     Which is why I’m going to encourage us to talk to ourselves, sort of, on purpose:

 Bless the Lord, O my soul,

    and all that is within me,
    bless his holy name!
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
    and forget not all his benefits,
who forgives all your iniquity,
    who heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit,
    who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
who satisfies you with good
    so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's…

Bless the Lord, O my soul! (Psalm 103:1-5, 22)

     Who wrote this Psalm? That’s easy: it’s attributed to David, the shepherd king. About 49 others have his name in the superscription as well. Here’s the question that’s not so easy: Who’s he talking to?

     David, like all of us, had relationships with a wide variety of people. Some were counting on his continued success; others wanted nothing more than to see him impaled on a long pole and eaten by crows. Navigating those relationships, we know, can be tricky – don’t want to mix those up. Is there a faithful, steady source of good counsel?

     David was one of the few Old Testament people who understood anything about the companionship of the Holy Spirit. And among those to whom the Spirit had been granted for a certain task, David was perhaps the only one with a clue that the Spirit’s companionship was meant to be a lifelong, even eternal, blessing. He was, in this respect, the prototype of the present-age Christian. He, like Christians now, had a perspective that is unavailable to anyone who does not yet have the Holy Spirit dwelling within. So yeah, he was talking to himself, but it’s okay: he was acting on the prompting of the Holy Spirit.

     Now that we know who did the prompting, it’s oh-so-important to see what the Spirit prompted our ancestor-in-the-faith to speak to his soul. Give a big ol’ WooHoo, precisely because the Spirit did NOT prompt David to say to his soul, “Soul, you’re so clever, and good-looking too. We killed the lion and the bear. And don’t forget the smelly old giant – off with his head! You’re rocking it, soul. Ain’t nobody can stand in our way.”

     Give the biggest WooHoo ever, precisely because the Spirit prompted David to shout out the praises of the only awesome God: “Bless the LORD, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name!” Bless – from the Hebrew word barak (baw-rak’), the primitive root of which means “to kneel,” as in adoration. Bless the Lord; speak favorably of him; adore him. I’m so glad barak is a verb, an action word – something happens, something tangible and measurable, because of barak.

     Best of all, the prompting of the Spirit to bless the Lord is founded on at least a bajillion reasons to adore him. Here are a few:

The Lord works righteousness
    and justice for all who are oppressed.
He made known his ways to Moses,
    his acts to the people of Israel.
The Lord is merciful and gracious,
    slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
He will not always chide,
    nor will he keep his anger forever.
He does not deal with us according to our sins,
    nor repay us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
    so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
    so far does he remove our transgressions from us.
As a father shows compassion to his children,
    so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him.
For he knows our frame;
    he remembers that we are dust (verses 6-14).

     The soul – even the regenerated soul of the believer – gets bogged down. The poet William Wordsworh wrote, “The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers…” (Maybe he was having one of those bogged-down days way back in 1807.) Each day has the potential to be a bogged-down day. Just too much. No discernable way out. Thankfully, each day also presents the option to adore the lover of our souls. The soul was never designed to be self-sustaining. The soul was designed to be blessed and refreshed by blessing the Lord.

     Go ahead, sister; go ahead, brother – talk to yourself, at the Holy Spirit’s prompting. He is already “interced(ing) for us with groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26). And he “intercedes for the saints according to the will of God” (verse 27). If some of those groanings were to turn into words, I wouldn’t be surprised if they sounded much like what David said in Psalm 103: “The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” Through the Spirit, the believer has the ability to stand apart from the overwhelm-ed-ness, to get out of the torrent, and gain solid footing.

     I saw a TV commercial lately for a medication that helps people who’ve had a heart attack not have another one. The scene has a woman doing an interview with a production crew, along with an animated heart – her own – on the couch beside her. It’s a two-party conversation, the woman and her heart. Thankfully, the heart’s voice is also the woman’s. Freaky if it wasn’t, huh? I figure, if a TV production crew can give it a serious effort, why not us? And if somebody catches you encouraging your soul, maybe that’d be a great time to explain how you were doing it just like God’s people have been doing it for thousands of years.

  Grace and Peace (through blessing God),

 

John

Jesus in the Starting Blocks

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     I can’t see heaven from here.

     Try as I might, strain as I will, the glory escapes me. I squint to see what the other John saw in the Revelation, but as soon as I look down onto the pages of my Bible, I lose sight of what is above. I’ve stood on mountaintops many thousands of feet above sea level, but thought mostly of the toil it took to get there. I’ve traveled in aircraft six miles up with clouds far below, but thought mostly about how presumptuous it is to move so high and so fast.

     By day the sun is too intense to look upon. By night the moon is a mocking reflection. Faraway stars twinkle and tease – though others find lions and hunters and bears by connecting the shimmering dots, I take one Big Dip and I’m done. And the heavens return to returning a blank stare.

     At some point in my childhood I heard a preacher describe Jesus’ present posture in heaven. Jesus, presumably, is coiled up like a sprinter in the starting blocks, waiting for the Father, at a moment known only to him, to fire the pistol. For, like, two thousand years so far. Sounds exhausting to me. I’ll bet Jesus has better things to do. The image of Jesus in the blocks returns (unbidden) to my recall at times, but I put no stock in it. And heaven gets farther away.

     Help a brother out, here?

     I’ve been reading some old, old writing lately. Early Seventeenth Century – how’s that for retro? The author, one Jeremiah Burroughs – a Puritan preacher who gained and lost various degrees of distinction over his 46 years on this earth – proposes that there is greater satisfaction to be had in this walk-around world, and in this mortal life, than in the world and life to come.

     Oh, perish the thought!

     To be fair, his theory is that obedience to God in a disobedient generation (meaning, any generation) sets up a better-than-heaven-on-earth scenario; an isle of contentment can be had in a raging sea of sin and debauchery. He posits that seeking God’s purposes in the midst of temptation is better than being plugged into God’s purposes when there is no choice. But the question I’m itching to ask Brother Burroughs is, “How the heck could you have known?” He knows now, gone to heaven these 378 years. Maybe he knows, now, he was wrong then.

     “On earth as it is in heaven…” (Matthew 6:10). Of all the things Jesus could have taught us to pray, this is one of the very few he chose. Leads me to believe that earth contains precisely as much heaven as we pray into it. That – ahead of the rightful King’s return – his little brothers and sisters will see only as much heaven as they drag down to examine at arm’s length. Mountains are worth climbing, and flying through thin air is great fun, but if Jesus is to be believed, climbing and flying and gazing into the heavens aren’t the best ways to catch a glimpse. Maybe heaven is closer than I thought, and easier to see.

     “…having the eyes of your heart enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you…” (Ephesians 1:18). Of all the things Paul the apostle prayed for us, this – breathing in the words God breathed out – is one of the many he prayed. As it turns out, I’ve been using the wrong organs for looking into heaven. My natural eyes are subject to the grit and smoke and fog of the atmosphere – the very heavens conspire against my seeing them. Praise God: there’s a better way of seeing.

     Disagree if you wish, but I’m convinced that the grit and smoke and fog here below are all part of the divine plan, meant to make us concentrate. I’m convinced that if we had all of heaven right now, it would be a terrific letdown. Though I found this quote in a novel, by a fictional character, it bears considering: “We’ve all got to go through just enough to kill us.” Why should it be otherwise? And, thank God, since we who are saved won’t be touched by the second death, we don’t have to go through twice as much as it takes.

     If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory (Colossians 3:1-4).

     Kay and I recently re-watched “Hidden Figures,” a movie about the lesser known yet indispensable contributors to early space travel at NASA. The crescendo comes when the team of mathematicians correctly calculates the re-entry path and returns Astronaut John Glenn safely home – a task that had been described as being like “shooting a sawed-off shotgun and putting one pellet through a pinhole at a thousand yards – on purpose.” One of the mathematicians, Katherine Johnson, was then asked by her boss, “So, do you think we can get to the moon?” To which Katherine replied, “We’re already there.”

     Well, whaddya know? I done died and gone to heaven! Like it already happened. According to Colossians 3:3, and in a sense that I only grasp occasionally, it already has. With the eyes of my heart enlightened, the glimpses will come more often – right here, at arm’s length.

 

Thanks for the help, Church.

 

 Grace and Peace (on earth as it is in heaven),

 

John

 

Glory and Honor

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Do you trust God?

     Let the question bubble up for a bit. There’s an easy answer – a Christian reflex, we might say – but I think we’ll be more satisfied if we hold it off for a while. I asked a very broad question, on purpose, but the best responses will be more specific.

     I trust God with whatever I can’t possibly change: the orbits of heavenly bodies, the rotation of Earth and such. I trust God, sometimes, with whatever I can’t change but think I can: the effects of gravity, international affairs and all that jazz. Trusting God in the details, in the everyday, in all the matters in which he calls for my cooperation – yeah, that’s the hard part.

     In our last letter, I wrote to you on Romans 15:13, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” I hadn’t planned for the verse to become a series, but there’s a certain phrase that won’t leave me alone, so I’ll pester you with it as well: “…as you trust in him.”

     From the prayer Jesus taught us, we have some familiar phrases: “on earth as it is in heaven,” and “forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” The small-but-mighty word – “as” – sets up a firm correlation. In the same manner and to the same measure that the kingdom of God has come to heaven, we pray for the kingdom to come here on earth. In the same manner and to the same measure that we forgive those who trespass against us, our trespasses are forgiven. Romans 15:13 has the same correlation loaded into it – “…as you trust in him.” Joy and peace ride in through the gate opened by trusting God.

     Trust, we know, is built over time. In human relationships, we take that as a given. Why? Because we’ve had relationships with some untrustworthy people – keep your distance, let trust be proven. Ironically, Christians tend toward the weird idea that trusting God is a one-and-done, now-and-forever proposition. This notion sets up a difficult scenario: I trusted God once – say, for salvation – but if I fail to trust him in some detail, all of my trust in him is shaken… or broken. That won’t do.

     From what I can tell in Scripture, God is OK with us learning to trust him over time. Jesus didn’t come on the scene saying, “Hey, everybody, I’m the Son of the Almighty – time to bow down and worship!” Rather, he came healing and ministering and admonishing. He made an offer, that even if the people couldn’t yet trust his claim of deity, they could begin to trust through what he was doing among them. All of us who are saved trusted God for salvation – but at that point, did any of us understand everything salvation involved?

     I’ve never been a fan of the “Jesus Take the Wheel” brand of faith. Jesus made the wheel, and whatever road I’m traveling, he, ultimately, paved it. But when he plunks me down in the left-front seat, I get the idea he wants me to drive – according to his purpose, of course. Job One for me is to give up the notion that I made the wheel, I paved the road, or my purposes are better than his. As God called the first human to be co-regent with him in the Garden of Eden, so he calls all saved humans to participate in the reconciliation of all things on earth and in heaven.

     “In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength” (Isaiah 30:15). Nothing can be added to salvation – we walk into Jesus’ finished work on the cross. But look at the arrangement of trust and strength, so close together. Strength, like trust, is built over time. The Father’s trustworthiness will always outpace our level of trust in him, and we are made stronger – quietly, faithfully – each time his grace is found to be sufficient for the day.

     As you trust in him… joy and peace begin to fill. It’s a one-for-one proposition, best I can tell. My prayer for us is that we lean into the trust, and are willing to be surprised by the joy and peace.

 Do you trust God? Get as specific as you like; God can handle it.

 

 Grace and Peace (with a side of joy),

 

John

John  

Lonely Hope

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Our God saves. Our God heals. Our God delivers.

     Have you ever wondered why? Why does our God save, heal, and deliver? When God puts his hand to creation and humanity, especially to reverse an ugly situation, what is the purpose?

     We could surely say it’s to glorify himself. But creation, even if it had no help from humanity, would still suffice to glorify God. And humanity, apart from the majesty of creation, glorifies God through the miracle of life itself. For humans to glorify God of their own volition is a wonderful thing, but God has never had any trouble bringing glory to himself. Maybe there’s another reason for salvation, healing, and deliverance.

     For all of us who are Christians, when we called out for salvation, salvation was ready at hand. Jesus said, “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (Luke 19:10). We called out in response to his seeking, and were saved. But healing and deliverance are different in some respects. Sure, when time ramps back into eternity, we’ll have glorified bodies and God will wipe away ever tear – meanwhile, there’s affliction and infirmity and bondage to deal with, and rare indeed is the one who is relieved of all those, this side of heaven.

     In my faith background are heavy doses of what is sometimes called the word-of-faith movement: name-it-and-claim-it; by Jesus’ stripes we are healed (always and without question). And yet, people I loved dearly struggled with and died from the very ailments we prayed against. The only plausible explanation: our faith wasn’t big enough. To avoid throwing shade on my ancestors, I’ll say yeah, faith can always be bigger. But healing and deliverance are far from automatic – and I think there’s a whole other point to be made anyway.

     If I were to ask you “Where does it hurt” or “Where are you held captive,” what would you say? Physical pain, especially, is so very locatable; and with some coaxing, the sources of spiritual bondage can be named. We could pray over those troubles, and I’d be glad to. Now, here’s the follow-up question: “What would you do with your healing, with your deliverance?”

     Hope that is singular is a lonely hope. Healing that goes no further than oneself is rather hollow. To ask God’s favor for the favor itself is to miss the multiplied blessing in others. If you’re willing to hear it, dear Church, this is the point I wish to make. Romans 15:13 says,

    “May the God of hope fill you with joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”

     “God of hope” is surely the most glorious phrase in that verse. Now let me suggest a second-favorite: “so that.” Easily, it’s the most clarifying phrase in our language. If anybody starts wondering why, in heaven’s name, the God of hope would fill somebody with joy and peace, “so that” clears away the confusion in a matter of seconds. Did you see it happen? If not, please go back and look again – thanks.

     Overflowing hope is a generous hope, spilling and splashing, refreshing the dry and weary spirit. It can’t be contained – isn’t meant to be – but runs all over the place without fear of running out. It gets into lives we may or may not know anything about. Overflowing hope is enough.

     I’m working on a fresh idea – fresh to me, anyway. With every request I make of my Father in heaven, I hope to identify at least a few of the beneficiaries (aside from myself), should he grant the request. If God heals me of a particular infirmity, or delivers me from a certain besetting sin, who else could be made glad by the overflow of hope? I’ve toyed with the idea for most of my adult life, and firmly believe, generally, that for every capability I have, God provides a corresponding recipient. But at this point I’m ready to get radically specific and vitally alert to the outcomes. Care to join me? Those of you who are younger than me might get a head start; those who are older can start making up time. Anyway, I’m in… um, the Lord helping me, of course!

     Don’t let your hope be lonely. There’s no lack, no valve upstream with a crooked hand itching to crank it closed.  Rather, let your hope be giddy with generosity. Go ahead: let hope overflow by the power of the Holy Spirit.  

 Truly, the God of hope lives up to his name.

 

 Grace and Peace (a-bounding),

 

John

Sneaky Snake

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Our story begins with a snake in the garden. Uninvited and unannounced, it wound its way through the beauty and serenity of a place not its own, looking to cause trouble.

     Uh-oh, hold up a second. Maybe you’re under the impression I was talking about the serpent from Genesis 3, and the original garden in Eden. No, not THAT snake. Well, not exactly. Not yet, anyway.

     To explain: my bride has a garden on our property that she has cultivated for many years. Hostas spring up from the ground and Rose of Sharon overshadows the little patch. There’s moss for carpet and, miraculously, my bride has even coaxed a few sun-loving plants into joining the party. Being on the north side of a two-story house, she often finds shade and respite from heat.

     And then she screamed.

     Fellas, you come running when your beloved screams, right? Thanks. Me too. I ran to the garden – a short sprint on our postage-stamp property – to find a sizable serpent coiled up in one of the few sunny patches. Kay had reached in to pull some weeds. She found the forked togue darting her direction. Scream-worthy, indeed.

     “That thing has GOT to go.”

    “I agree, Baby; I’ll get it right away.” But right away, in my world, meant right after I finished the email I was working on.

    Finding me at the computer, my bride said, “I thought you were coming out to get the snake.”

    “If I do that now, I’ll forget to finish this email.”

    “Well, you’re too late. The snake is gone. It’s in your garage, by the way.”

     Phooey.

     On the plus side, I became extra vigilant, snake-wise. Several days later, on a dedicated serpent safari, I spotted the critter. Upon gathering my snake-catching equipment (this wasn’t the first time), I went out for the catch. Snakes are generally faster than humans in an emergency – faster than this human, anyway – so it took a bit of foraging on my part. Thankfully, the snake went for a hole in the house siding (I probably ought to close that off, huh?). Problem was – problem for the snake, providence for me – it left its hinder parts exposed. That’ll do. The snake got a habitat upgrade. Now it can take its chances with the red-tailed hawks, like the rest of snake world, and quit slithering around in my bride’s serenity garden. Screaming is not serene.

     There’s a tendency to think that the parables Jesus told were merely stories made up out of thin air, like a preacher giving “illustrations” with no basis in reality. I don’t buy it. With access to every nano-moment of the human experience, I believe Jesus was giving us the real story of real people in real history and geography. Likewise, I believe, if we look for the opportunities, many of our day-to-day events will point us to the eternal truths Jesus alluded to in the parables.

     Our story does indeed start with a snake in the garden – yes, that snake, and yes, that garden. The first exercise of free will. It didn’t go well. I have a recurring biblical fantasy that involves Adam stepping between the invader and his bride, saying, “Not today, you egg-suckin’ serpent, not ever!” Thereupon, he snatches the would-be deceiver by the hinder parts, and like an Olympian hammer-thrower, hurls him plumb into No-Man’s Land. “And STAY out!”

     Alas, it did not happen that way. “But woe to you, O earth and sea, for the devil has come down to you in great wrath, because he knows that his time is short!” (Revelation 12:12b). “Woe” – an old-timey word with no equal in modern language. It’s a rough gig, for sure. Can I get an Amen?

     The serpent’s story, however, has a predetermined ending. Time is one thing; eternity is quite another. Observe:

    And when the thousand years are ended, Satan will be released from his prison and will come out to deceive the nations that are at the four corners of the earth, Gog and Magog, to gather them for battle; their number is like the sand of the sea. And they marched up over the broad plain of the earth and surrounded the camp of the saints and the beloved city, but fire came down from heaven and consumed them, and the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever (Revelation 20:7-10).

     And what-the-heck do we do in the meantime? Cower? Go with the woe?

     Maybe our Father has made a better way. I confidently submit that there are victories, small and great, to be had over the serpent – in Jesus’ name and in the power of the Holy Spirit – in the here-and-now.

     The first two humans were given dominion over every living thing that moves on the earth (Genesis 1:28), including the serpent, who is described as a beast of the field (Genesis 3:1). Adam relinquished that absolute authority when he sided with the serpent, setting up a truly woe-full experience for the rest of us. But that’s not the whole story.

     Jesus reclaimed authority over the serpent. In human form – in actual humanness, to be sure – he paid the price and won the victory. In humanness and divinity, he has, ever since, conferred a sizable amount of that authority on humans who are his younger brothers and sisters, children of the Father and joint heirs with the Son.

     Thankfully, we don’t have to go mano-a-mano with Satan, as Adam did. We have an Advocate: the Holy Spirit, given of the Father. We have a Champion: Jesus, the ultimate overcomer. I love what the archangel said, “The Lord rebuke you” (Jude 9), a far better choice than presuming to pronounce a blasphemous judgment on the devil. Satan is condemned already – I get the idea from Scripture that the Almighty is happy to send him frequent reminders.

    Hop on the archangel bus and practice it with me: “The LORD rebuke you, Satan!” Whereupon, we hold fast to the Father, saying something like, “I believe you’ve got this, Papa.” He also, routinely, gives his kids a chance to participate in the victory – a preview, if you will, of when we get to fight on the final winning side.

     Obviously, my hero status with my bride was in need of some serious scrubbing and polishing, after letting that snake slither around the garden for several days. I was ever so glad to participate, gloved-hands-on: I literally prayed out loud, “O Lord, let me catch this snake!” I hope the snake – or perhaps the patrolling hawk – is happy with the new arrangement… circle of life and all that. I’m glad for a particle of redemption on my hero status.

     Whose hero will you be today?

 Grace and Peace (and you can borrow my snake-catching gear if you have none of your own),

 John