Abram and El Eyon

What is it like to worship many gods? I could say I have no idea, but that wouldn’t be accurate. I am always tempted toward some version of God-plus-something-else. John Calvin was right when he called the human heart “a perpetual factory of idols.”

Abram understood competing gods, too. He came from a place called Ur, a polytheistic culture. Then Yahweh spoke. God did what idols could never do. He addressed Abram personally and commanded him to leave Ur, to leave everything familiar behind. Miraculously, he did it. 

Abram’s world of household gods, displayed on shelves, can feel far removed from me. But it isn’t. My idols just seem more respectable. A family legacy can be sacred enough that obeying God feels like a betrayal of the people I love. A person I’m attached to can occupy more emotional territory than God Himself. These kinds of idols must be watched, managed, and put in their proper place because good things become gods the moment I cannot imagine living without them.

This is where God presses hard for an answer. Daily, He searches my heart. He will not accept a place among competing loyalties. Everything must find its rightful place beneath Him, because no one and nothing can bear the weight of worship but God.

“From the rising of the sun to the place of its setting, people may know there is none besides me. I am the Lord, and there is no other.” Isaiah 45:6

Kindness of God Amidst Consequences

Now as soon as Jacob saw Rachel the daughter of Laban his mother’s brother, and the sheep of Laban his mother’s brother, Jacob came near and rolled the stone from the well’s mouth and watered the flock of Laban his mother’s brother. Then Jacob kissed Rachel and wept aloud. Genesis 29:10-11

When Jacob first saw Rachel, he wept.  In fact, he wailed. It was not a quiet tear slipping down the cheek, but the kind of weeping that breaks open and cannot be contained. I find myself wishing, as I often do with Scripture, for more detail. What was in those tears? Was he stunned by the kindness of God? Relieved to have reached the end of a long journey? Overwhelmed by Rachel’s beauty? Or did something in him simply give way all at once? We are not told. We are left to wonder.

What we do know is that Jacob did not arrive in that field carefree. He came there because he had to leave home. His departure was not the beginning of some romantic adventure; it was the fallout of deceit, the aftershock of sin. He had wronged his brother and complicated his own future. That kind of history leaves a mark on the soul. Yes, God had met him on the road. Yes, He had spoken a blessing over him in a dream. But blessing does not erase consequences, and mercy does not always cancel the painful harvest of what we have sown. But here, in this moment, God gave him a gift he could not have scripted for himself. Grace met him in the middle of consequence.

That moves me deeply, because it is so often how God deals with us. He does not pretend our past did not happen. He does not wave away the shadows cast by our choices. But neither does He leave us to live only under those shadows. He knows how to lay unexpected kindness right in the middle of a complicated story. He knows how to send beauty across the path of a person who still carries regret. He knows how to make the heart break open, not only with sorrow, but with astonished joy.

As I look back over my own spiritual journey, I can still see the places where painful consequences have lingered. Some choices leave long shadows. And yet, grace has never stopped meeting me there. God has not only helped me endure the harder parts of my story; He has also redeemed them in ways I never could have imagined. I know now what it is to weep for relief, for surprise, for joy, for the sheer tenderness of being met by God in places where I expected only loss.

There was a time when I thought tears belonged mostly to sorrow. But God is teaching me another kind of weeping—the kind of tears that say, without words, I did not know You would be this kind.

Make my heart even more open to the surprising kindness of Your grace. Amen

Reflection: What joyful tears could be yours? All that it requires is renouncing the lie that you’re exempt or excluded from God’s blessing.

Shalom On The Other Side Of Letting Go

May God Almighty grant you mercy before the man, and may he send back your other brother and Benjamin. And as for me, if I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved.”. Genesis 43:14

When Joseph disappeared, Jacob held Benjamin close. He wasn’t going to let this other favored son out of his sight lest some something bad happen to him too. God tested him. For everyone in his family to live, Benjamin must go to Egypt. Jacob didn’t give in easily. Only famine and the threat of extinction wore him down until He finally caved.

Are you tired of fighting? You’ve held on to hope and clutched your dream. You’ve not let anyone too close for fear that your resolve would be challenged. No one knows that your iron will is really quite fragile.

No one can predict the moment when someone will give up control. Resolve to make things work eventually crumbles. Sheer grit melts away and surrender to God’s providence takes over instead. The humility of true surrender marks a stunning turning point.

Dreams are fragile things in a fallen world. Perfection here is impossible. The cancer of sin metastasizes and touches everything I want. While good things do happen and pleasurable seasons come for a time, perfection is deferred. And ultimately, loss and grief will consume me if I don’t learn to invest all my dreams into the storehouse of eternity.  It’s okay, and necessary, to let my Benjamin go. David said, “And now, O Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you.” Psalm 39:7 Everything holy thing I long for will eventually be mine.

Help me understand that longing is to mark the life of every saint. Let mine be joyful confidence, not malcontent. Amen