A Word of Grace

He had it all.

All the glory. All the honor. All the preeminence.

No one was higher. No one was greater. His light shined the brightest.

He was the only Son.

There was no other like him – not even close.

By him were the heavens made; the sun, moon and stars did his bidding; the universe bowed down. Through him was every ruler and kingdom and throne set forth, and they governed under his sovereign authority.

Paul exalted him in his beautiful prologue to the Colossians – a song of infinite and unparalleled praise:

“And he is before all things, and by him all things consist … who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead: that in all things he might have the preeminence” (Colossians 1:17-18, KJV).

“His own almighty arm upheld the spheres,” declared English preacher Charles Spurgeon, “the praises of cherubim and seraphim perpetually surrounded him; the full chorus of the hallelujahs of the universe unceasingly flowed to the foot of his throne”.

We occasionally hear that someone has won “universal acclaim”.

It may be safely said that of Jesus Christ only is this literally true.

In reverential amazement we struggle to see, understand and more fully appreciate what took place in heaven, and then on earth, two thousand years ago.

Jesus Christ was God, Paul tells the Philippians. With all the glory and honor of the deity.

“Who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God” (Philippians 2:6, KJV). Jesus did not “grasp” at divine equality (NIV); he accepted it as his right and position. Then Jesus did something extraordinary – at the request and with the approval of God the Father.

The angels marveled. Heaven went silent.

Jesus consented to become human; to be a man.

He “emptied himself” (Philippians 2:7, NASB).

Jesus laid aside his power and glory. He “made himself of no reputation” (KJV).

The Greeks had a word for this self-emptying: kenosis.

In this act of self-denial, the Son of God “made himself nothing” (NIV).

In kenosis, Jesus emptied himself of all self-will and became entirely submissive to his Father’s will and purpose. Jesus depleted himself.

Paul the apostle shows us Jesus as the premier example of humble sacrifice and tells us in his letter to the Philippians to “let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 2:5, KJV).

Jesus left his throne and glory in heaven and came to earth.

In being “made in the likeness of men” (verse 7, KJV), Jesus never surrendered his divine attributes; instead he voluntarily relinquished the independent exercise of those powers.

In the flesh, he remained God.

He told his disciples he would lay down his life and take it up again; this would be by his power and his choice; it would be his prerogative.

“The Father loves me,” Jesus said, “because I sacrifice my life so I may take it back again. No one can take my life from me. I sacrifice it voluntarily. For I have the authority to lay it down when I want to and also to take it up again” (John 10: 17-18, NLT).

When the Roman soldiers came to take him captive in the garden, his very voice had the power to throw them to the ground (John 18:6). “I am he”, he calmly said and in that moment displayed his divinity.

Still, they took him.

The creatures crucified their Creator.

Here was the ultimate kenosis.

Jesus humbled himself and became a man. He took upon himself not just the form of a servant, but a suffering servant. He became obedient unto death, but not just any death – death on the cross.

This was the great self-emptying of a God who so loved the world that he gave up his Son.

Jesus Christ was acquainted with grief that you and I might know joy. He was rejected by men that we might be accepted by God.

He faced hell’s worst in order that you and I might inherit heaven’s best. Jesus was wounded so that by his stripes you and I could be healed.

He endured shame so you and I could inherit glory. He suffered that we might be comforted. He died so you and I could live forever.

Charles Wesley beautifully wrote:

“He left his father’s throne above; so free, so infinite his grace; emptied himself of all but love, and bled for Adam’s helpless race; tis mercy all, immense and free; for, O my God, it found out me!”

After Calvary and the resurrection, God restored his Son’s former glory and his former throne. The Father gave his Son a name above all names; a name so great that at the name of Jesus someday every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father (Philippians 2: 10-11).

Jesus had it all and gave it all up so you and I could receive it all as a free gift.

“Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?”

People?

They’re only human.

Sometimes you and I are pleasantly surprised.

Someone rises to the occasion and we’re impressed and gratified. Our faith is restored, our hope enlarged.

We didn’t know he had it in him.

On the other hand, who among us hasn’t been disappointed by something someone said or did? It was dumb or rotten, or both. There’s hardly a day goes by when we don’t shake our heads in amazement at the foibles and frailties of the human condition.

Then again, I need not look any further than the mirror to see a prime example of the fallen state of man. From the moment I rise in the morning until I turn off the light that night, I’ve had the world, the flesh and the devil chasing me – whispering in my ear, toying with my pride, distracting me from the better angels and clawing at my conscience.

No wonder I cling to Romans 7.

“I know that nothing good lives in me,” Paul laments, “that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t” (Romans 7:18-19, NLT).

Has ever there been such a candid confession from such a great man? Has there ever been a more brutally honest description of what and who we truly are? The reality may be harsh but it’s the truth of our predicament.

How often have I cried with the apostle, “O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from this body of death?” (Romans 7:24, KJV).

The bad news is we’re a mess – fallen creatures living in a fallen world. Unable to save ourselves or even much help ourselves.

The good news is you and I are loved with a love so extraordinary it strains the credulity of heaven itself. Peter says angels have wondered at the love of God and longed to discover its eternal secret. It is a mystery so deep, so broad, so long and so high, Paul tells us it’s the greatest glory of all.

It’s indescribable Paul concludes.

In the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ we behold the extreme love of God in all its painful heartbreak and joyful triumph. Nothing reveals the Divine grace more than the Atonement. Nothing assures our eternal future more than the light of Easter morning.

God loved you and me when there was nothing in us to love.

As we enter this most sacred season in Christendom, we need to remember the central transformative truth of what we celebrate.

God loved us in our miserable depravity. He loved us before we could love him or even before we knew him.

Paul writes to Titus on the island of Crete:

“Once we, too, were foolish and disobedient. We were misled and became slaves to many lusts and pleasures. Our lives were full of evil and envy, and we hated each other” (Titus 3:3, NLT).

Not a pretty picture. But an accurate one.

On Easter morning, when we go to church, we’ll be tempted to think we’re doing OK. Sure, God saved us, but look what we’re doing for him. We’re not so wretched. We might even deserve our best life now – health, wealth and the entitled blessings of our godly lives.

When we think this way – when we see ourselves in the fabricated countenance of our self-congratulations, we underestimate the love of God and sell short the cross.

What does Paul do in Romans 5?

He glories in the very depth of God’s love. He points to the majesty of the cross.

He lays out our situation with the bark off. He tells it not like we would wish it to be or how we might convince ourselves that it is. He makes us confront ourselves as he once had to confront himself.

Paul challenges us to see ourselves as we truly are. He tells us to survey that wondrous cross on which the Prince of glory died – and then pour contempt on all our pride.

“When we were utterly helpless,” he writes to the Romans, “Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners” (Romans 5:6, NLT).

Sinners. That’s what we were – it’s what we still are. Helpless sinners.

You and I might be willing to die for a member of our family – or perhaps a dear friend. We might even be willing to die for a really good person (Romans 5:7).

God went far beyond that.

He sent his only Son to the cruel cross on our behalf while we were the enemies of God.

There wasn’t a blessed thing in us that warranted God’s love – or even his concern. There still isn’t. Before we were born God looked at our lives. He saw the worst in us from the first. He loved us just the same.

When it comes to you and me, God is undaunted. He’s never surprised, never let down, never disillusioned by anything we say or do. He knows who and what we are.

God doesn’t give up on us.

God’s love is amazing. The cross of Jesus Christ is the one symbol of how amazing it is.

We love God only because he first loved us. We chose Christ only because he first chose us – before the worlds were made.

We glory in the cross of Christ because on that cross we see the love of God undaunted.

Thirst.

We need it quenched.

Our bodies can go without many things but we all need water to survive.

The planet needs water. A drought is a devastating thing when it hits. It parches, deprives, and shrivels the life it touches.

Because we can find ourselves in an emotional or spiritual drought, all of us need to be refreshed from time to time. We need some temporary relief from the trials and challenges of living in this world.

A friendship that refreshes is a rare blessing.

The old pop song reminds us that “people who need people are the luckiest people in the world.” Of course, that depends.

People are quite different.

Some people lift us up, others drag us down. Some people will bless us while other people bleed us. Being around some people can encourage us. Being in the presence of others is like sitting in a bathtub filled with ink. They depress us. Some folks replenish our strength, others deplete it.

You know them: the people you love to see coming into your day and into your life. They make you glad when they arrive. Being in their company is like uncorking a bottle of champagne. Unfortunately, there are others who simply make you relieved when they leave.

We don’t consider it much, but every one of us, in a multitude of unseen ways, is the dispenser and the recipient of influence.

We impact others – and others impact us.

When he was in prison in Rome, Paul wrote his letters to his young protégé Timothy. In much of this correspondence Paul is wistful and contemplative. These are the great apostle’s last letters before his martyrdom for the cause of Christ.

In his second letter, Paul reflects on the recent events of his active and fascinating life; his ministry of the gospel. He reminds Timothy:

“As you know, everyone from the province of Asia has deserted me –even Phygelus and Hermogones.” (II Timothy 1:15, NLT).

We don’t know anything else about these two men, except that once they were loyal and now they are not. Once they were with Paul, now they have abandoned him. Once they were stand up guys, now they have folded like a bad hand in a poker game.

Perhaps Paul singles them out because in the beginning – when hope and spirits ran high – Phygelus and Hermogones were thought the least likely to jump ship. But jump they did.

In the end, Paul faces death alone.

But as Paul remembers these two who left, he also commends one who didn’t.

“May the Lord show special kindness to Onesiphorus (pronounced “on –ee- sif o- rus”) and all his family because he often visited and encouraged me.” (II Timothy 1:16, NLT, emphasis added).

The King James Version renders Paul’s words: “He oft refreshed me.” (emphasis added). That’s a better word.

In the original Greek in which the apostle wrote, Paul’s meaning is made richer:

“Onesiphorus …often showed me kindness and ministered to my needs – comforting and reviving and bracing me like fresh air!” (The Amplified Bible).

In this narcissistic age of celebrity and self-promotion, it’s easy to overlook the unsung hero. You won’t find a star for Onesiphorus in the Bible’s walk of fame. You won’t read his name in the hallowed Hall of Faith. You won’t meet any children named after him – for obvious and understandable reasons, one supposes.

Yet of all those saints Paul mentions in his various letters to the churches, none is accorded a kinder or fuller tribute.

Notice Paul’s use of the word “often”. Onesiphorus was a faithful friend. He refreshed Paul and bolstered his spirits more than once. And Paul always looked forward to seeing him and staying at his home and visiting with his family.

Paul also remembers: “He was never ashamed of me because I was in chains.” (II Timothy 1:16, NLT). Onesiphorus was a loyal friend who loved and supported and encouraged Paul without question, criticism, condemnation or embarrassment. He was proud to be Paul’s friend, even – and perhaps especially – when the apostle was in prison.

And Paul reminds Timothy that when Paul was in Rome, Onesiphorus “searched everywhere until he found me.” (II Timothy 1: 17, NLT). Onesiphorus was a committed friend. No obstacle, no hardship, no inconvenience, no barrier would ever come between him and the friend he loved and cared about.

Paul praises Onesiphorus for his hard work in the church of Ephesus: “And you know very well how helpful he was …” (I:18, NLT). Onesiphorus was a beneficial friend. He made a positive difference in the lives of others.

Here is the kind of friend we want – and need and should want to be.

I’m thankful I have such friends. What a rich blessing they’ve been to my life.

In the droughts of Paul’s life and ministry – and we know he had them – his precious and loyal friend Onesiphorus was always there to refresh and replenish – to lift up and to cheer and to listen – to laugh and to cry and to pray with Paul.

It’s what friends are for. It’s why we need them – and why they need us.

And so, while his fame is not great, Onesiphorus’ reward in heaven is.

He was Paul’s friend.

What is our impact on others? What sort of an influence do we have in their lives?

What sort of a friend are you?

A snowflake is a mighty thing.

Especially when it teams up.

It left Napoleon’s army frozen in Russia and, more than a century later, did the same to Hitler’s.

Each winter, I think I miss the snow of my native New England – until I see a news report on the most recent “major storm”. I watch the blinding winds, stranded travelers, and steep snow banks.

Then I re-think my position. Texas isn’t so bad. Until July, when contentment once again eludes me.

Storms, for all their inconvenience, are providential of course.

“He gives snow like wool,” writes the Psalmist. “He scatters the frost like ashes. He casts forth His ice as fragments; who can stand before His cold?” (Psalm 147:16-17, NASB).

Such was the case for a teenager walking to church one Sunday morning. Deeply troubled in his young soul and unable to truly find God in any way that made sense or gave relief to his perplexities, he ventured out into a howling snowstorm to find his answer.

The boy, 15, struggled against the bitter gale that blew off the coast this Lord’s Day. Unable to go on to the church he had planned to attend, he remembered his mother telling him of a Methodist church closer by. And so, seeking shelter, he turned down the side street and entered the small chapel.

Warming himself by the pot bellied stove, the lad looked around. There were perhaps a dozen or more people sitting in the wooden pews. Brave souls who had braved the storm.

The youngster took a seat toward the back, underneath the balcony.

The preacher emerged and ascended the platform. This was not the regular pastor – he had been snowed in.

The lad eyed the tall, guant and somewhat dishevled older man with suspicion befitting a teen. He figured this was “a shoemaker, or tailor or something of that sort”.

After the singing of a few hymns, the old man rose to preach.

Taking as his text Isaiah 45:22, he began to read:

“Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth.”

As would be the case for many teenagers, the young man was barely able to subdue his cynical contempt. Being a very bright and intellectually-inclined lad he concluded “this man was really stupid”.

He listened just the same, through the awkward pauses and stammering mispronunciations.

Still, the older gent warmed to his subject.

“My dear friends, this is a very simple text indeed. It says, ‘Look’. Now lookin’ don’t take a deal of pains. It ain’t liftin’ your foot or your finger; it is just, ‘Look’.”

The man told the congregation that it didn’t need a college education to look and that “even a child can look. But the text says, ‘Look unto Me’”

“Ay!” the old man smiled. “Many on ye are lookin’ to yourselves, but it’s no use lookin’ there. You’ll never find any comfort in yourselves.”

The preacher sadly shook his head and then peered out on the small huddled group of worshipers. Raising his reedy voice, he proclaimed:

“Jesus Christ says, ‘Look unto Me’”

He became more emphatic, speaking of Jesus’ suffering, death, burial and resurrection – each time punctuating his message with the refrain “‘Look unto Me!’”

Finally he concluded his sermon:

“O poor sinner, look unto Me! Look unto Me!”

As he surveyed his small gathering, he noticed the teenager sitting partially hidden under the balcony. He knew he was a stranger.

“Young man, you look very miserable, and you always will be miserable – miserable in life and miserable in death – if you don’t obey my text; but if you obey now, this moment, you will be saved.”

It was a very personal invitation!

Raising his arms in the air, the old man shouted at the youth:

“Young man, look to Jesus Christ. Look! Look! Look! You have nothin’ to do but look and live.”

The lad, startled though he was, did just that. In this moment, he had discovered his answer. God had found him and saved him.

Of this he was certain.

Years later, he recalled that gray, snow-swept Sunday morning:

“I was so joyous that I could scarcely refrain from dancing. I thought on my road home from the house where I had been set at liberty, that I must tell the stones in the street the story of my deliverance. So full was my soul of joy, that I wanted to tell every snowflake that was falling from heaven of the wondrous love of Jesus.”

It was January 6, 1850 in Colchester, England.

Young Charles Haddon Spurgeon went out from that small Methodist church that day to become the greatest preacher of 19th century England and one of the greatest the world has ever known.

In just four years, at 19, he would be pastoring a large church in London.

God filled Spurgeon’s churches with thousands. In 34 years of ministry it is estimated that he preached to ten million people. His published works, mostly his sermons, have sold more than 300 million copies worldwide and remain readily in print to this day.

Spurgeon is the most widely-published author in history.

He was known as “The Prince of Preachers”.

He never saw the old man again.