Setting the Table for Communion (part two): A Worthy Boast

Please take time to read our Scripture focus for this series, Luke 24:13-34.

“As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him. He asked them, ‘What are you discussing together as you walk along?’ They stood still, their faces downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, ‘Are you only a visitor to Jerusalem and do not know the things that have happened there in these day?’ ‘What things?’ he asked. ‘About Jesus of Nazareth,’ they replied.” (Luke 24:15-19).

A well-spent hour.

When was last time you spent one? How did it walk? How did it talk? What were the particulars and who was involved?

Everyday we are given twenty-four hours to spend. At least one of them should spend extraordinary—in the sowing of something worthy. In the seeding of humanity’s soil toward a good and sacred end.

Everyday, twenty-four hours. Every week, 168 opportunities to plant for God’s greater gain. And so I ask you again, when was the last time you invested wisely?

Not long ago, I lived a well-spent hour. It was with one of you, on the phone during a long drive home from a doctor’s visit. I’d been meaning to call for some time but hesitated for various reasons. Good reasons, but not great ones. So instead of companioning alongside my music for the seventy miles ahead, I decided to make the call. I’m so glad that I did. The hour flew by with the flurry of our many words.

Words about life. Words about dreams. Words about pain. Words about hope, and most importantly…

Words about Jesus and prayers spoken accordingly. A worthy boast shared between two hearts who are intricately connected by the cord of Calvary’s reach. It wasn’t just a great hour, my friends. It was a lavish investment of sacred proportion. A life-shaping, extraordinary segment of chronicled time. Not because it held a great epiphany for either one of us, but simply because our Jesus was lifted up in our few moments of conversation. And therein lies a seeded truth for all of time…past, present, and future.

Every occasion that boasts the name of Jesus is an occasion marked forever as sacred. When God is the topic of conversation…when his name takes the stage of our hearts…his presence is sure to follow—to arrive and to mediate his majesty within our midst.

He did meet with us in that hour, even as he did with the two disciples on the road to Emmaus almost 2000 years ago as they walked their questions and talked their faith. Jesus could have bypassed this moment…could have taken another road in that particular hour. After all, it was a big day for him. A resurrection day. A day of making good on a promise that was sown before the very foundation of the world. But rather than taking to the immediate applause of the stage, Jesus took to the road. Why?

Because where two or three are gathered in his name…his promise is to be among us (Matthew 16:20).

Indeed, they were gathered in his name. Not fully understanding all that had happened. Not fully connecting the dots between the stirrings and the wonderings and the speculation of things to come. Still and yet, they talked. They didn’t dismiss their heart’s pause. They put voice to their thoughts, and in doing so, they entreated the heart of their Savior.

This is a teaching that certainly warrants our attention this day as we continue to set our tables for communion with the Father.

If deep communion with Jesus is to be tasted, then boasting in his name is a certain invitation that will always draw his sacred participation.

When was the last time that you invested accordingly?

We are a people of many words, unafraid to put voice to our lofty ideals and our superior thinking and our emotions that almost always rally to the stage, regardless of their intent. We litter our conversations with talk about…

Marriage.
Children.
The lack of either.
Television shows.
Trends.
People…both of the normal and perceived strange variety.
Headlines.
Diets.
Exercise.
Habits.
Politics.
Music.
Food.
World views.
Religions.
Concerns.
Frustrations.
Joys.
Hurts.
_____________________,

All potentially worthy topics for discussion. Potentially. But if we were to carefully examine our words with the scrutiny of an unseen focus—a sacred gaze into the eternal value of our language—how much of it would seed lasting and toward God’s good and perfect end?

I’m not after a legalistic approach to “doing life” with Jesus. I’m not after a cloistered existence that lives in isolation, apart from others so as to keep a constant focus on God. A monastic lifestyle is not my preference. But what I am after, is more meaningful participation in the life that I’ve been given.

More purposeful attention toward the “stuff” that matters. More conversations that seed toward the future. More communion with the Father that breathes eternal and toward my good and perfect end.

Well spent hours. Well spent weeks. Well spent years. A well spent life. I can live it alone with Jesus, but it won’t spend as well as when I live it alongside of you…

Doing life together with Jesus. Boasting in his name and sharing in his communion as we walk our Emmaus road to the table of grace.

Thank you, each one, for taking the time to walk this journey with me. Some of us have been “doing life” together for the last 100 posts. Today marks the occasion, and the seeds of friendship that have been sown along the way have been etched with the favor of heaven’s breath and with the communion of a Father who sees us as we walk and who worships with us as we talk–

about Him. About our soon and coming forever, when the seeds of our now will bloom lasting and beautiful and for our good and perfected end. It is my privilege to share life with you, and to pray on your behalf…

Grant us, Father, the gift of your presence as we walk this journey. As we talk of your fame and as we boast in your gracious grace that has been lavished upon us because of your limitless love. Make us ever mindful of your walk among us, and let our words be seasoned with conversations that level from such an understanding. Let them speak with eternal focus and let them breathe with the everlasting strength and power of your witness. It is my joy to “do life” with the saints here in blogland. Use my words for your glory and for their gain, for as long as I am allowed this forum. You are the only boast worthy of my words. Humbly and with reverence, I submit my pen for the journey. Amen.

Copyright © September 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

~elaine

As a way of celebrating this 100th post, I will be giving away Chris Tomlin’s new CD (oh my… have you heard it?) entitled “Hello Love.” Just leave a comment, and I will select a winner prior to my next post. If you want to hear one of the songs, “I Will Rise,” click on the screen below. I love doing life with you! Shalom.

Setting the Table for Communion (part one): A Worthy Walk

Today I begin a series of posts based on Luke 24:13-34, the “Road to Emmaus”. The goal of these writings is to ponder Christ’s presence in the midst of a difficult pilgrimage and the eventual table of communion that was shared between Jesus and two of his followers. Perhaps somewhere in our pondering, we will glean some understanding as to how we, too, can taste communion with our Savior in similar measure. As I will with each post, I ask you take some time and read this portion of Scripture aloud, if you can. Feel free to leave comments along the way. May God bless the reading of his Word as only he can.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem.” (Luke 24:13).

I’m a bath girl. Always have been. I love the warmth of the water and the promise of soothing seclusion contained within its wet. Today is no different. In fact, perhaps more than any other day in my recent history, I need a bath—a gentle cleansing for the ache I carry within my soul. And while a bath may only salve at the temporal level, it is place of contemplation—of going deeper with God in order to receive an eternal communion that always salves lasting.

An Emmaus walk. Emmaus. A destination meaning “hot baths.”[i]

We’re headed there today and in the days to come. It is journey worth making because of what awaits us on the other side of our stepped obedience—a communion that pulses with the heat of a burning heart and with the stretching of the mind that receives the truth of Scripture’s reveal.

Jesus invites us to the table of his lavish grace each and every day. Our tendency is to pass; not because our desire isn’t present, but simply because our wills remain fixed on the immediate. The quick and easy. The five minute packaging of glory crammed into three because three is all we can afford.

Much to do. Deadlines to meet. Frazzled and furiously confined to a schedule that allows for little reflection beyond our choice of beverage at the local drive thru. We bustle about, burdened with our big agendas, and baths, quite frankly, don’t fit into our busy. Showers, perhaps, but the deep cleansing of a heated wet will have to wait for another day. For an unhurried season that allows for such a luxury.

Problem is…that day never seems to arrive. And therein lies our first point of reflection as we begin to set our tables for a sacred communion with Christ.

If deep communion with Jesus is to be tasted, then a deliberate walk to the table must be made.

We know very little about these two who were walking to Emmaus that day. We know that they were seekers of the Messiah and that one was named Cleopas. We know that they were privy to the teachings of Jesus, to the facts surrounding his death and to the discrepancies surrounding his resurrection. Perhaps they were only visitors to Jerusalem for the Passover Feast. Perhaps Emmaus was their home. But for all of the known things and the speculations therein, we do know this one thing to be true.

They were walking forward. Not backwards. Not cloistered in an upper room or locked in fear behind a closed door. No amount of weeping and sadness of heart would keep them stymied and stuck in Jerusalem. Their feet pointed toward Emmaus. They pilgrimed a deliberate journey with an unnamed purpose in mind. They couldn’t have known Who awaited them as they walked or the table that had been set on their behalf. They simply did the one thing that they knew to do.

They walked.

And so must we if we are to join our Father at his table of amazing grace and sacred communion.

Today walks differently for all of us. Some of us fully grasp the obedience of a forward walk and are enjoying the bounty of heaven’s bread and wine. Some us remain stuck behind closed doors, longing for a tabled communion but lacking the cooperation of our feet. Some of us are on the road…halfway between our fear and God’s full. Sadly, some of us still linger at the tomb…hoping for a resurrection but still waiting for truth to appear.

Truth has appeared and did appear to his followers that day, but not before they moved beyond the grave. Perhaps this is why Jesus chose to reveal himself to them before revealing himself to those locked behind a closed door. Jesus is faithful to reveal himself, especially to those who are deliberately seeking his presence.

Faith walks forward, my friends. Even a little faith. Even if questions remain and hearts tear with confusion. Faith moves toward the table of grace.

I want a burning heart and a deeper understanding of all things eternal. I need it today and in the days that calendar beyond this one. I want to sit at the table with Jesus and to partake of his bread. I want to bathe in the heated, cleansing waters of Calvary’s stream because the waters of this world cleanse at the surface, and I am in need of a deep cleaning. I think that your desire levels the same.

Sacred communion with Christ will never happen by accident. It happens through deliberate intention and through a faith that isn’t afraid to walk the unknowns of an Emmaus road because faith believes that a table awaits—a table set by God on our behalf. For our good gain. For his good purposes, and for heaven’s great and final glory.

Faith walks, and I am so thankful to be walking it with my Father and with you this day. Thus I pray…

Keep us to the road, Lord. To your Emmaus road that leads us to springs eternal and to baths that cleanse with the hot and purifying waters of your love. Let us not shrink back in our fear or in our busy, but rather give us the strength and the good sense to walk forward to the table set on our behalf. Let our hearts burn with the blessing from our sacred obedience and open up our minds to understand the truth of who you are. Humbly and with confidence, we fix our eyes toward Emmaus. Toward You. Toward home. Amen.

[i] Holman Bible Dictionary, “Emmaus” (Nashville: Holman Bible Publishers, 1991), 417.

Copyright © September 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

~elaine

The Beauty of a Backward Glance

The Beauty of a Backward Glance

For Dewey and your precious family. My heart is with you today as I remember and reflect…

“Be still, and know that I am God;…” (Psalm 46:10a).

We’ve all had them.

Shaping seasons. Times in our lives chronicled by life-changing situations that force the issue of faith. Perhaps you’re living in one today. If so, you walk it without the benefit of hindsight. You walk it forward, hoping for an eventual backward glance, but today’s focus is paramount. Tomorrow’s look back will have to wait. I know. I’ve walked this road before. Dozens of times.

But today, I have the privilege of a backward glance to one of those seasoned times that occurred nine years ago. It’s not been one I relish most days, for that season was hard fought. Hard lived and barely endured. I don’t imagine I will ever again walk the vast spectrum of emotions that I felt during that time. My heart might not survive the process. Just this morning, as I perused the vast storehouse of my written thoughts during 1999, tears welled and the sting of a thorn’s reminder pricked around and within my soul.


Even still, there is worth in the remembering. There is eternal value wrought forth through the suffering. Sacred shaping from a sacred Father who intended its sacred merit long before my life would walk its sacred shores. A sacred season named Hurricane Floyd.

Unless you’ve personally walked through the valley of a hurricane’s devastation, you cannot fully appreciate the depth of its embrace. You can witness it via the television screen or in still photographs via the internet or newspaper, but unless you’re living it in real color, your knowledge is skewed.

Not that I would wish your literal participation. Some storms are better viewed from a distance. Some lessons are better learned second hand. But there are some storms allowed their fury within our lives because storms, perhaps more than any other mode of divine forging, hold the immediate and forceful capacity…

to shake our complacency.
to shatter our comfort.
to shift our concerns.
to shape our character.

Storms are a slap in the face. A wake up call to take notice and to get busy. This would be my portion in 1999, and years down the road, the recall of those moments is vivid and poignant and worthy of some words this day.

There are so many things I could tell you. Things like…

*A boat’s rescue from our front lawn.

*Living with friends and their generator for several days.
*Boating through the streets of our little town.

*Watching the waters creep their way into homes and churches and graveyards and groceries.


*Setting up a makeshift relief center in the stripped down fellowship hall of our church.


*Hundreds of volunteers who flooded through our doors to help with the rebuilding efforts.

*The command post and clipboards that delegated the responsibility for those rebuilding efforts.


*The endless hours of phone calls and emails and meetings that exacted a timely toll early on.
*The pressure of not enough time and not enough emotional energy to meet the needs of so many.
*The pressure of keeping a congregation happy who didn’t always share our vision for outreach.
*The pressure of keeping a family focus and a marriage focus, a miserable failing on both counts.
*The desire for closure, but seeing no end in sight.

So many things I could recall. So many lessons learned because of this storm called Floyd. But for all the stresses and strains and fears and failings that undoubtedly forged a teaching within my soul, there is one lesson…one thread of purpose that weaves lasting and true within.

People.

Victims and volunteers alike. During that time, I partook of the purest portion of human expression. Love was our measure. Love poured forth and poured into the hearts of individuals who needed its embrace more than food or clothing or a home to call their own. Love walked as it was meant to breathe. Love that lasts, even nine years down the road.

We moved from that town a year later. I won’t lie. It was a welcome relief and the necessary move in order to save a marriage and a ministry. But we didn’t leave without some love in our hearts. And it is that sacred thread of love that goes with my husband this day as he travels back to the place of our storm’s fury to bury one of God’s saints.

A precious woman who gave us her love when others wouldn’t. A woman who saw past the color of our skin and into the pulse of our hearts. A woman who laughed and lived, despite the carnage going on around her. A woman who kept the fires of her hearth burning, even when the wet desired to extinguish its flames. A woman who taught me the sacred value of a storm. Not so much through her words, but through her actions that spoke a teaching far greater than man’s chronicling of the event.

She gave me her friendship, and in doing so, allowed me some sacred purpose in a season that rarely made sense. She, and others like her, painted the beauty in my backward glance. And while I don’t frequent Floyd’s memories in my mind very often, when I do, I do so with some joy and some thankfulness. Not for the menacing devastation of flood waters, but for the relationships that were birthed through their cleansing.

Maybe Gustav has been your portion this week. Maybe the remnants of Katrina are still fresh in your hearts and minds. Maybe an unnamed storm lurks in and around your present this day. Like me, it has slapped you in the face with a wake up call that forces your notice and asks you to get busy. Just exactly how that “busy” will breathe, I’m not sure. But of this I am sure.

When storms slap, storms require. When storms subside, memories remain. And therein lies the connection. What “remains” threads back to what is “required.” Memories can paint lovely if the steps taken to paint them walk confidently and with the trust that God is after a masterpiece in the end. Otherwise, they simply paint bitter.

I couldn’t see God’s masterpiece in September 1999. But today, in September 2008, my remnants vision, for the most part, as a lovely good. Especially the memory of a woman who walked that season better than me and who lived her life, better than most.

She is the beauty of my backward glance this day. Her friendship to me and my family weaves a portion of purpose into that very difficult season of sacred requirement. I pray that you, too, have the benefit of a beautiful look back on your difficult. It not now, then soon. Shaping and beauty walk their own time-table, and when visioned through the lenses of a Father’s best intentions, they walk thankful for the privilege of participation.

Even in a hurricane. And so I pray,

Father, paint our lives with purpose this day. May the beauty of heaven’s purpose be allowed our vision, if only for a moment. Where we lack strength, Father, bolster our hearts and our frames for the walk. Where we lack wisdom, give us insight into the depths of your understanding. Where we lack patience, give us feet for the long haul. And where we lack love, pour the truth of Calvary’s love into us through the power of your Spirit, so that we may portion it accordingly. I thank you for the hurricane that rudely and appropriately interrupted my life and forced me to my knees. Weave its beauty into my masterpiece for always. Amen.
Copyright © August 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

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PS: This post has been exhausting, but when I recover and return, I plan on beginning a mini-study based on Luke 24:13-35, “Setting the Table for Communion.” I hope you’ll come along for the journey. In the meantime, God’s peace and blessing be with you, especially those of you who are feeling the wrath and rage of a storm’s fury even now. Shalom.

The Glorious Wonderful of a Heart’s Break

“When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.” (Luke 7:37-38).


“Mommy, that movie breaks my heart.”

“Why?”

“Because it was so wonderful.”

“Why was it so wonderful?”

“Because in the end, the king lets her make music.”

“Say that again, Amelia, so mommy can remember it for always.”

Because in the end, the king lets her make music.

This was the conversation I had with my daughter last night after she had finished watching The Little Mermaid: Ariel’s Beginning. I meant to watch it with her, but a lengthy phone conversation took me away from the moment. Several moments to be exact. When my daughter came to me with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, I was puzzled by her odd blend of emotions. But then I recognized her look. It is one I’ve worn over the years. Sadness and joy all mixed up within the welling of a wet that now poured down her cheeks.

Her emotions seem an odd coupling to those who have never known the glorious wonderful of a heart’s break. But I have tasted such a portion, for I have known a great loss only to be surprised in the end, by a great wonderful.

A great grace.

Atlantica, the magical waters of mermaids and talking sea creatures, had lost its capacity to sing. Not because it didn’t hold a melody within its waters, but rather because a tragic death had beat its drum upon her shores. Loudly and profoundly it marched, sending song’s breath to a watery grave buried deep within the unseen sands of an untouched grief.

Pain does that. It buries. It may burst forth in all manner of wild expressions at the time of sorrow, but it almost always finds a way to, at least temporarily, suspend the song. When death of any kind marches its cadence upon the soil of our souls, it buries. It digs deep and cries hard and grasps for fragments of control that don’t allow music its voice. At least not in the moment.

But here’s the truth of the eternal song. Once the music has made its way into a heart, no amount of casting aside and crying and denying its pulse can keep it buried forever. We can go to the grave refusing it a voice, but in the end, the music remains. It will find its chorus, even without our participation because the King’s music is meant to be sung.

Not long ago, there was a woman who longed to sing. Full of sin, yet full of a needful search, she took to the road to find her song. For a long season it had been submerged within her sands of an untouched grief. Almost forgotten. Almost buried beyond retrieval. Almost too hard and too painful of a reckoning. Almost.

But there was something about this Jesus that struck a chord deep within her. Remote and distant at first, but stirring nonetheless. A stirring worthy of an offering. A stirring worthy of her heart’s break. A stirring worthy of her tear-stained kisses and her hair’s gentle caress. A stirring worthy of her walk of shame before men and, at last, before her Savior.

A stirring worthy of the search because in the end, the King allowed her the glorious wonderful of a heart’s break.

He gave her his music.

“Then Jesus said to her, ‘Your sins are forgiven. … Your faith has saved you; go in peace.’” (Luke 8:48-50).

I know the woman. I’ve seen her before. Not just on the pages of scripture, but written upon the pages of my own heart.

God has allowed me the glorious wonderful of a heart’s break. The surrender was painful, and indeed, my heart was shattered in a thousand pieces and scattered throughout the sands of a sinful disobedience. The brokenness seemed irretrievable, most certainly too deep and too hidden for discovery. And when God’s music had all but diminished to a faint whisper within me, I almost gave way to despair—to neglecting the single chord that held as my anchor despite my disregard for his presence.

But then I heard that Jesus was in town, and the chord within chorused its precision amidst my chaos. I was compelled to get to his feet. The closer I moved toward him, the louder the melody within. And once I saw him, the chasm that existed between my great need and his great wonderful was palpable and strong, truthful and tender. I knelt in tearful surrender and was surprised by the gracious and great grace from the King who has been letting me make his music ever since.

A sinner. Her King. A surrender. His music.

The glorious wonderful of a heart’s break.

May it be so for each one of us this day, and so I pray…

Make your music, Father, sing through me. Those notes that you seeded in my heart so long ago, play them as you will and weave them into your eternal chorus with a blending that breathes sweet in the ear and with a grace the harbors gently within the soul. Thank you for the gift a difficult journey and for the season that turned me inside out, allowing me a hard reckoning with the truth of Calvary’s gift. You have turned, for me, my mourning into dancing, and for the rest of my earthly days, I commit my voice to the song of your renown. Amen.

Copyright © August 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

The Gift of Peace

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14:27).

Can I ask you a question or two? Would you be willing to entreat the thoughts that have been walking around my heart recently? I hope so, but if you are in a rush and life is screaming around your heart with the speed of light, I’ll understand your taking a pass. But in doing so, I think you will neglect a pondering that is, perhaps, most intended for you, for we are a weary and busy people. And God would like to offer you something of lasting worth that will not only help you in your weary, but will walk with you for always.

His peace.

How long has it been since you have tasted the full and deep measure of God’s peace? And more importantly, do you even begin to comprehend the difference between this world’s packaging of peace and the Father’s gifting of peace? What does it mean to you that the God of all creation gives in accordance to his “Godness” and not according to a temporal standard that, at best, is momentary and shallow?

The contrast is staggering. If would could ever get our minds around the disparity between the two, we would quickly trade in our purchasing of the world’s peace for the receiving of God’s eternal peace. His cannot be bought. It can only be received as a gift. This is a difficult concept for most of us, for we have spent a lifetime negotiating the purchase price for peace.

We take vacations in search of peace, only to return with frazzled nerves and a mounting credit card. We turn on the television as a way of escaping the pressures of the current, only to be bombarded with the harsh assaults by an industry that thrives on chaos and conflict. We labor our cause for peace through political points of view, only to walk away with a growing dislike for our contemporaries who don’t view the world through similar lenses.

We take to our self-soothing through…

alcohol
drugs…prescribed and otherwise
food
sleep
shopping
internet and email
movies
music
sexual addictions…and the entertaining of thoughts therein
exercise

…all manner of creature comforts that, perhaps, breathe an initial breath of peace but in the end leave us void of any deep and lasting portion.

We want peace for our journeys, but somewhere along the road, we have bought into the lie that peace can be purchased. It is a good lie because it’s working on most of us. But peace that comes with a price tag is simply a masking for the enemy’s offering of bondage. Satan’s objective is to keep us searching…to keep us in a perpetual stage of running toward a goal that he knows can never be achieved through our good intentions or a bulging bank account. Satan’s offer of peace serves on the same platter as it did for the disciples over 2000 years ago.

The world’s promise of peace may have walked differently back then, but it still measured the same.

Worldly and lacking.

But then Jesus interrupted the scene with an alternative—an offering of his own portion of peace. It was a peace that extended far beyond the customary greeting and conversational benediction of their vernacular. It was a “penetrating through the doors” kind of peace that poured deep with an extended reach toward their forever.

When Jesus told his followers about his soon and coming departure, undoubtedly their hearts were a flurry with confusion and grief. It is the same for us. Anytime we perceive our Jesus to be absent from our “routine and normal” we, too, are prone to our flurry and our worry until we can no longer find the thread of peace that links us back to our faith. It may only be momentary, but unless our peace is anchored within the truth of Jesus’ offering of peace, our lingering chaos lasts long and hard and keeps us from experiencing the immediate intention of a Father’s gift.

The disciples were at a distinct disadvantage, although we often think of them as more blessed for having walked and talked with Jesus and for being the front row witnesses of his miraculous. No, in that moment of hearing Jesus’ forecast concerning his future, their troubled hearts didn’t have the benefit of the one thing that we now possess.

Hindsight. A backward glance into sacred history as we now know it. We see Jesus’ cycle of life and understand the reasons for his cross. We are the benefactors of such a gift. But when Christ spoke to the disciples concerning his death and his resurrection, their momentary pain kept them shackled to the cross…to their chaos and confusion…instead of pushing them ahead to vision the promise of their forever.

It was a moment worthy of the spoken word and the spoken Presence of that word.
Peace. Not as the world gives, but as the Father gives.

And even though we have the documented benefit of history, even though we’ve seen the working out of Calvary’s pouring grace and an Easter’s crowning resurrection and a Pentecost’s promised revival, even though we know it all to be true in the deepest marrow of our being, we still live as a people in search of God’s peace.

I’ve got some good news for you today. The search is over. God’s peace is here. His name is Jesus, and he lives in each one of us through the witness and power of his Holy Spirit. Love’s redeeming work was done over 2000 years ago, and the overflow from that sacred grace is a lasting peace. Never to be purchased. Never to be contrived or managed or fit into a busy schedule as needed, but rather to simply be received and to be lived. To be understood and to be treasured.

You need not go to the market in search for the seemingly unattainable. If you know Jesus to be your Savior, then you contain within you the absolute attainable. Not because you are deserving, but simply because you are the penchant of your Father’s heart, and his lasting and enduring peace is the sacred root that will grow you toward your forever.

Our Father does not give to us as the world gives. He gives better. More than the eye can see. More than the ear can hear. More than the mind can conceive. And sometimes, more than our faith can believe. God’s immeasurably more will always trump the seen and the measurable. The gifts from our Father’s hands are the seeding of our tomorrow. He gives with the future in mind. He gives gifts that have eternal reach because eternity is his to give, and Peace is ours to live.

Not just when life breathes good, but when life breathes heavy and threatens our very existence. Peace is our very good portion. Our constant and our abiding gift from heaven until we reach the shores of our forever and see our Peace, face to face.

Who can fathom the glorious riches of our then…of our now?! I can, and thus I pray,

Jesus, you are my Peace. Keep me to the road of Peace. Harbor my thoughts in the depth of your constant and abiding Peace who lives within. When I am tempted to search elsewhere…to pull out the wallet and to purchase peace at the going rate…drop me to my knees in thankfulness for the price that has already been paid on my behalf for your gift of lasting peace. Walk through the door of my heart, Lord, each and every day and speak your words of Peace over my life. Give according to your “Godness” and not according to my want, for my want will always fall short of your immeasurably more. And you my Father, have made me for more; thus, I bow to receive my portion from your hand his day. Amen.

~elaine

For a more in-depth look at God’s concept of peace, please take time to read John 14. May God bless the reading and the pondering of his word as only he can. Shalom!

Copyright © August 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

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