Jesus often taught complex heavenly truths by means of simple earthly lessons. He would begin with the words, “The kingdom of heaven is like…” and then paint a word picture that everyone could understand. But he did not confine his teaching to the use of words.

Sometimes he taught with actions. At times, he even used the failure of an action to drive home the most critical points. We watch as he teaches his disciples about success by having them first come up empty.

The disciples were up north on the shores of Lake Galilee, waiting for Jesus to meet them there after his resurrection from the dead. Bored with waiting, Peter decided to go fishing. The rest joined him. They fished the entire night—and came up with nothing.

When morning came, someone on the shore told them to “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” They did. They found some. They found so many fish that they could not haul the net in. Seeing this, John shouted out “It is the Lord!” and Peter jumped into the water to head off to meet him.

For Peter and John, this was déjà vu—they had seen this before. Three years earlier, when Jesus first called them to full-time discipleship, the same thing happened. They had fished all night. They came up empty. And when, at Jesus’ instruction, they put down their nets once more, they caught so many fish that it filled two boats (Luke 5:4)!

What’s the lesson? It’s the same one taught throughout the Scriptures. The Lord God declares, “Apart from me, you can do nothing!” (John 15:5). But there is more to the lesson: The gracious God can accomplish more for us than we can hope for or desire.

If we had success every time we tried something, we soon would become convinced that we were the reason for the achievement. “We were smart.” “We were strong.” A degree of failure may make us wonder a bit. Total failure drives the point home. “Without me, you can do nothing!”

Then, he shows us, that with his power, nothing is too great to expect.

The disciples needed to learn this lesson. They were going to accomplish awesome tasks. People would praise them. They also would meet horrible failure. People would turn against them. All but one of the Twelve would be executed because they testified about Jesus.

They needed to be prepared for apparent failure so they could achieve overwhelming success. They needed to learn how to look at life through God’s eyes.

Humans tend to measure success by how much a person can accomplish. We look at what office the person holds; how popular, or how rich, the person is.

But all of that is temporary, and in the end, meaningless. It’s like shifting sand beneath our feet. Jesus warned about treating such things as treasures. The warning was necessary.

Recall how the disciples argued about who was the greatest (Mark 9:33)? Remember when the mother of James and John asked Jesus, “Grant that one of these two sons of mine may sit at your right and the other at your left in your kingdom” (Matthew 20:21)?

The followers of Jesus still had much to learn about being a disciple of Jesus. An attitude adjustment was required.

They needed to understand that even when they came up empty, God was still in control. Sooner or later his power and glory would show through.

The apostle Paul tells of the time he pleaded with the Lord to take away a problem that was plaguing him. He reports, “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,” Paul wrote, “so that Christ’s power may rest on me” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

He concludes, “For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:10).

We need the same lesson. When we work long and hard at something, when, in spite of our best efforts, we come up empty, we can begin to feel hopeless and helpless. We start to see ourselves as failures. We are ready to give up.

Let us then remember these empty nets of the disciples. Then, let us step back to wait to see what God might have in mind. After all, his abundance can overfill our every need.

And then, let us smile as we remember that the day will come when we will never, ever, come up empty again.

In the mornings, I shave my father’s face.

I know the face I see in the mirror is my own, but it certainly resembles my father, though he died fifty years ago.

I didn’t always look like him. There was a time when I was small, and he was big. His hairline was receding when I was sporting a flattop. He had wrinkles when I didn’t.

No one would have confused me with my father when I was a teenager. But there were some who did notice a resemblance. “You look like your dad!” they said. I doubted that. But in time, even I could recognize a similarity.

The apostle Paul also recognized a similarity to a father. He told the congregation at Corinth all about it. But the father he spoke of was God the Father.

He pointed them back to Moses at Mt. Sinai at the time when Moses came down from the mountain with the two stone tablets bearing the Commandments. The Bible reports, “his face was radiant because he had spoken with the Lord” (Exodus 34:29). His face was shining so brightly that the people were afraid to even come near him. It was as if he had soaked in some of God’s glory.

As a result, Moses had to put a veil over his face. After some time, that bright radiance wore off. It no longer reflected the glory of the Lord God.

The law of God given on that mountain was glorious. But it was a frightful glory. We explain the first of those Commandments with the words, “We should fear, love, and trust in God above all things.”

The holiness of the Lord of glory should frighten us. Don’t think he doesn’t know what we have been thinking or doing. Don’t think our excuses will be tolerated. Don’t think that he has repealed the decree, “The wages of sin is death” (Romans 6:23).

There is blinding glory in the words that accuse and condemn us. Good thing those are not the only words that he brings to us!

The message to the Corinthians, and to us, is that there is a follow-up message from the throne of glory. This one was not written in stone but was carried to us in person by the beloved Son of God.

He came from the Father to glorify his Father’s name by completing the work of salvation for us. In prayer to his Father, he spelled out what this entailed. “Now this is eternal life: that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent” (John 17:3).

This is the glorious work of the gospel that will never fade.

Jesus came to earth so that we might come to know his Father. He lived, suffered, and died so that his Father could become our Father.

The amazing end result? He told his Father, “I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one” (John 17:20).

“I have given them the glory that you gave me!”

Could this be true? It must be. The holy Son of God does not lie!

Thus, the apostle’s words are almost shouted out to ring in our ears. “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory.”

We reflect the Lord’s glory! As we grow in faith, we are looking more and more like our Father who is in heaven.

This is not our doing. This is not something we can brag about.

This is the work of the Lord, the Holy Spirit.

Who would have thought it? Who would have expected that weak, faltering creatures such as us could be elevated to such a level?

Who would believe us? How many would point an accusing finger at us because they have witnessed our failures to live a holy life? What can we say to that?

We don’t have to explain. We just need to point them to Jesus. Let Jesus explain it to them. Let Jesus reveal that he has already made up for our failures—and theirs, too. Let Jesus tell them, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10).

Now we better understand what Jesus meant by, “and have it to the full”!

What more could we want? What more could we ask for in life than to be claimed by the holy God as one of his own? What greater honor could there be?

At this stage in life, I feel good about looking in my mirror and seeing a reflection of my dad’s face as I grow older.

But that doesn’t compare to the wonder and joy of knowing that I am gradually growing to become more like the Father of Jesus.

I’m eagerly waiting to see my dad’s face again in person. That will be a joyous day.

But to see my Father’s face—that will be a heavenly day.

They awoke to a nightmare. Fear stabbed their hearts. It led to panic. They could be dead before the sun set. The situation was that serious.

By the authority of the Roman governor, they had been assigned guard duty. It was in a pleasant place. It was in a garden. They were guarding a body in a tomb. It was feared that an attempt would be made to steal that corpse. They were to prevent that from happening. The Roman rule was, “Lose your prisoner—lose your life.” They were ready to take on anyone who challenged their position.

They were soldiers—absolutely unprepared to face an angel from heaven.

She awoke to a heartache. She was up before daybreak. She probably had not slept much that night—maybe not much since Thursday night. Now it was Sunday.

The news had shocked her. “Jesus was arrested!” Reports came in of his disciples running away. Only John remained for the mock trial and the execution verdict. Crowds gathered as word spread of soldiers leading three prisoners to their crucifixion. Jesus was among them.

She went with other women from Galilee to watch him die. She joined a small group to bury him. Jesus had once driven seven demons out of her. She knew him as the Messiah. She wanted to give him a proper burial.

But time ran out. The shadows of the Sabbath fell. The Law proclaimed on Mt. Sinai so many years ago forbade her quick return. She would have to wait until she awoke on Sunday.

Her name was Mary from Magdala. Her heartache turned to utter dismay when she saw that the tomb of Jesus was empty. To the supposed caretaker she cried out, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him” (John 20:15).

He woke up to another day of shame, regret, and grief. How could he face the other followers of Jesus? How could he face the mother of Jesus? How could he face himself?

His name was Peter. He was to be like a rock. He had crumbled like a sand castle.

There was one more who might be mentioned. He never woke to see the sunrise. Will never see light again.

He was already in the dark pit of hell when Jesus made his Easter victory lap through the abode of the damned. The banner over the entrance to this place could well have been, “Abandon Hope All You Who Enter Here.”

His name was Judas.

Those soldiers? They lived to see another day. Rather than being punished, they were paid a bribe to spread the word that the disciples had stolen the body of Jesus. “Jesus of Nazareth is still dead!” they lied (Matthew 28:12).

Mary from Magdala? That supposed gardener changed her day with one word: “Mary!” Her eyes were opened to see her living Redeemer. When she ran to him, he told her, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet returned to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God” (John 20:17).

What about Peter? He awoke to go with John to visit that grave. It really was empty. The cloth that had been around Jesus’ head was found neatly folded. They went away wondering.

It’s the apostle Paul who later tells more of the story. “For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Peter, and then to the Twelve.”

He adds more details. “After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep.”

He continues, “Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles.”

Finally, the climax! “And last of all he appeared to me also.” (1 Corinthians 15:3-8).

The risen Savior appeared to Saul of Damascus, now called Paul, who had hunted down followers of Jesus to have them arrested! If he was willing to forgive someone like that, whom else would he accept?

Would he forgive and accept me? Even me? Might he, one day, appear to me? Will he call my name? Can I look forward to my own Easter experience when I will see him with my own eyes?

But what if I die before he returns to earth? What should I tell myself when my eyes close in death? What shall I say when the new day dawns?

What else than “Awake! Awake my heart with gladness!”

It wasn’t a dream. It was worse than a nightmare. It was a vision—a terrifying vision.

The words were written by David—he who wrote of green pastures and still waters. He knew something about lions. When trying to convince Saul that he was able to battle Goliath, he told of a time when he faced a lion attacking his sheep (1 Samuel 17:36). Lions were not uncommon in the land of Israel in his day.

But those were not the lions in this vision. These beasts were humans. They just acted like dangerous animals. This must have been a dreadful experience for the shepherd who became king.

Far, far worse was it for the Good Shepherd who was the King of kings!

The words are part of one of the most famous prophetic psalms. When David said, “All my bones are out of joint” he was expressing emotional pain. When some thousand years later the one hailed as the “Son of David” cried out the words, his bones and tendons were literally being pulled apart.

Psalm 22, written by David, contains the vision of Jesus being slowly executed on a hill outside of Jerusalem. We see the horror through his eyes. We hear his scream for help.

But no help comes.

His disciple, Peter, had bragged that he would defend his Master to the death. He turned coward before a servant girl. So, he was no help.

None of his disciples could help. No one who had come down with him from Galilee could help. He had two followers in the Sanhedrin, Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. But they were of no help. The wife of Pontius Pilate tried to help but she failed.

There was only one who could step in to put a stop to this execution. He was the one who had said at the baptism of Jesus, “This is my Son, whom I love.”

It was to God the Father in heaven that the one on the center cross cried out for help.

His cry was answered with silence.

Jesus knew his Father could see him suffering. He had sent an angel to strengthen his Son when he was sweating blood in Gethsemane. But now, no angel. No encouragement. No help from heaven. No hope.

In despair came the cry, “O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer.”

He knew the why. In anguish, he had called, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1,2)

Indeed, he was forsaken! He was abandoned. He was left to face those lions all by himself. They would tear him to pieces.

Yet, this was no surprise. The one called Jesus of Nazareth knew this was coming even before he touched the soil of Bethlehem.

He realized he had come here to die an ugly, painful death. He understood what it would take to cover the cost of mankind’s crimes against heaven.

But now being face to face with the reality of divine justice leveled against him, it should not surprise us to hear him ask, “Is there any other way? Isn’t there any other way?”

When we look in from the distance of thousands of years and the safety of knowing we won’t have to face this, we still are shocked at the brutality of the judgment and appalled at the perceived miscarriage of justice.

This seems so wrong!

But it wasn’t, was it? The payment demanded every slap, every stripe, every thorn, every nail—and much, much more. We sing:

“Many hands were raised to wound him,
none would intervene to save,
But the deepest stroke that pierced him
was the stroke that Justice gave.”
(Christian Worship 430:2)

What does this tell us?

We are so loved! We are so loved! We are so loved that God the Father was willing to give up his Son for us. And his Son was willing to say, “Your will be done!”

And God the Holy Spirit was willing to enter our hearts with the assurance, “Your sin is now forgiven. Heaven is yours.”

His view from the cross was a terrifying sight. Pain and death staked their claims.

Our view of the cross reveals a precious scene, a comforting picture, a joyous sight.

Now we can see clearly, Jesus has staked his claim of paradise regained—and given it to us.

I have a shield. I did not make it. I did not buy it. I received it as a gift.

My shield is not a desk.

When I was seven, my schoolteacher taught me what to do in the event of a nuclear attack. She drilled my schoolmates and me often enough to ensure we could respond quickly and successfully if an atomic bomb were dropped upon Marinette County. She would call out, “Nuclear attack! Nuclear attack!”

And we would crawl under our desks.

It all seems rather silly now. But at the time, it gave us a level of confidence.

Good thing those defensive skills were never put to the test! We would have learned the tragic results of false confidence.

Sadly, we humans often place our confidence in silly things. The more serious the threat, the more powerful our protection must be. We cannot make foolish mistakes.

We live in a world swirling with threats. Diseases threaten us. Storms threaten us. Accidents threaten us—and so do enemies.

Our nation has a Department of Defense to help shield our citizens from enemies foreign and domestic. Those who wear the uniform of our Armed Forces are part of the fabric of this shield. Americans and others are counting on this protection. They place their confidence in this shield.

But what about the enemies that are not human?

To simply say they do not exist, that they are the mere products of superstition and folklore, is not facing the facts. How can we explain the hatred and brutality the human race has shown without acknowledging the existence of evil?

Where did that strain of evil come from? There is an answer.

Evil came from the pit of hell. It was carried to earth by angels who had waged war against their Creator and the angels who remained faithful to him. Having lost the war in heaven, the condemned angels launched their attacks upon us.

These agents of evil have tremendous firepower. But their weapons are not aimed at body mass. Their victims are left with legs that work and hearts that still pump blood.

They place the crosshair of their deadly weapon upon the soul. They know the result of sin is death. They know what is meant by that death. They have experienced it. They have been cut off from the holy God with all his kindness and blessings.

When Jesus told of a place of weeping and gnashing of teeth, he was describing their homeland. They hate it there. They dread the day when they will be locked in there. Until that judgment day dawns, they dedicate themselves to collecting as many humans as possible to join them there.

They want to ensure that the humans already on the side of darkness will stay with them. They fiercely attack those who call upon God as their Father and Savior. Their primary weapon is the temptation to reject the ruling of God—as Adam and Eve once did.

Like flaming arrows, temptations are flung against us from all directions in wave after wave. The fires started by these arrows can turn everything good into ruin and ashes. We can try to duck when temptations fly. We might attempt to swat those fiery arrows away. But that doesn’t work.

That’s no better than hiding under a desk.

What chance do we have against enemies with such powers? How many times have we already failed to stop their attacks? How many times have we been hit?

What we need, is a shield large enough to cover us and good enough to protect us. What we need, is exactly what the Lord offers. He calls it the shield of faith.

We remember how Satan flung those flaming arrows of temptation at Jesus in the wilderness. Every time, the arrow was quenched in the shield of “It is written.”

“It is written: ‘Man does not live by bread alone.’”

“It is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God and serve him only.’”

“It says: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

Jesus teaches us to hold up the Word of God to the devil. Point out to him the power of God that smashes evil. Claim for ourselves the victory that Christ has already won.

A desk is not protection against a nuclear attack. A good intention is not protection against the urge to do evil. A piece of jewelry in the shape of a cross, even one made of gold, is no protection against the fiery arrows of temptation.

“My hope is built on nothing less,” we sing, “than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.”

That is my shield.

There is a path marked out in the city of Jerusalem that is said to be the route on which the Roman soldiers led Jesus from the judgment hall to Golgotha. It is called the Via Dolorosa—“The Way of Sorrows.”

While that path may not be exactly accurate, since many years have passed since that dark Friday, the name of the road is most fitting. The Way of Sorrows was walked by the Man of sorrows.

His story is the saddest one ever told. It is a story of grief beyond human description. It begins near the dawn of time.

The one called Jesus is the Son of God who was there at creation. He made a perfect universe with perfect people who were to live in perfect joy. But the perfection was lost, and the heart of the Creator was grieved.

His lament is recorded. “The LORD saw how great man’s wickedness on the earth had become, and that every inclination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil all the time. The LORD was grieved that he had made man on the earth, and his heart was filled with pain” (Genesis 6:5,6).

The consequences were horrendous. The Giver of life said, “I will wipe mankind, whom I have created, from the face of the earth—men and animals, and creatures that move along the ground, and birds of the air—for I am grieved that I have made them.”

We have read of natural disasters. We have seen the pictures. We feel sorry for the people caught up in them. But nothing compares to the flood in Noah’s day when the waters kept rising and rising, when housetops, treetops, and even mountain tops offered no escape from drowning.

Such a tragedy! No one was even left to grieve—except Noah and his family—and except the holy God who was heartsick over sin.

It brought the Lord of glory no pleasure to see the suffering and the dying. He tells us, “As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign LORD, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live. Turn! Turn from your evil ways! Why will you die, O house of Israel?’” (Ezekiel 33:11)

Jesus was indeed a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.

The Via Dolorosa, the Way of Sorrows, began long before a Pontius Pilate was born, long before Jesus was betrayed, and long before his first cry as a baby.

But it all could have been avoided. It would have been so easy for the Son of God to skip the sorrow. It would only have been natural, and fair if humans had been left to go down the path they had chosen.

That’s what had happened to the rebellious angels. Why shouldn’t it happen to humans?

Those who sin should pay the price for committing sin. Why should it be any different?

Sin brings shame. Sin brings pain. Don’t believe it? Just wait. Just watch. Just learn.

And then turn. Turn to the one who takes away the shame and the pain. Turn to the Man of sorrows who is acquainted with grief.

The road to Golgotha began at the east side of Eden where cherubim and a flaming sword flashed back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life (Genesis 3:24).

There was no hope for us in Eden. The tree of life growing there would only lock us into a never-ending existence of futility and hopelessness.

The path to life led to a different tree—a dead tree, a deadly tree.

There, the Lord of life would hang until he died.

The Man of sorrows had to walk the Way of Sorrows all the way to his death.

This was our only hope. This gave us life. This turns great sorrow into great joy.

We still have sorrows in our lives. Sometimes they bring us great grief. But they are only temporary. We are traveling through life as if on a train. Sometimes, we run into bad weather and bad times. The train rocks and jerks as we move along life’s track. But this train does not stop. It does not drop us off in the desert of desperation. It will carry us along to the place it is destined to reach.

An old song contains the words, “This train is bound for glory, this train.”

It seems to fit our situation.

Our Savior God walked the Way of Sorrows so we could ride the train to glory.

Something to think about as we watch the season of Lent pass by.

My name is me!

That might not be using correct grammar, but it is correctly stating my claim. I was given a name by people who knew me and loved me. My complete name was called out as the waters of Baptism flowed over my head.

“I have called you by name. You are mine.” The Lord God declares.

Cherished words then follow:
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze” (Isaiah 43:1,2).

My Redeemer God calls me by name. A government bureaucrat assigned me a Social Security number. With teenage bravado, I decided to never commit that number to memory. I would resist being identified by a number.

You can imagine how long that lasted.

I won’t reject my government’s identification effort. Especially when that number is now on the social security check I receive. But I still retain the name my God has called me by, no matter what the government decides.

My name is me. I will not be robbed of me.

We are already familiar with the four captives from Judah who were brought to Babylon. We have read about Daniel in the lion’s den and his friends who were thrown into the fiery furnace.

We learn they were given new names when they got to the country of their enemies. Ironically, we still call Daniel by his Jewish name. We never seem to refer to him as Belteshazzar. But the Babylonian names for his friends easily flow from our mouths. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego? That’s the men in the fiery furnace—untouched, by the way, by fire.

The Israelites transplanted to Babylon were not typical prisoners of war. They became exiles, living in houses and holding down jobs. But they were not free to leave. They missed their homeland. The psalmist put it this way. “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion” (Psalm 137:1).

Daniel and his friends died in that foreign land. They answered to their foreign names. But they never forgot who they were. They never forgot the name of their Redeemer God. They never stopped praying to him or serving him—no matter the consequences.

The Lord had special plans for these men. They remind us of a Joseph, who once was carried to Egypt. Like him, Daniel and his friends became a blessing to the people who controlled them. His friends became able administrators. Daniel remained at the court. Though they were respected, they were also tested.

Through them, their captors came to learn of the only true God. But this knowledge usually came after the captives were confronted with death threats. There were other stressful times besides the lion’s den and the red-hot furnace. Each time, they called out to the Lord, who knew them by name and heard their cries for help.

The Babylonian king had to admit to Daniel, “Surely your God is the God of gods and the Lord of kings and a revealer of mysteries…” (Daniel 2:47).

Then the king explained the name given to Daniel. He said, “He is called Belteshazzar, after the name of my god, and the spirit of the holy gods is in him” (Daniel 4:8).

Daniel lived among people who rejected the Lord. He worked under them. But he did not become one of them.

There’s a lesson there. We might have people over us who do not fear the Lord. At times, we might be called to be of help to people who reject the Creator and Redeemer God. But those people should know by our words and actions that we call upon the name of the Lord for guidance and blessing.

Thus, we can say, “Child of God and heir of glory? That’s me!”

He calls me still by my God-blessed name. He will ever do that.

No one can rob me of that.

In 1858, the sleeve of Pastor Tyng’s gown was caught in a machine for shelling corn being pulled by his mule. His arm was mangled, then amputated. He died the next week. As he was dying, he was asked what message he wanted to give to his people.

“Tell them,” he said, “let us all stand up for Jesus.”

Neighboring pastor, George Duffield, was struck by these words. A week later, he ended his sermon with a hymn he had just written. The new hymn began with the now famous line, “Stand up, stand up for Jesus, ye soldiers of the cross!”

We know that hymn. We can mightily sing its words, even though we may often carry them out rather meekly.

The hymn does not encourage us to be undercover Christians. Nor does it invite us to become foxhole Christians. “Stand up!” is the command.

But as soon as we stand up, are we not a target?

We are.

We, Christians, need to face that. We gladly and boldly sing, “What a friend we have in Jesus!” It would be good for us to remember the saying, “The friend of my enemy is my enemy.” Jesus has enemies.

Those who have been in war zones understand this. The American flag stakes a claim. It shouts out, “This stands for the United States of America.” The uniform announces, “The one who wears this takes a stand for the United States of America. This person will stand up against all its enemies.”

The uniform of the Christian is the lifestyle others see. When God is an important person in our life, when the worship of him is an essential part of our life, this is recognized. It should not surprise us if those who take a stand against God are not pleased with us.

Those who served in Vietnam expected to be vilified by the Viet Cong. The same was true of the enemy in every other theater of war.

The war against the powers of darkness is no different. In fact, the insulting, reviling attacks may even be worse.

Those who find themselves on the front line, at the point of the spear, in the fight against all that is ungodly should take the backlash as evidence of being effective.

But they also should receive encouragement from fellow warriors.

Pastor Duffield aimed his words at those who take a stand against the deadliest enemies known to humankind, namely, the satanic forces from hell, their human allies who surround the Christian’s life, and the rebellious nature within each person.

“Soldiers of the cross,” he called them. We are called the same.

To those who say it is far-fetched to compare the spiritual struggle of the Christian with the real-life combat of the warrior, we say, “But that’s exactly the comparison that God makes!”

Ephesians 6 tells us to “be strong in the Lord.” It goes on to warn us, “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

Then Scripture names the pieces of the battle gear the spiritual warrior is to use. The first to be mentioned is “the belt of truth buckled around your waist.”

Every piece of our spiritual uniform is essential. But if we did not have the truth, if we did not stand for truth, nothing else would much matter.

That’s why we must stand up for Jesus today. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

That’s what counts.

It matters little what our spiritual enemies throw at us. It makes no difference if standing up for our Savior brings retaliation.

In another famous hymn, the old words are, “And take they our life, goods, fame, child, and wife; Let these all be gone, They yet have nothing won; The Kingdom ours remaineth.” (TLH 262:4)

These words were also written by a member of the clergy. He was serious about the possibility of losing everything, including his life, for standing up for Jesus and his truth.

The year was 1521. The place was Germany. The defender of the faith was a monk named Martin Luther. When the great powers demanded that he renounce truths of his Savior God, he replied with famous words.

“Here I stand,” he said. “I can do no other. So help me, God.”

No wonder we sing out the words, “Stand up, stand up for Jesus.” We have inspiring examples to follow.

More than that, we have orders.

Jesus has told us, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Mark 8:14).

We have no choice. We want no choice. We echo the words of another Christian soldier who fought in service to the King. He wrote, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).

With the apostle Paul and all the other heroes of faith, we take our stand.

Don’t we?

Even if we grew up with the King James Bible, we still don’t usually count years according to scores. Decades are more like it.

The words of Psalm 90 are often read at funerals or near the start of a new year. That seems fitting because the psalm points us back over the quick-passing of time. Thus, using the old wording also seems fitting.

Abraham Lincoln used the same method of counting time when he stood before the fresh graves of those who had fallen in battle near a Lutheran college at Gettysburg. He began: “Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”

Lincoln’s time reference equals 87 years. The counts given by Moses add up to 70, and 80. Both quotes are significant. Both give food for thought. Counting years by scores instead of decades makes an impression on us. Maybe we should add another score to our list of times that could impress us: Two score and fifteen.

Two score and fifteen years ago, it was 1968—fifty-five years ago.

That summer was memorable for many who lived through it. Maybe many of us were too young to remember it. Maybe, some not even born yet. But some of us graduated from school that year. Some of us became married in ‘68. And some went to Vietnam.

It was a summer of protests and raised fists. National Guard troops deployed to city streets with automatic weapons. National political conventions became almost war zones. Hippies advocated free love. College professors were telling students to: “Turn on, tune in, and drop out.”

And some who had been drafted to go to war returned to face disdain and spit.

Who can forget a summer like that?

If the whole world didn’t seem to be coming apart, our nation surely did.

Some might ask, “How did you survive it? How did our nation survive?”

“By the grace of God.”

The survivors can now look back on that year as history, or in Moses’ words, as a tale that is told.

Stories of the individuals take different twists and turns. They are stories of strength and hope, stories containing joy and love. But they also reveal labor and sorrow.

But perhaps most of all, they show how quickly the scores of years fly by. Some of us look at the old pictures with the young faces and ask, “Was that really me? Was life really like that?”

Well, it was. It was really horrible at times, and at times it was really wonderful. And the years really did fly by.

To those who ask us to explain and describe the ‘60s, we might only say, “You had to be there.”

It turns out that only God knew what lay ahead for us as we lived our life in 1968. Only God could make sense of it. Only God could preserve our nation and enable us to survive—and accomplish something of value in our lives.

This he has done. This he will continue to do. Those who are young now will one day, by the grace of God, be able to look back to see his faithfulness at work in their lives.

The prayer of Moses ends with the words:

“May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us;
Establish the work of our hands for us—yes
Establish the work of our hands.”

Two score and fifteen years ago, it was 1968 A.D. The A.D. means, “in the year of our Lord.” 2023 is also in the year of our Lord.

So it will be every year of our lives—until we leave this earth behind, and in the words of Moses: We fly away.

“One day, we will understand. Sleep on, darling. Your loving wife and sons.”

So reads a headstone near the WWII battleground at Anzio.

Those sober words may clash with the joyous toasts of “Happy New Year!” But the fallen won’t protest, and their loved ones will understand.

The rotation of one year into another one invites one to pause for a bit to review the past and wonder about the future. We can now write down what has taken place so far in our lives. But that does not mean we understand why it happened. The future lies in clouds of fog. We can only wonder what lies on our path—and later wonder why some of that was there.

Especially those things that cause pain.

Some might question why we celebrate the beginning of a new year. Are we so happy we survived the old one? Are we so confident that good things await us in the new one?

Or are we just trying to forget the hurts the past brought us and faking confidence in the future?

We may not really know.

But those who know in whose hands the future lies have something good to look forward to. Those who know whose hands have carried them in the past have something to be thankful for.

Thus, those who call upon a Father in heaven have a double reason to celebrate.

When things go well for us, when happy things happen, we don’t usually search for the answer to the question, “Why?”

We might assume we just made the right decisions or possessed the right skills. Or, maybe we simply pass it off as being lucky.

A person who operates with high confidence may take success for granted. Failure is not expected. When it does show itself, the confidence is shaken. This is unfamiliar territory.

“I do not understand!” may become the pervading thought. A search for answers may ensue. Not finding an answer may shake that person to the core.

“Why?” “Why?” “Why?” are questions that lead to doubt, even despair, if no answer is found.

The Lord of heaven and earth knows this. Through the apostle Paul, he tells us we should not expect to find answers to all questions on this side of eternity. Now we can see only a poor reflection of life, and as in a mirror, the picture may even be reversed.

Why torment ourselves by seeking the unreachable? Why not turn to that which is certain, enlightening, and comforting? Why not grab onto the lifeline the Savior offers?

“And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

These three will not fade, will not disappear, will not change.

This faith, this hope, and this love are anchored in the eternal Lord God—who changes not.

But we shall change. “For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality” (1 Corinthians 15:52,53).

Then, “we shall see face to face.” Then, “I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”

When will that be? Jesus tells us, “I am coming soon. Hold on to what you have, so that no one will take your crown” (Revelation 3:11).

She wrote, “One day we will understand. Sleep on, darling.”

Many new years have come and gone since those touching words were written. We wish the battles and the dying were gone, as well. We wonder if her sons saw combat in Vietnam. We wonder if she had to write on their headstones. We wonder if her grandchildren fought in the sandbox of the Middle East. We surely hope not.

The new year we face will no doubt bring changes into our lives. Some, we will rejoice over. We may weep over some others. Only God knows.

But this we hold dear. This we claim as our own. This awaits us as we step into the future. “Faith, hope and love.”

Now we see life as it is reflected in a mirror. Then, we shall see clearly.

Then we shall understand.

Until then, we bid our loved ones who have fallen asleep in Jesus, “Sleep on.”

“Sleep in heavenly peace.”

Some had their eyes focused only on their breakfast that morning. Some were looking at the magnificent rolling surf. A few glanced up at the sound of low-flying aircraft. Some eyes were still closed in sleep. No one panicked.

Until.

Until they heard the explosions. Until they saw the red circles on the aircraft wings. Until it was too late.

The place was Pearl Harbor. It was a Sunday morning in December of 1941. President Roosevelt labeled it “A Day of Infamy.”

No one expected to see death and disaster coming from that bright sky. No one had given them a “Heads up!”

They had been told to prepare for a time like this. But they didn’t think it would be on this day and at this place. They assumed life would just continue on much as it had before. Hawaii was a great place to be stationed. Christmas was coming. Who would have thought the rolling surf would turn black with oil and red with blood before this day ended?

For the survivors, life changed forever. From now on, eyes would feverishly scan those skies. Now they lived in fear that inbound terror would descend from above.

The meaning of that Christmas changed. No more “Peace and Joy!” Now the message was, “Prepare to meet your God!”

Yet hasn’t that always been the Christmas message? The presence of the holy God has always carried a threat, hasn’t it? Think of Israel trembling at the foot of Mount Sinai. Remember Isaiah’s warning to his readers, “Wail, for the day of the LORD is near; it will come like destruction from the Almighty” (Isaiah 13:6).

Is the holy God to be feared? Absolutely!

The New Testament declares: “It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God” (Hebrews 10:31).

The Christ child was Immanuel—God with us. Shouldn’t sinners be terrified at his arrival?

Yet the coming of Christ into the world is announced as good news.

Scripture warns that we are to fear him. But we also are to love and trust him. How so?

We should be afraid to defy him but very happy that he came.

The good news is that he came not to destroy but to rescue. The angel told Joseph to name him Jesus “Because he shall save his people from their sins.”

That mission was completed under the dark skies of Golgotha. When he comes again, the skies will light up as he comes to finally bring his people home, body and soul.

In another December, three years later, Americans faced another deadly attack. This time they were in the Ardennes of Belgium. Surrounded, cold, and almost out of ammunition, they fixed their eyes upon cloud-laden skies that kept rescue from coming.

This time, they wanted to see planes fill the skies. They prayed to see the planes. They sent out a cheer when the first one was spotted. Desperately needed supplies were dropped. Rescue was at hand! We call that the “Battle of the Bulge.” It brought victory.

So, it will be when those in service to the King of kings spot the cloud in the sky that brings in Jesus with a display of power and great glory.

We call that the end of the world. We await that day with excited joy, not fear. This will be the breakout day of the final rescue.

An old song carries the words, “And man shall live forevermore because of Christmas Day.”

When we were very young, we may have been asked, “And what would you like for Christmas?” Maybe we answered with a long list of toys. But there was probably one item at the top of the list. That’s the one our heart was set upon.

Today, we would answer with a different list, but maybe as long of a list as back then. After all, there are so many things that we need—and many more that we would like.

But at the top of today’s list, would we not want to place “The peace that surpasses all understanding”? This is the peace between our God and us. This is the peace that Jesus bought and paid for.

This is the peace the angels sang about. The peace we need for ourselves and we want for our loved ones.

This is the peace we have looked for—this is the one only the Prince of Peace can bring.

That’s why we can close the Christmas carol with the words, “Sleep in heavenly peace, Sleep in heavenly peace.”

One day angels will wake us with, “Heads up! Jesus, the Savior, has come!”

We watch for that day.

We are a society that banks on feelings. Be it a happy event or a sad one, the reporter with the microphone is apt to ask, “How are you feeling?” The question is asked often because readers and viewers feel that’s important.

It’s as if feelings define us. “How does the quarterback feel after this loss?” “How does your family feel about the upcoming transfer?” “How does the squad feel after the counterattack?”

The impact of feelings reverberates to the far corners of our lives. They are difficult to ignore—even when we know that we should.

There’s the saying, “If it feels good, do it!” That puts feelings into the command position of life. When faced with judgment calls, we sometimes go with our instincts.

That’s not necessarily bad. Instinct is often formed by lessons learned from the past. It grows from our understanding of situations. But our understanding is limited and sometimes dead wrong. Our understanding of life is not good enough to build a life upon.

Wise and inspired King Solomon clues us in. “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

Solomon was right, of course. But sometimes, it is hard to do that.

There is an American who grew up in Africa. When his family returned to the U.S., he faced a cultural shock. So many differences!

Some of them he liked immediately. Some took a while to get used to. But one difference was very hard to accept.

He puts it this way: “The trees are wrong!”

As he traveled around, this continued to bother him. He could feel it in his bones. He could not shake the feeling. “The trees are wrong!”

Those tall pine trees, those majestic oaks—that’s not what trees are supposed to look like! Not one tree in the upper Midwest looked right. It was all wrong—and it continued to bother him.

Then, things changed. He writes, “Recently, on a trip to Texas, I felt at home. My eyes and mind saw that the trees grew right!”

He explains that the woodland where he grew up in Zambia consists of low, isolated trees surrounded by shrubs and grasses. The area is dry most of the year. “Thus,” he says, “it has many similarities to dry Texas shrub.”

What a good feeling for him!

But that doesn’t make the rest of America’s trees wrong.

“And lean not on your own understanding,” Scripture reminds us.

We are entering the portion of the year that might be labeled “The Season of Feelings.” We have been reminded to feel thankful. Now, we are encouraged to feel joyful. But what if we don’t feel like it?

What if this season doesn’t look like the Christmas we grew up with? What if the scenery is wrong? What if people vital to our picture of Christmas are missing?

What if we begin to wonder if our understanding of Christmas has been shaped by the spirit of make-believe?

Wasn’t our early excitement over Christmas influenced by stories of reindeer and a magic sleigh? If we have outgrown Santa Claus, have we also outgrown the story of a virgin birth and a baby that is both human and divine?

What sense does that make to our grownup mind? Is that why we cannot recapture the old feelings? Have we just lost the Christmas spirit? Or have we wandered away from the Spirit of Christmas?

Maybe it’s time we take our own “trip to Texas.” We will not be carried by car or plane. This trip is courtesy of the Holy Spirit, who brings back the familiar sights of wonder and grace before our eyes.

On the pages of Holy Writ, we see the things that refresh our souls. Once again, we catch sight of angels announcing the glad tidings of great joy that shall be to all people. Once more, in spirit, we walk with the shepherds to see the newborn King.

We come again to the realization: “This is real!” “This is my Savior!” “I can rejoice with the angels.” “One day, I shall live with them.”

This is too marvelous to comprehend and too amazing to understand, but I trust my Creator and Redeemer. I can now relax and feel good about what I see. Now I feel at home with this Christmas scene. I can be at peace once again.

And even if I am where the trees look wrong, Christ in Christmas makes them right.