Those who expect the Word of God to contain only pious stories may be shocked to discover that it opens doors to reveal what is beyond human comprehension. It challenges the reader to admit that there is much one needs to learn.

Foolish is the person not willing to learn from his Creator. Our Bible passage allows us to consider something that transcends the boundaries of human science. Here we learn that at one time in history, the sun stood still—and so did the moon.

Five Amorite kings banded together to stop the Israelites from their conquest of the Promised Land. Following an all-night march, the Israelite army surprised the Amorites and began to push them back.

The Lord stepped in with large hailstones that pounded the enemy. When Joshua saw that survivors could escape when night fell, he called for God to take unprecedented action: “Stop the sun in its path so that we can finish the battle!”

The Sacred Record reads: “The sun stopped in the middle of the sky and delayed going down about a full day. There has never been a day like it before or since, a day when the Lord listened to a man” (Joshua 10:13,14).

The sun waited for God’s people to gain the victory.

How could this happen? Did the earth stop its rotation? Were the sun and moon made to synchronize with the world’s rotation and not move across the sky?

We don’t know. As citizens of the 21st century, how do we explain this?

The same way that God’s people of the Old Testament did. A prophet who lived long after this event declares: “LORD, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, LORD. Sun and moon stood still in the heavens at the glint of your flying arrows, at the lightning of your flashing spear. In wrath you strode through the earth and in anger you threshed the nations” (Habakkuk 3:2,11,12).

This was the work of El Shaddai—God Almighty! It shows his power over all things and protection for his people. With him, nothing is impossible!

We hear the citizens of heaven proclaim the same truth: “Great and awe-inspiring are Your works, Lord God, the Almighty” (Revelation 15:3).

We can only stand in awe of the almighty God. We do so with respect and appreciation. It astounds us that he would use his power on behalf of those who sometimes doubt his power and love.

Yet, the Bible contains many accounts of divine intervention. We think of the crossing of the Red Sea, the angels sent to a fiery furnace and to a lions’ den in what is now Iraq—and then the opening of prison doors in Jerusalem.

But Golgotha is where his most incredible rescue took place.

Under that dark sky, Jesus announced, “It is finished.” The war against sin, death, and the devil was won.

We can live forever. Our souls will fly to glory. Our bodies will rise from our graves.

If ever we begin to doubt it, we merely need to remember Joshua.

And the day that the sun waited.

Life without hope would be a miserable existence.

Yet, there may be times when we feel exactly like that. One day, we may feel optimistic. But that feeling doesn’t last. The very next day, the seesaw of emotions may put us down instead of up.

The encouragement to “Cheer up!” contains no power to make it so.

We cannot flip a mental switch to force us to see that the glass is half-full instead of half-empty. If we could, we would. We resent being told we have that ability. It only makes our hopelessness more hopeless.

Scripture talks about a sure, firm hope. Does that mean if we don’t feel that way something is wrong with us? Is it perhaps weak faith?

David, the shepherd-king, shows his struggle with emotions in the words of the psalms he was led to write. Fear often stalks confidence. Doubt is mixed with conviction. Desperation sometimes sits right next to hope.

Yet, Scripture shows that God-based hope is more than a feeling. It is the anchor to our life that is safely held in place by the Eternal Almighty.

The validity of hope is determined by what the hope is anchored in.

“My hope,” declared David to his Savior God, “is in you all day long.”

That makes all the difference in the world. He wasn’t counting on his reputation—not even after he became famous for killing Goliath.

He did not place his hope in himself, which is a common mistake.

No matter how good he was, he would never have been good enough to expect that he could overcome the challenges in life unscathed.

He knew his life was not his own. It was given to him by his Creator and guided by his hand.

David would not have sung, “I did it my way!”

“Show me your ways, O Lord!” was his prayer. “Teach me your paths.”

Of all the things we might hope for—and that list is long—none compares to the hope that the path we walk in this life will lead us to a life filled only with good things.

Considering it from another perspective, we hope against hope that death will not deposit us into the pit of torment the Lord God has prepared for those who defy him.

It’s tempting to lay out our own path in life. Usually, that one twists and turns as it tries to bring us to places that satisfy our desire for pleasure and avoids facing the reality of what God expects of us.

The path to victory over death and endless joy has no twists nor turns. It leads in a straight line to Jesus.

“I have come that they may have life” the Redeemer declared.

Ancient Job knew this long before Jesus was born. “I know that my Redeemer lives,” he wrote. “And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God.”

His reaction? “How my heart yearns within me!” (Job 19:26,27).

Hope built upon the Lord who redeemed us with his holy blood is a solid, never-changing, never-failing hope.

This is my hope.

I hope it is your hope.

A famous hymn bids us, “Where duty calls or danger, be never wanting there” (CW 474:3).

Most Americans understand the idea of danger. Sadly, it comes in too many forms and is far too common.

Duty is a different matter. To many, that is a hazy concept. Rights, wants, and demands are discussed regularly. Duty? Not so much.

Scripture, however, speaks plainly about duty. Duty is something that is expected to be carried out no matter how difficult, no matter the cost, no matter the location.

Location can be a major factor. Often, it is the location that brings the danger.

Those who wear, or have worn, the uniform of the U.S. Armed Forces, have the meaning of the word “duty” ingrained in them. The oath taken by our Army officers declares: “I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter; So help me God.”

The lowered flags on a Memorial Day remind us that there have been Americans who have lost their lives while doing their duty.

The soil in faraway places like Tarawa, Flanders, the Chosen Reservoir, and the Michelin rubber plantations of Vietnam have soaked up the blood of Americans who carried out their duty to our nation.

They had sworn to do their duty to defend our nation “against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”

Many of them had taken another oath that they were fulfilling at the same time. On a special Sunday, they had knelt before an altar and promised to be faithful to the Lord, their Savior God, and would be willing to lose everything, including their earthly life, rather than desert him.

Their induction or commissioning into the service of their nation ended with the words, “So help me God.”

Their confirmation vows ended much the same way.

For the Christian, the enemies domestic or foreign included forces of darkness with supernatural powers. These demonic powers are quick to attack any sign of faithfulness to the Lord of glory or hope of rescue by him.

The prize of battle is not some piece of land for a little while. This fight is over immortal souls for time and eternity.

The enemy is evil. The danger is deadly—and constant.

The command is: “Stand your ground!”

The weapon is the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.

Those who lose their earthly lives fighting this battle with this weapon need to be remembered by no lowered flag.

Mark their grave with the flag of victory. They wear the crown of life.

Part of America seems to idolize the defiant.

Raised fists; loud voices and sneering faces show up on news clips and Facebook pages. Some claim this is part of America’s heritage. After all, did not our nation come into being by defying the rule of Britain? Are we not heirs of a rebellion?

We are. But not just because we are Americans. We can trace the roots of our rebellious spirit back to our first parents, who lived near the original Tigris and Euphrates.

We were born rebellious and defiant. It is part of our nature.

Should we not, at times, rebel against some expectations and defy certain threats?

Absolutely! We sing the words, “Death, I now defy thee. Fear, I bid thee cease.”

We mean that. The death and resurrection of the Son of God give us the freedom to overcome the powers of sin, of death, and of the devil. These enemies of peace and joy have been conquered. We claim victory over them in the name of Jesus. We defy them.

We do not, however, challenge the rule of our Creator and Savior God. The Holy One of Israel warns us against those who do.

The Book of Jude contains only one chapter. Jude identifies himself as “a servant of Jesus Christ and a brother of James.” This James is not John’s brother, the fisherman, but the writer of the Epistle of James. He is identified as a physical half-brother of Jesus. Thus, so is Jude.

By inspiration of the Holy Spirit, Jude writes to warn early Christians against men who had slipped in among them, claiming to speak for Jesus, but they did not. Jude wrote, “They are godless men, who change the grace of our God into a license for immorality and deny Jesus Christ our only Sovereign and Lord.”

He reminds his readers of angels who rebelled and were sentenced to hell. He points to the citizens of Sodom and Gomorrah, who defied the Sixth Commandment the Lord had decreed. Defying God leads to a horrible end.

Such false leaders are to be condemned. They are called shepherds who only feed themselves instead of their flocks. They are like clouds without rain and trees that bear no fruit—and then are uprooted, thus twice dead.

We begin to get the picture that they can offer the Christian nothing of value despite their claims or popularity. They should not be listened to. They should not be followed.

Then, the Holy Spirit pictures their deadly defiance by comparing them to wild waves and wandering stars. This strange comparison packs a punch when we stop to think about it.

Nature is controlled by its Creator. The Lord tells of his rule over oceans when he sets boundaries by telling the waves “This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt” (Job 38:11).

We remember Jesus giving commands to wind and waves on the Sea of Galilee. And then, there was the flood in Noah’s day and the command of God to the waters to rise and then recede.

He labels defiant waves as wild waves. He says they foam up to their shame.

He declares that the stars are to shine (Jeremiah 31:33), determines their number, and calls them out by name (Psalm 147:4).

A wandering star is one that goes off track from the path that God has laid down.

For such, the warning is issued: “blackest darkness has been reserved forever.”

We probably never thought of that; we never expected the Lord God to take such action. But he did, and he will.

The Lord is serious about anyone or anything defying his commands.

So, why would we ever listen to someone who tells us to go against him?

We won’t.

We are on the alert for those who would defy the Almighty.

Our souls know he paid the price of our rescue. We bow our heads in respect, appreciation, and obedience.

Death and the devils we defy.

The Lord of life we serve—gladly.

I wish to report some missing persons.

When I look in places where I have seen them before, they are not there. Sometimes I think I hear their voices, but I am always mistaken. I wish they had not left. There is happy news I would like to share with them. There have been sorrows that their presence would have lessened.

Sometimes I dream that their going away was only a dream and everything is good again—that they are in my life again.

But they are not.

Some mornings I awake with the feeling of the old days—until memory tells me that those days have passed and will never return.

They are no more.

This does not surprise me. I have learned of the thing called death. My earliest memory of it was when my puppy was run over by a car. My dad buried it next to the garden. I checked the next day to see if the puppy dug himself out of his grave.

He did not.

I learned that death was permanent. The most we can do is shed some tears over it and accept that what has died will be missing.

Thankfully, some of the people who are now missing from my life told me about the life after this life. I learned that not only did I have a daddy who was with me at the burial of my puppy, but also another father who once watched over the burial of his beloved son.

Both fathers loved me. One of them was helpless before death. The other one destroyed the power of death.

I learned to sing, “Death itself, is transitory. I shall lift my head in glory.”

The one who taught me that hymn is now among the missing. I no longer see or hear him. I miss him.

Dreadful words echo from a long-ago garden.

“Dust you are and to dust you will return.”

It is said that no one leaves this life alive. That is usually true.

Except.

Except someone called Elijah who was escorted to heaven in a fiery chariot without dying.

Except an Enoch, of whom it is written, “Enoch walked with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.”

Both are listed among the missing. But we know where they went, and we know how they got there. We know where to find them now.

They are with God because God took them to heaven.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it could happen as easy as that to our loved ones? If it could happen to us?

Is that not actually what has happened and will happen to those who placed their hope in Jesus, the Lord of life?

It is.

So, they are not missing after all. We just cannot see them now.

They are more alive than ever because the threat of death has been canceled. They flourish in the wonder and glory of the ever-living Creator and Savior.

Enoch has nothing over us.

We, too, walk with God each day, do we not?

One day he will take us away, will he not?

Someday someone may list my name on a stone placed among others that serve as memorials for the missing.

But you will know where to find me.

Let the inscription read: “He walked with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.”

If there were no Easter, there would be no Christmas. No Savior would have been born.

If there were no Easter, there would be no reason to celebrate a birthday. Each year added to life would be but a step downward to the pit of the grave. There would be no reason to celebrate a New Year, either. Birthdays and New Year’s would still be observed. The passage of time could not be unnoticed. But the turning of the years would bring no joy.

Of course, joy can be artificially stimulated. Drugs and alcohol can do that. So can indulging in anything that gives pleasure to mind and body. The ancient phrase is, “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.” That is called fatalism.

If there were no Easter, our entire life would be a fatality.

If there were no Easter, everything we attempt would end up in failure. So what if we were handed a diploma; were decorated for valor; and amassed a fortune? In the end, it would mean nothing. “Meaningless! Meaningless!” Solomon concluded. “Everything is meaningless” (Ecclesiastes 1:2). If there were no Easter, that phrase would be the billboard for our life.

If there were no Easter there would be no hope. Any avoidance of pain or misfortune would only be a postponing of the inevitable disaster. For a while we might walk in sunshine, but the path would lead only to darkness. The horizon would offer no brightening of the clouds, no streaks of early dawn—only the blackness of more night.

To such a one the words of the poet are sent: “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

If there were no Easter, rage would be our only recourse—feeble and fruitless as it may be. The night of death would not be good. Terror would replace rage. The bars of the dungeon would be ever locked. Misery would be our eternal cellmate.

Instead, we sing out the words: “But now is Christ arisen!”

The women did not find the body of Jesus on Easter morning. The stone was rolled away. An angel with the appearance of lightning was sitting on it. “He has risen!” he announced. “Come see the place where they laid him.”

Thousands of years later, no matter where we are, no matter how old, no matter what our circumstances in life—thousands of years later we take up the invitation of the angel. Through the eyes of the Gospel writers, with words sent from heaven, we draw near to the graveyard not far from Golgotha, and we peer into the tomb.

There we see the empty grave. There we see proof that Jesus of Nazareth, true man and true God, conquered death, paid our ransom, and gave us life everlasting.

It is Easter once again—and we celebrate it!

Her name was Mary. She lived with her brother and sister in a home not too far from Jerusalem. She was a friend of Jesus of Nazareth.

She was worried. She knew something bad was going to happen. She saw the proverbial train wreck coming—and she could not stop it.

The word had gotten out. Jesus was going to be killed.

Even some of his enemies tried to warn him. Luke reports, “At that time some Pharisees came to Jesus and said to him, “Leave this place and go somewhere else. Herod wants to kill you.”

Jesus’ reply was, “Go tell that fox, ‘I will drive out demons and heal people today and tomorrow, and on the third day I will reach my goal’” (Luke 13:31,32).

This would not bode well.

Worse, Jesus began to tell his disciples that he must suffer many things and must be killed.

None of this made any sense to them. When Peter objected, Jesus called him “Satan” and said, “You do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men.” (Mark 8:33)

Mary could not stop the coming tragedy. So, she did what she could. She prepared his body for burial.

We can relate to Mary. We, too, may have encountered situations where we felt helpless to help someone else in time of need.

We can’t cure terminal cancer. We can’t stop wars. We can’t erase the replay of traumatic events that torment a mind. There are many things we cannot do no matter how much we wish we could.

Sometimes, like Mary, we cannot stop a person from doing something that we know will cause pain, maybe even death.

That can leave us frustrated or angry; and certainly, sad.

We might say, “I can only do what I can do.” But we are not happy with that. We think, “If it were me, if it were my life, I would do something about it.”

Then, the realization dawns that there are things we cannot fix, problems we cannot solve.

Judas had the same concern as Mary. He looked in and saw that Jesus was not going to set himself up as king in Jerusalem. Perhaps, he saw this coming before other disciples did. James and John were still thinking that they could get a share of the power and glory of the kingdom that Jesus was going to establish on earth. So did their mother.

All of them were wrong. “My kingdom is not of this world.” Jesus explained to Pilate.

So, why was he here? Why was he not sitting on his throne in heaven?

We think back to that scene in Bethany. We begin to realize that Jesus had come to earth to fix a problem for us. The problem was our damning sin and the death sentence it carried. We needed his help. We were lost without it.

He could do what we could not.

Jesus was pleased to accept Mary’s loving gift. He praised her for it.

He rejected the claim of Judas that the money could have been spent for a better cause.

He pressed forward on his rescue mission. He was willing to bear the pain and pay the price though it would cost his life.

He did what he could. He suffered. He died—because he loved us.

Was that enough?

Easter morning’s empty grave is our receipt.

Our debt is paid in full.

She said, “You have a gory God!”

There was the sound of contempt in her voice mixed with a twinge of sadness. She said she believed in peace and love. She wondered how I could worship someone who is reported as having killed countless civilians when Israel left Egypt. Then, she pointed to the more than a thousand Assyrian soldiers under Sennacherib who were found lifeless outside of Jerusalem one morning.

She asked, “Wasn’t this the same God who claimed credit for each carnage?”

Had she known her Bible better, she might have listed more instances of when an encounter with the Lord God resulted in the death of humans.

And then, what about all the animals killed as offerings to the God of Israel?

As we gather in our clean and tidy church buildings, it’s difficult to envision what it was like for the Old Testament people as they brought offerings to be slaughtered as an act of worship.

Wasn’t this woman right in declaring, “You have a gory God!”?

There’s even more evidence, is there not? What about when the Lord God commanded Abraham to use a knife to kill his own son?

What are we to make of that?

In the end, Abraham’s son was spared. An animal substituted for him. But the mere threat can make us wonder if the almighty God might actually carry through with such a command at some point in time.

No need to wonder. History shows he did just that. The Bible covers this dreadful event in great detail. It is not a pretty picture.

It reveals the Father sacrificing his own Son. There is blood aplenty. A wreath made of thorns was jammed down onto his skull. Head wounds seem to bleed a lot.

He was whipped by soldiers. More blood.

Nails were pounded into hands and feet. Finally, a spear was stabbed into his side. Out came blood and water.

A gory sight!

This happened not by chance. It was premeditated. Not by Jewish leaders. Not by Roman soldiers.

It was planned and implemented by the Lord of creation.

Seven hundred years years before the horror took place, Isaiah described the victim in his prophecy, “His appearance,” he wrote, “was so disfigured beyond that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness” (Isaiah 52:14).

If the Lord God caused this, is he not a gory God?

It seems so. Yet, the Bible makes something very clear. The Holy One did not cause the blood and gore. That’s on the humans. They are the ones who defied holy laws. They brought death and damnation upon themselves. Sin comes with a death penalty.

If they were to be spared, if they were to be rescued, someone innocent of sin would need to take their place. That someone would be punished by the holy God. That substitute someone would need to suffer a bloody, agonizing death.

That someone was Jesus, the Son of God.

The fist of divine judgment struck him instead of us. He bled and died because he was guilty of crimes deserving abandonment to the depths of hell. You see, our guilt had been piled onto his shoulders. That’s what the sacrifices of innocent birds and animals in the temple pointed to. That’s what the bleeding and dying were all about.

So, with what words would we describe the judge of heaven and earth, of life and death?

How about, “merciful”? How about, “loving”? How about, “my Savior?”

For generations, his worshipers have pictured him hanging on the cross as they sang, “O sacred head, now wounded.” The hymn continues, “Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call you mine.”

So what would we say to that woman asking how we could worship such a one?

Don’t we need to answer, don’t we want to answer, “A gory God? Yes, he was!”?

Thank God, he was.

For us, he was made gory.

For her too!

Sometimes what we see by dawn’s early light is surprising. It may even be alarming. That’s the way it was for the servant of the prophet Elisha.

One morning he saw that an enemy force had surrounded him and his master.

The king of Aram had declared war on the king of Israel. He became frustrated when, time after time, his attempts to ambush the Israelites failed. He thought he knew the reason why.

He called his officers together and demanded of them, “Will you not tell me which of us is on the side of the king of Israel?”

The answer came back: “None of us… but Elisha, the prophet who is in Israel, tells the king of Israel the very words you speak in your bedroom.” Somehow, Elisha had a way of knowing things.

Thus, Elisha became a target.

The order went out, “Go find where he is so I can send men and capture him.”

They found him. “He is in Dothan.”

Next, “The king sent horses and chariots and a strong force there. They went by night and surrounded the city.”

What chance does one or two have against an army? Elisha’s servant believed the answer was, “None!”

When the servant got up that next morning, the sight of the hostile forces terrified him. “Oh, my lord,” he asked Elisha, “what shall we do?”

In effect, Elisha told him, “Nothing! We need do nothing!”

Then Elisha prayed, “O Lord, open his eyes so he may see.”

The result? “Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.”

The servant was not to despair. Elisha’s words were true. “Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.”

The king of Aram had brought his human army to Dothan. The Lord of armies sent angels.

Children of the heavenly Father should not be surprised to learn of enemies gathering around them. They should remember that the most dangerous enemy is the one that cannot be seen. The greatest danger is always not to the body, but to the soul.

“I walk in danger all the way…” the hymnist wrote. We still sing those words because they still apply.

We need to realize that we live our lives surrounded by enemies. But there’s more that the Lord wants us to know.

We also live our lives surrounded by angels.

This army of angels has never tasted defeat. Never left anyone behind. Never will. Their mission is always accomplished. Their primary mission is rescue—sometimes in a surprising way.

No Aram soldiers died on that frightful day at Dothan. Instead, the Lord struck them, not with a sword, but with blindness. He showed them mercy. He gave them another chance to do right.

Elisha met the blinded soldiers with the words, “This is not the road and this is not the city. Follow me, and I will lead you to the man you are looking for.”

He led them to Samaria. It was a trap. They could have been slaughtered there. Instead, Elisha ordered a feast to be prepared for them. When they finished eating and drinking, they returned home.

Scripture records, “So the bands from Aram stopped raiding Israel’s territory.”

Mission accomplished.

What have we learned?

The King of angels and the Redeemer of mankind is always in control. He allows evil to exist, but his will prevails in the end.

He never abandons his people. They are ever guarded by some of the angelic troops that drove Satan and his rebel followers out of heaven.

Thus, when facing enemies, God’s people can always say, “Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.”

We just don’t see those angels.

Yet.

His blood seeped into the pristine soil. It was worse than a tragedy. It was murder. It was evidence of paradise lost.

The victim’s name was Abel, beloved son of Adam and Eve. The one who ended his life was Cain, also a beloved son of the first humans placed into God’s creation.

To Cain, the Lord of life and death said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.”

Thus, we sing, “Abel’s blood for vengeance pleaded to the skies.”

We ask, “What hope is there for such as Cain and us, who transgress the code of divine law in any part—not just murder?

From the future, a voice would tell Cain, “Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God” (Psalm 43:5). The Lord of life is the only hope.

Murder stands out as one of the worst crimes. Stolen property can be replaced. A ruined reputation can be restored. Not so a snuffed-out life. Death leaves loving survivors feeling helpless, hopeless, and hurting.

Worse, when one brother kills the other brother! That’s fratricide. The anguish that seared the hearts of the first parents must have been beyond description.

How their tears must have flowed! How bitterly they must have recalled living in a world without death! How guilty they must have felt for bringing sin into Paradise!

“Unto dust shalt thou return.” They had heard this with their own ears. Little did they realize that the first one to return to dust would be their son. Bitter was the realization that Cain was not the promised one who would crush the head of the serpent. Instead, he had served as the hand of the serpent—the hand of Satan.

Both brothers had placed offerings to the one who had blessed their labors. Cain brought fruits of the soil. His brother sacrificed the firstborn of his flock. One offering was accepted. The other was rejected.

We ask, “Why?”

The answer is not found in the difference of the offerings. It lies in the contrast of the hearts.

We learn: “By faith Abel offered God a better sacrifice than Cain did. By faith he was commended as a righteous man, when God spoke well of his offerings. And by faith he still speaks, even though he is dead” (Hebrews 11:4).

Loving trust in the Lord over life and death always spells the difference between receiving divine favor or disapproval.

We are warned: “Do not be like Cain, who belonged to the evil one and murdered his brother. And why did he murder him? Because his own actions were evil and his brother’s were righteous” (1 John 3:12).

What hope was there for Cain? There would be consequences of his sin: “You will be a restless wanderer on the earth.”

Yet, the word of the psalmist, “Put your hope in God!” still applied to this murderer—as it does to all who transgress the commands of the Holy One. The mark of Cain was for his protection. He was given more time to repent and return to the Lord who offers life.

Significantly, Scripture points to another beloved son whose dying blood dripped onto hungry soil at the feet of those who murdered him. This one was the beloved of the heavenly Father. His blood calls out a message different from that of Abel’s.

“Father, forgive them!”

It is true that “Abel’s blood for vengeance pleaded to the skies.”

Yet, it is just as certain, “But the blood of Jesus for our pardon cries.”

The one we call my Savior, my God, listens to that cry. He grants that pardon.

We now only await the door opening for us to paradise regained.

Our hearts must go out to this man. Leprosy was a hideous and painful disease. There was no cure. Lepers were forced to quarantine themselves from the rest of the population out of fear of being contagious. That means his family suffered too.

It took courage for the man to approach Jesus. He was desperate but determined.

He was absolutely certain of the power that Jesus possessed. He had faith.

To Jesus, he said: “You can make me clean.”

There is another man that our heart must go out to. He told Jesus, “Teacher, I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech. Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth and becomes rigid. I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not” (Mark 9:17-18).

Jesus responded with anger. “‘O unbelieving generation,’ Jesus replied, ‘how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me.’”

“So they brought him. When the spirit saw Jesus, it immediately threw the boy into a convulsion. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.”

When Jesus asked how long this had been going on, the father said, “From childhood—It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”

How sad! How horrible! Surely, Jesus will respond with tenderness, won’t he?

Not exactly.

“If you can?” Jesus retorted. Then he added, “Everything is possible for him who believes.”

The father should not have said, “If.” Not when he was speaking about the ability of Jesus to do something.

The “if” showed something was lacking in the father’s faith. “If you can do anything…” infers Jesus might not have enough power to take control of this vicious demon.

The man admitted his mistake. He accurately identified his problem. Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

The difference between this man and the leprous man was the quality of their faith.

The leper said to Jesus, “You can make me clean.”

The distraught father said, “If you can….”

This was not just a slip of the tongue. He had already seen the disciples fail. He thought maybe there was no way to overcome the power of this demon.

Jesus rebuked his disciples as much as he did the father. Lack of faith is not uncommon among us humans.

Jesus could have said, “No!” to the leper’s request. The man knew that. “If you are willing,” he told Jesus, “You can make me clean.” He left the decision up to Jesus.

That’s really what it comes down to, isn’t it? In the end, it is the will of God, not the power of God, that determines what he will and will not do.

Faith has confidence that his will is good for us. Faith declares, “Not my will, but Thine!”

Come to think of it, that’s the kind of confidence Jesus showed on the eve of his execution.

In Gethsemane, he prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done” (Luke 22:42).

We pray that too, do we not?

“Our Father, who art in heaven…thy will be done.”

No “if.”

Sometimes we might sing the hymn that declares, “I’m but a stranger here, heaven is my home.”

Had it been written much earlier; Jesus might have sung it.

We easily make the mental transition of Jesus being the eternal God to Jesus in the family of Mary and Joseph. Surely, that change was not as easy for Jesus to make in real life.

We cannot pretend to understand exactly what Jesus thought and felt at any point in his existence. But Scripture reveals some details of what it meant that he was just like us, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin” (Hebrews 4:15).

He became hungry. He became angry. He became tired. He groaned when he saw the people weeping over the death of his friend, Lazarus. When he reached the gravesite, he, too, wept.

Before he came to earth as a human, he never faced hunger; never knew fatigue. He had never been tempted to sin. His life was never in danger.

Certainly, at times while on this earth he must have thought, “I’m but a stranger here, heaven is my home.”

No one on earth understood him. No one knew how hard his mission was to carry out. He came as the Friend of sinners, but he was a stranger to all of them.

A news reporter of his day could have written about the amazing success of a religious leader who had come from the backcountry of Galilee to attract crowds numbering in the thousands.

He might have written: “And no wonder! Eyewitnesses have seen him work miracles! He has cured lepers; stopped fevers; made paralyzed people walk; fed crowds from a handful of fish and bread—and he has raised the dead!”

No wonder crowds flocked to him. Not surprising that he would head out before dawn to find a desolate place to be away from people.

But he did not actually seek solitude. He sought family. He reached out to his Father. He communed with the Holy Spirit.

In a familiar hymn, we are bidden to, “Take it to the Lord in prayer.”

That’s exactly what Jesus did. “Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed.”

He was a stranger here. Heaven was his home—even as it is ours!

“Alone, Alone, All Alone” is the title of a booklet written for those who find themselves living a new phase of life because their loving spouse of many years is no longer with them.

Others have also felt that way. Some were left as orphans while very young. The college student living away from home for the first time has felt that way. Warriors landing in a distant and dangerous land have learned what loneliness is like.

It’s also true that one can be among loved ones and still feel isolated and forlorn.

Years ago, a hymnist wrote: “When all things seem against us, to drive us to despair, we know one gate is open, one ear will hear our prayer.”

That’s good advice because it is true.

Jesus was a stranger here so that his Father could be our Father. It cost him his earthly life. It won for us eternal life.

He taught us to pray, “Our Father who art in heaven…”

Today, we will sing, “I’m but a stranger here…” just as Jesus was.

But we can add, “Heaven is my home…” just as it was for Jesus.

Because Jesus’ Father is also our Father, we will not be a stranger in the heavenly realms.

We will be home.

The greetings of “Happy New Year!” may still echo in our memory. We were glad to receive them. But we know very well, they were not promises made to us. They were wishes.

They express hope that the new year will lead us to happiness.

However, from experience, we have learned that the path our life takes may lead us to some sad days. After all, “Happy Days” was just a TV show.

If we ask “What could go wrong in this new year?” a long list of misfortunes comes to mind.

The next question is, “Why? Why do bad things happen even to the people of God?”

Then, there are times when we might be tempted to say, “especially to the people of God?”

Human nature assumes we deserve credit for doing good and extra credit for believing the Lord is our Savior God. It tells us that our life should be happier than the life of one who rejects God.

The Holy Spirit teaches us that we don’t deserve anything but condemnation from the Holy One. Even one moment of happiness is an undeserved gift from him. It is the result of grace—his undeserved love.

More than that, it shows that the loving God may plan for misery to come into our lives. Mary, the mother of Jesus, is an example. We learn that pain was waiting on her life’s path.

The angel Gabriel startled her with the words: “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you” (Luke 1:28).

She surely was favored. Of all the women born on earth, she was chosen to become the mother of Jesus of Nazareth, who was the Son of God from eternity. What higher honor could any woman receive?

Her response to the seemingly impossible news came from her steadfast faith: “My soul glorifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior” (Luke 1:48).

She confessed that she was a sinner who needed saving. She rejoiced to know that the Lord God would rescue her.

She delighted in that blessed assurance.

Because we know that, we might be surprised to hear the prophetic words of Simeon to her, “And a sword will pierce your own soul too” (Luke 2:35).

The prophecy was fulfilled. We hear: “Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother…” (John 19:33).

She saw her son crucified. It was as if a sword had cut through her soul.

Simeon had warned that the Lord planned for pain on her path as she walked through life.

He would not forsake her. She would remain precious in his sight.

But the pain would come. It was part of his plan to bring great joy to her and all people.

Her Son needed to die. Her Son needed to suffer agony so that she, and all humanity, might live forever in the peace that surpasses all understanding.

The pain was God’s gift to her—and us.

His people need to know this.

If we have found pain lying on the path we have already walked in life, if there is pain lying ahead on our path, we have the same assurance that Mary had. We are still in our Savior’s hands. His will is always wise. His way is always best.

“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary had told Gabriel. “May it be to me as you have said.”

Will our New Year be a happy one? We surely must expect some pain ahead. But that’s all right.

The loving Lord is in control. And do we not say, “I am the Lord’s servant”?

Yes, we do.

We know a perfectly happy, never-ending New Year awaits beyond the edge of time.

We don’t talk that way nowadays. We might say “very frightened” or “extremely afraid” or even “terrified.” We don’t say “sore afraid.”

So, maybe that’s reason enough to still use those old words to describe the reaction of the Bethlehem shepherds to what they saw in the sky that first Christmas night. This was a special level of fright. This was a shake-in-your-boots fear. When the barrier between heaven and earth was suddenly breached to allow the bright glory of the Lord to spill through, those who saw it were traumatized.

They were sore afraid.

This isn’t the first time the glory of the Lord appeared to humans on earth. Not the first time it had a dumbfounding effect. But it was the most wonderful of all the occurrences.

It signaled that the glory of the Lord God would be shared by mortals. No message given by God was more important than that.

On Christmas Eve, of Bethlehem we sing, “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”

It may seem strange to hear that the one event evoked such opposite reactions. Yet, it still happens today, doesn’t it?

Those who recognize that baby in Bethlehem is the Son of God who came to rescue them rejoice to celebrate his birth. This is what the people of God in the Old Testament had been hoping for, desperately waiting for. This is what we thank God for.

On the other hand, those who dismiss the mercy of the Lord God and stand with the powers of darkness react differently. They may wish others “Happy Holidays!” but not “Happy Holy Days!” They dismiss as fake news the report that the Son of God was born a human. They scoff at the name “Emmanuel.”

The thought of God being here with us is frightening to them. It should be. Jesus said, “He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me scatters” (Matthew 12:30).

The reality of Christmas can make those who oppose him sore afraid.

The WWII Battle of the Bulge can serve as a comparison event.

When the German army smashed through the thin American lines on December 16, 1944, American forces were surrounded. They shivered in cold and fear before the enemy onslaught. Many were wounded. Many died.

Dense fog prevented the resupplying of ammunition and food from the air. Aircraft that could have provided suppressing firepower stayed grounded day after day after day. They prayed for relief.

It came on Christmas Day. The skies cleared. American planes swooped down. Patton’s Third Army and the 2nd Armored Division plowed through the snowdrifts to join the attack.

That Christmas was a day hoped for by Americans even as it was a day feared by the Germans.

For the Wehrmacht, the road ahead would bring only hardship, surrender, and defeat.

Yet, the breakthrough of the rescuers in the Ardennes Forest in 1944 was nothing compared to the breakthrough of the angels over the fields of Bethlehem.

The heavenly host was not a threat to those shepherds. The bright light in the dark sky meant help had arrived.

For the people on God’s side, not the enemy’s side, there must be joy. God is with us! He is on our side. He is not against us. The Babe in Bethlehem is Emmanuel. He came to rescue us.

Makes no difference now whether some things go against us. At times, setbacks, heartaches, and disappointments may cloud the skies over our heads. But they will not last.

The breakthrough of grace and goodness will surely come. Our Christmas Day will dawn.

We will not fear what the Lord brings into our life.

We will not be sore afraid.