Time Out! Devotions

It’s one of the most compelling narratives in all of Scripture. So fascinating is the scene, in fact, that Luke opted to record it in detail.

Two disciples are walking down the dusty road to the village of Emmaus. Their talk concerns the crucified Jesus. Their words come slowly, trudging in cadence with the dirge-like pace of their feet.

“I can hardly believe it. He’s gone.”

“What do we do now?”

“It’s Peter’s fault, he shouldn’t have … ”

Just then a stranger comes up from behind and says, “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing you. Who are you discussing?”

They stop and turn. Other travelers make their way around them as the three stand in silence. Finally one of them asks, “Where have you been the last few days? Haven’t you heard about Jesus of Nazareth?” And he continues to tell what has happened. (Luke 24:13-24)

This scene fascinates me—two sincere disciples telling how the last nail has been driven in Israel’s coffin. God, in disguise, listens patiently, his wounded hands buried deeply in his robe. He must have been touched at the faithfulness of this pair. Yet he also must have been a bit chagrined. He had just gone to hell and back to give heaven to earth, and these two were worried about the political situation of Israel.

“But we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel.”

But we had hoped … How often have you heard a phrase like that?

“We were hoping the doctor would release him.”
“I had hoped to pass the exam.”
“We had hoped the surgery would get all the tumor.”
“I thought the job was in the bag.”

Words painted gray with disappointment. What we wanted didn’t come. What came, we didn’t want. The result? Shattered hope. The foundation of our world trembles.

We trudge up the road to Emmaus dragging our sandals in the dust, wondering what we did to deserve such a plight. “What kind of God would let me down like this?”

And yet, so tear-filled are our eyes and so limited is our perspective that God could be the fellow walking next to us and we wouldn’t know it.

You see, the problem with our two heavy-hearted friends was not a lack of faith, but a lack of vision. Their petitions were limited to what they could imagine—an earthly kingdom. Had God answered their prayer, had he granted their hope, the Seven-Day War would have started two thousand years earlier and Jesus would have spent the next forty years training his apostles to be cabinet members. You have to wonder if God’s most merciful act is his refusal to answer some of our prayers.

We are not much different than burdened travelers, are we? We roll in the mud of self-pity in the very shadow of the cross. We piously ask for his will and then have the audacity to pout if everything doesn’t go our way. If we would just remember the heavenly body that awaits us, we’d stop complaining that he hasn’t healed this earthly one.

Our problem is not so much that God doesn’t give us what we hope for as it is that we don’t know the right thing for which to hope. (You may want to read that sentence again.)

Hope is not what you expect; it is what you would never dream. It is a wild, improbable tale with a pinch-me-I’m-dreaming ending. It’s Abraham adjusting his bifocals so he can see not his grandson, but his son. It’s Moses standing in the promised land not with Aaron or Miriam at his side, but with Elijah and the transfigured Christ. It’s Zechariah left speechless at the sight of his wife Elizabeth, gray-headed and pregnant. And it is the two Emmaus-bound pilgrims reaching out to take a piece of bread only to see that the hands from which it is offered are pierced.

Hope is not a granted wish or a favor performed; no, it is far greater than that. It is a zany, unpredictable dependence on a God who loves to surprise us out of our socks and be there in the flesh to see our reaction.

From God Came Near: Chronicles of the Christ
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1985, 2004) Max Lucado

(devotional by Scott Walker from Guideposts and OurPrayer.org)

“The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going. . . .”

John 3:8 (NAS)

My children have always kidded me about how quickly I can fall asleep. When I sit down in my easy chair to watch a football game, my sons take bets as to how soon I’ll be snoozing.But occasionally I’ll have a night when sleep will not come. Last night I turned out my desk lamp at midnight, let the dogs back into the house and was asleep before my head hit the pillow—for fifteen minutes. Then I was jolted awake, a thousand thoughts pouring through my mind: My quarterly tax payment will soon be due; I’m nudging up on a deadline; I’ve got a doctor’s appointment next week. . . . I got up, put on my robe and wandered out into the front yard. It was a beautiful night, mild and pleasant, balanced between spring and summer. Standing beneath a canopy of water oaks, I gazed at the stars as a breeze rippled off the western prairie. Going back inside, I climbed to the second floor, opened the windows in the guest room and lay down on the bed. In the darkness, I listened to the gentle wind whisper under the eaves and watched the curtains billow in. Snuggling under covers, I felt the breeze ruffle my hair. There was a smell of sweet hay in the soft Texas night. Then sleep embraced me. When sleep and rest will not come, I need to open the windows of my soul and let God’s Spirit blow in. Father, I cannot command the wind to blow, but I can trust that in Your good time, Your presence will be felt in my life, bringing peace and rest. Amen.

Psalm 17 (NCV)

¹ Lord, hear me begging for fairness; listen to my cry for help. Pay attention to my prayer, because I speak the truth. ² You will judge that I am right; your eyes can see what is true. ³ You have examined my heart; you have tested me all night. You questioned me without finding anything wrong; I have not sinned with my mouth. ⁴ I have obeyed your commands, so I have not done what evil people do. ⁵ I have done what you told me; I have not failed.

⁶ I call to you, God, and you answer me. Listen to me now, and hear what I say. ⁷ Your love is wonderful. By your power you save those who trust you from their enemies. ⁸ Protect me as you would protect your own eye. Hide me under the shadow of your wings. ⁹ Keep me from the wicked who attack me, from my enemies who surround me. ¹⁰ They are selfish and brag about themselves. ¹¹ They have chased me until they have surrounded me. They plan to throw me to the ground. ¹² They are like lions ready to kill; like lions, they sit in hiding.

¹³ Lord, rise up, face the enemy, and throw them down. Save me from the wicked with your sword. ¹⁴ Lord, save me by your power from those whose reward is in this life. They have plenty of food. They have many sons and leave much money to their children.

¹⁵ Because I have lived right, I will see your face. When I wake up in heaven, I will see your likeness and be satisfied.

Was David saying that he was sinless? David’s claim was not a proud assumption of purity. It was an understanding of his relationship with God. In Psalm 14:3, David said, “All are rotten with sin.” He realized that he had indeed committed sin, as all people do, but his relationship with God was one of close fellowship and constant repentance and forgiveness. His goodness, therefore, came from seeking to know God intimately. By contrast, the fools (Psalm 14:1-3) are wicked because they have rejected God and thus have not repented or received God’s forgiveness.

David called on God to value him as much as one would value his eyes, and to let that measure of value also be a measure of protection. We must not conclude that we have somehow missed God’s protection if we experience troubles. God’s protection has far greater purposes than avoiding pain; it is to make us better servants for him. God protects us by seeing us through circumstances, not by helping us escape them.

We deceive ourselves when we measure our happiness or contentment in life by the amount of wealth we possess. When we put riches at the top of our value system, the comforts of today overshadow the eternal value of our relationship with God. We think we will be happy or content when we get riches, only to discover that they bring nothing but transient pleasure. The true measurement of happiness or contentment is an eternal one. You will find true happiness if you put eternal riches above earthly riches.

My son said he was ready to leave home and join the Army.

But how could I be sure?

By Ruth McVeigh, Battle Creek, Michigan

His room was tidy. He had packed away his stamp collection and the souvenirs from Scout camp. His brothers could wear his clothes, he said, for they probably wouldn’t fit him when he got back. I ran the vacuum over the faded rug.

A son departing for the armed forces is not a new experience. Our eldest has completed his obligation. Two others are still in the service. Now it is Tommy’s turn. Each time the questions smolder in my mind: Is he ready? What will sustain him in times of stress? Have we given him enough?

I shut off the vacuum and began to straighten Tommy’s books. As I picked up one, a folded paper fell out, and I read this short composition he had written for English class a couple of years before:

“A few weeks ago it was Easter, and our family colored eggs. The older kids hid candy, eggs and chocolate rabbits for the younger ones to hunt for the next morning. Then it was Easter, and we all went to church together. At church I was thinking how wonderful it is to have a big family like ours, all the fun we have together, all the places we go, and the things we do together. I thought how wonderful it is that all of us went to Communion as one body at this time. I felt close to God. Not just close, but close-close—like He was sitting right next to me.”

The heavy load slipped from my heart. Tommy was ready.

(from Mysterious Ways at Guideposts.com)