A Renewed Mind

I know it’s kind of late to chime in with my thoughts about Susan Boyle’s success, but I’ve been studying the book of Revelation this week to prepare for Sunday’s sermon and I find a compelling parallel that I think is worth sharing. You can be the judge I suppose.

If you have not watched the full-length (7 minutes) YouTube posting of Susan Boyle’s performance, you really should. (Imagine that, me encouraging you to watch something off of television.) For those of you who haven’t heard of Susan Boyle, she is a 47 year-old woman from a village in Scotland who was pursuing her dream of being a professional singer. Obviously, the main problem is that she doesn’t look the part. Nevertheless, she won an opportunity to appear on Britains Got Talent, the UK’s version of American Idol (which I’ve not yet seen).

Prior to her performance, the show’s judges were not just skeptical, they were rude. As one of the judges admitted to Boyle, “{Before your performance} everyone was laughing at you.” Another judge (Amanda) stated afterward, “I am so thrilled because I know that everybody was against you. I honestly think that we were being very cynical.”

As the music began to play and Susan Boyle began to sing, it was only a moment before the judges and the audience discovered the folly of judging a book by its cover, the idiocy of concluding what “is” based on superficial evidences, the sheer madness of determining reality just because we think so. Amanda concluded, “That was the biggest wake up call ever.”

Not quite. The “biggest wake-up call ever” is still to come. On that day, when the seven seals are broken and the seven trumpets sound, the One who is called Faithful and True whose name is King of kings and Lord of lords will ride forth (Revelation 19:11-16). On that day, the surprised cynics will number in the billions. On that day, the jaws of those who laughed at this humble, unimpressive preacher will drop, and their knees will give way, and they will reel in amazement and fear. Some will call on the mountains to fall on them so that they do not have to see his face. What a dreadful awakening that will be.

May the Lord grant us grace that we may labor with all that God has given us to make Him known today. Shall we even attempt to make him known, we will meet the skeptics. They will laugh at us. Most often, perhaps, they will not be impressed. They will not applaud. They will not concede their folly. Yet, those whose eyes are opened today will escape the greatest wake-up call ever. And, with all who believe, they will enjoy the glory of the surprising Savior for eternity.

I had not realized that my last blog entry (3/8/2007) was the link to John Piper’s testimony of his father’s death. One year later on March 9, 2008, I was with my mother when she left this world for the Celestial City. Partly for my church and partly for myself and primarily to testify of God’s marvelous grace, I wrote the following article in the days that followed her death. It seemed appropriate to share it again here.

By the Bedside in the Valley

There are some things we just don’t want to do. Children don’t want to go to bed when the sun is still shining on a mid-summer night. They don’t want to eat Brussels Sprouts (and neither do we). We don’t want to go bankrupt, and we don’t really want to pay taxes. We don’t want to endure difficulty in relationships. We don’t want to confront sin in others (or in ourselves for that matter). And we don’t want to sit by the bed of a precious loved one as he or she lies dying.

But we don’t write the script. God does. And written into the script of each life is a death scene, its day chosen before that life has even begun. Thus, it is likely that each of us at some point will sit or kneel by the bedside of one we love as death approaches. What might we learn there? Were God to be there with us, what might He whisper into our ears as we pass through the valley of the shadow of death?

Probably we will each learn different lessons there, as we come to life’s situations at different times with different needs. Yet God has designed us so that together we—His church—may gain from the lessons of one another, and so I share these in hopes that God may relieve you of the fear of that which we dread the most.

Naturally, the nearness of death will remind us of truths that we already know, yet seem to forget—or try to forget: All we have is today; life can end in a breath; if we want to be ready to die, we better get ready now. Everyone around us needs to hear the gospel—now. Try as we might, we cannot escape suffering in this world; pain is inevitable, and necessary. 

But some lessons are more specific. In our pain, God can speak so clearly, so personally, even so beautifully. 

God is faithful to the end. How hard it seems to persevere in prayer, to continue to call upon God to answer prayers we’ve prayed for ten or twenty years or more. At times we would give up: “It’s too late; the burden is too hard to bear; I must be praying selfishly…” But the Spirit of God intercedes with us and for us “according to the will of God.” He helps us keep praying. When God places a burden in us to pray, we can trust that He is working. God doesn’t promise to fill our selfish desires, but we can trust Him to answer persevering prayer. That’s His work. 

For many years, I had questions about my mother’s eternal security, questions for which I never received any kind of assurance. Then one Sunday afternoon, she was alert. She knew who I was. She could understand me. Quick! The gospel again. Will you repent of your sin and call on Jesus? “Yes.” She responded with her eyes, but there was a firmness in her response. In the coming days, her eyes would be more and more hopeful, even as the end came closer and closer.

God is faithful. Keep praying. Don’t stop. Persevere. Get on your knees. Get help. But don’t give up on God; He doesn’t give up on His children, not one of them.

The compassion of Christ knows no bounds. “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.” God delights to show mercy to helpless and unworthy souls—like me—so that the fullness of His love and mercy can be known. The compassion of Christ led Him to bear our sin on the cross, and to apply His redemption to all who believe. Surely His compassion will cause me to be more sensitive to opportunities to share that compassion with others, especially my loved ones. Surely I will share gentle words of forgiveness and affirmation often, right? More so now, I trust, than ever before.

More than that, however, our suffering becomes the avenue by which we enjoy the compassion of Christ. In our suffering, God is there in Christ. In our pain God draws near and He sustains us and carries us and speaks to us. And in the suffering we discover the fullness of Christ’s love. There we enter into the fellowship of Christ’s cross and we commune with our risen Lord with a depth that a hundred years of pleasure could never secure.

God meets us in the most unlikely places. Retreat centers, conferences, seminars are all helpful and good. Yet, I found more of the presence of God in the quiet buzz of an ICU room. That ICU room was transformed into a sanctuary. I read so many Scriptures to Mom; I sang so many hymns to her; I prayed with her and for her so many times. She attended more worship services in our last weeks together than she had attended in a long, long time. “Amazing Grace” sounds different when it’s sung a cappella to the rhythm of a ventilator with tears running down your cheeks; it sounds more true, more real. And it is. God seems to be listening to your prayer when your dying mother is trying to squeeze your hand. And He is.

God makes us weak so that He can use us powerfully. The pain of watching a loved one suffer and die is sharp; it cuts out every false hope and causes us to cling to God. All those hymns and Scriptures were for me too, and for others. The first time I saw her in ICU was so incredibly hard, but I only had thirty minutes. I couldn’t cry; I had to be strong; so little time to pray and share. “You have to go now,” the nurse says quietly at the door. Now I can go cry. Wait, not now; a young man in the hall: “I saw you in the ICU room with that lady. Can you talk to me about God?” Crying can wait.

The days are so long; so are the nights; so much sorrow and grief; so many years to remember; so many needs: family to be strengthened, details to be worked out, announcements to be made, a funeral to be preached—your mother’s funeral. So much more than a weak, hurting man can handle. Perfect. Then the people will see the hand of God and hear His voice.

One more prayer beside the lovely pink casket, now closed: Thank you God for the time at her bedside.  

It seems there are a lot of links to John Piper’s telling of his father’s going home. It’s a very touching article. I suspect that something inside every believer longs to have such a home-going with all those that we love; I know that I do.

The article also stirred me to pray that whether I should go home soon or much later, that my boys could write such an honoring testimony of my life. My life may never affect thousands, but I would count it an immeasurable grace if God should grant that I may have such a profound impact on my two sons.