Saul, Pharisee and persecutor of Christians, needed a shift in perspective himself—a gross understatement, of course. He seethed with anger toward followers of the Way, “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord” (Acts 9:1). Thoroughly committed to the imprisonment and suffering of Christians, he set about the land in a hunt for those who loved Jesus (v.2–3). That’s what put him on the road to Damascus, and that’s where he encountered the real target of his persecution: Jesus Christ.

The scene begins with an image that reminds me of something from an action film: a helicopter chase from the sky, spotlighting the criminal on the ground in active pursuit. At the flashing light and voice from heaven (vv.3–4), Saul was dumbfounded, falling to the ground as he heard, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” (v.4). Though he didn’t know who was confronting him, Saul understood the authority of the one speaking, so he answered, “Who are you, Lord?” an address signifying reverence.

“I am Jesus, the one you are persecuting,” he replied. “But get up and go into the city, and you will be told what you must do.”
—Acts 9:5–6

The irony is not lost on me. The hunter had become the hunted. Jesus blinded Saul for three days and told him to finish his journey to Damascus (vv.6–9). By the time the scales fell from Saul’s eyes, sight restored and filled with the Holy Spirit, his fervor once set against Jesus Christ was forever submitted to the will of the Lord (v.20). Extraordinary!

It’s a brilliant, strategic move, using Saul as an “instrument” to spread the gospel (vv.15–16). But this is also a story of unfathomable mercy and personal gospel transformation. Saul (also known as Paul) was physically humbled in order to receive the gospel revelation of Jesus Christ (Galatians 1:12). Blinding him was God’s chosen means through which Saul could finally see Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah.

Oh, that humanity wouldn’t need to suffer in order to truly see. Not all suffering is caused by our own short-sighted sin or by God, but all pain has the power to make us more like Jesus, the Suffering Servant who is our Savior (Isaiah 53). Empowered by the Holy Spirit, may we submit our will to His in all circumstances, drawn not to isolation, but into deeper communion with the one who has overcome the world (John 16:33).

Mysteries abound here in the physical world, don’t they? Over time, science has illuminated some of them, sure, but to live a life of faith often calls us to embrace the mystery of our creator God.

Those who walked with Jesus when He walked the earth, who breathed the same air, got to look at Him face-to-face. They could reach out and touch Him as easily as I’m touching the keys of my laptop right now. And Nicodemus had the privilege of hearing God’s plan for salvation under the singular gaze of God in the flesh.

A Pharisee whose heart had not grown hard, Nicodemus was seeking to reconcile his knowledge of the Old Testament scriptures with the Messiah who stood before Him. He asked the same question so many of us have asked: How in the world can a fully grown human be born again? (John 3:4).

In the stillness of the night, Jesus’s answer was kind yet challenging to Nicodemus: “Do not be amazed that I told you that you must be born again. The wind blows where it pleases, and you hear its sound, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit” (vv.7–8). In other words, if we can so easily accept the nature of the invisible wind created by God, there is room for understanding the work of the Holy Spirit.

The Father did not hold back in giving us His beloved Son, who lived, died, and continues to love as we never could, “so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). Our limited minds want proof of a limitless love and the power of the Spirit to save. But the reality of something so momentous can’t be contained and explained. God’s love is a mystery that comes to life. It is a force of the natural and supernatural worlds, whispering and wooing us to open our eyes and our hearts to His unfathomable goodness (Psalm 34:8).

But God doesn’t offer us the assurance of this kind of control. He does, however, promise His faithful love and His promise to be present with His people (Deuteronomy 31:6, Hebrews 13:5). Our God is not the means to an end—He’s the beginning, the end, and everything in between (Revelation 22:13). And so calling isn’t so much a sure destination but an invitation into a deeper relationship with our Creator God.

One of the ways God has invited me to experience Him is through the gifts He’s given me. When I read about Bezalel in Exodus 31, I see God’s same commitment to be present through both calling and gifting.

The LORD also spoke to Moses: “Look, I have appointed by name Bezalel son of Uri, son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah. I have filled him with God’s Spirit, with wisdom, understanding, and ability in every craft to design artistic works.”
—Exodus 31:1–4

Bezalel was an artisan with a big calling over his life: to lead the creation of the tabernacle, the place where God would take up residence with His people. Still, God didn’t leave Bezalel to fend for himself in the face of such an enormous undertaking. He sent Himself—His Spirit.

The Hebrew word ruach is translated as “God’s Spirit,” and here it refers to God’s personal presence and power coming forth to empower God’s people to do the specific tasks He’s called us to do. The Creator of the universe called Bezalel to create something God surely could have made on His own—no doubt perfectly and far more efficiently. Instead, He gifted and called a man like Bezalel. Why?

Because our God is relational, revealing His glory through creation and those who bear His image (Genesis 1:26–28). He doesn’t need us or the work of our hands, but He wants us and He invites us to share in His work. By His Spirit He gives us gifts to do that work (1Corinthians 12:4–7). It’s a precedent He set in the garden. God is about bringing eternity here to earth now, creating space for Him to dwell—to tabernacle—with His people. For those who call Jesus Christ “Lord,” that meeting place is now within us, by His Spirit (2Corinthians 6:16).

Whatever the call, He’s already given us everything we need to accomplish it (1Peter 1:3). The gifts He gives us are a vehicle through which we can know Him better, accomplish His will, bring Him glory, and care for His creation and people. 

Huh.

Now, I knew what the “right” answer was—boy, did I—but if I’m really honest, the right answer brought me no comfort or peace and, while I’m ashamed to admit it, no honest-to-goodness joy. The truth is that, when I imagined actually being in the presence of God, in the same room with Him so to speak, I felt all good with one of us being on the other side of the door. 

Needless to say, that one question took me on a journey of really beginning to look for God, to seek out His person, to really know Him. Because if He laid out His life for me, for the joy of having me with Him for eternity (Hebrews 12:2), and yet I somehow still felt the need for separation and physical distance from Him, then that was a problem. I had a sense that He went to the cross for more than just the effort of making us all good with one another. I recognized my need for Him, and He went to the cross for me so that we could actually be in the same room together.

I realized that to “seek His face,” I had to seek Him out intimately (1Chronicles 16:11). And when I searched for Him, when I sought Him out with all my heart and all my soul (Deuteronomy 4:29), He showed Himself to be anything but indifferent toward me. Through His Word, by His Spirit, and by the testimony of His Church (Colossians 3:14–16), He led me to really see the passion that led Him to the cross to die for me. All of this so we could be in the presence of one another unencumbered by my sin, because “the LORD [our] God is a compassionate God” (Deuteronomy 4:31). The reality is that He is always with me, and that’s where He wants to be. That truth leaves me utterly awestruck, yet somehow, I’m still prone to forget.

If you have been brought back into God’s presence through the blood of Jesus, then His presence and holiness aren’t meant to cause trembling from a place of fear, but of excitement and anticipation that one day, not so long from now, we won’t have to search for Him because we will get to see Him face to face (1Corinthians 13:12). Until that day, we don’t have to settle for just being “okay” with God—we get to have a relationship with Him.

Are you like me, closing your heart off from a true relationship with Him? Have you believed the lie that the one who died to save you is somehow indifferent toward you? Take Him at His Word: seek Him, and He’ll remind you of what is true.

Throughout my elementary school years, I managed to milk Albert Einstein for all he was worth. Year after year, I’d recycle my “research” for the annual biography project (subject: always Einstein). I really loved the art portion of the assignments, getting to draw his wild, unruly hair and cheeky twinkle in the eye, perhaps that tongue he used to wag at the camera. Today, photographs of him reveal more wariness than my youth was trained to see. Life grows complicated, as the scientist certainly knew.

Well-acquainted with scientific research himself, Einstein is often credited with this little ditty: “Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.” Now, to my knowledge, Einstein didn’t give much credence to religion of any sort—only God Himself knows his heart. Still, Einstein’s point applies to spiritual life in general, doesn’t it? The tangible “stuff” we look to accumulate on this side of eternity may be counted and stacked, displayed and gazed upon with self-admiration, but we can’t take it with us to the other side of eternity. That stuff does not translate there, doesn’t travel well, so to speak. 

The things that really do count and matter most are not so easily quantified. I cannot take a photograph of the countless conversations that have drawn me closer to Jesus. Those who’ve prayed for me in earnest may have nothing tangible to show for it. Messy and imperfect though it may be, the Christian community I’ve experienced through deep comfort and gentle rebuke bears no trophy for the faithful. Their wisdom and kindness, their care and casseroles, their tears—the world gives no prizes for these. But not so in God’s kingdom! 

God’s kingdom may not be seen or accounted for in the ways this world asks of it, but kingdom things can still be felt and experienced, can’t they? They are discerned and perceived through the lenses of humility and wonder. They are realized in the way we love one another and the world, the way we long for gospel truth to be known. This is how we practice and experience the presence of our King and the fullness of His kingdom today.

We can know as much about this physical world as Einstein, but miss the Designer for the design. What are we missing as we strive to accumulate accolades and wealth that we cannot take with us and do not advance God’s purposes? 

We are meant for so much more. He “has made us a kingdom and priests to our God, and [we] will reign on earth” one day (Revelation 5:10). We have yet to experience the immeasurable fullness of God’s kingdom, but the fullness of God Himself and His love are already ours (Ephesian 3:17–19). He has come and will come again in grandeur—we will see Him face to face! (1Corinthians 13:12; Revelation 22:4). For now, His kingdom has come in us. May it be on earth as it is heaven. Amen.

I attended a funeral yesterday, one that left me slack-jawed with wonder. It was a beautiful celebration of a man, to be sure, by his family, friends, and a community who will feel the loss of him deeply. Yet, I’ve never been so struck by the idea that life can be understood as a song, and  humans as instruments of praise. 

What struck me so much about the service is how a life will continue to sing days, weeks, and years after the man, a vessel of praise, breathed his last breath. The lyric and music ring out and thrum, echoing and joining with a chorus of saints for all time and eternity, singing, “Hallelujah! My soul, praise the LORD. I will praise the LORD all my life; I will sing to my God as long as I live” (Psalm 146:1–2).

The Hebrew word hallelujah is an exhortation to “praise Him,” Him being Yahweh, “Maker of heaven and earth” (v.6). We are to acknowledge Him in our actions, give thanks to Him in our hearts, proclaim His goodness and faithfulness in our testimony, uttering praise to Him even with our breath (Psalm 145:7). In today’s reading, the writer of Psalm 150 invites and implores us to actively do just that: “Let everything that breathes praise the LORD. Hallelujah!” (Psalm 150:6). 

This is an act of vulnerability, requiring us to lay down our will to seek His, and so who we believe God to truly be matters. Each psalmist from today’s reading sets out to remind us, and likely themselves, of who God is, what He has done, and why He alone is worthy of our praise. He exhorts all creation—from angel armies in the highest heavens to creatures that crawl in the earth’s temporal dust—to praise Him (Psalm 148:1–6). We’re reminded that the Lord is just and holy, His acts mighty and awe-inspiring, yet He’s also “gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and great in faithful love” to everyone and everything He’s made (Psalm 145:8–9). His greatness and power are unsearchable, completely unfathomable to our minds (v.3).

Take this in: “the LORD takes pleasure in his people; he adorns the humble with salvation” (Psalm 149:4). In a world that shifts its attention and devotion on a whim, the Lord is constant and does not swerve from His purposes. His is a love worthy of our loud, joyful, and unabashed praise, with all the instruments available to us but none more vital than our quiet, awe-filled devotion. As long as we have breath, may our days whisper His song. May the testimony of our lives never cease to sing about His wonder. Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!

“If God is in the room with us—and He always is…”

My girls have heard me utter those words countless times to remind them that God is good, and He is always present because He wants to be (John 15:4–11). I need the reminder too. If I pause to contemplate God’s constant nearness, my reaction alerts me to the distance I’ve unknowingly put between us. It’s a sobering exercise that reveals how I’ve been living life self-sufficiently, despite knowing that apart from Him, life is meaningless (Psalm 16:2). 

Yet, God’s presence offers far more than a sense of peace; He is our protector and provider against the hardship we will inevitably face here on earth (John 16:33). 

Solomon tells us, “Unless the LORD builds a house, its builders labor over it in vain” (Psalm 127:1). I know I’ve spent day after day working to survive in my strength, getting up early and staying up late, while God offers protection, provision, and rest for those who turn to Him (v.2). Life apart from the One who creates and sustains it leads to emptiness and despair. Still, I attempt to fill my void with work and busyness, but why? Am I seeking approval, security, and identity? Whatever promised land I’m seeking out is pointless unless God is there with me (Exodus 33:15–16). 

The writer of Psalm 121 tells us all our efforts are futile. The “Maker of heaven and earth,” who “does not slumber or sleep,” already guards and protects our lives as our eyes are fixed on Him (Psalm 121:2–4). In doing so, we submit to His ways and His leading rather than our own, setting our pointless self-sufficiency aside. When we rely on the Lord and follow His lead, He protects our days, “[our] coming and going both now and forever” (vv.7–8).

The favor and esteem I hustle so hard to conjure up in the eyes of others seeking the very same thing—He offers those, too, simply through proximity to His presence. The protection I try to secure by the works of my own hands can be laid down because the truest fortune I will ever know is being restored by His presence (Psalm 126:1–4). The shelter and refuge I seek when trouble comes is found when I remember that my strength is admitting my weakness, resting in the shelter His presence provides both day and night (Psalm 121:5–6).

God knows what we need long before we’re aware of it. Pain, disappointment, and failure will surely come to us as we live life under the sun. His presence is a balm for that, too: for “those who sow in tears will reap with shouts of joy” because of Him (Psalm 126:5). He waits for us. If only we will humble ourselves and turn to meet the eyes of the God who is always in the room with us.

God had promised to rescue the Israelites from slavery in Egypt and bring them to a new home, a land of freedom and abundance. But His bigger promise was this: He would bring them back into relationship with Him, back into His presence. He would dwell among the Israelites and be their God (Exodus 29:45–46).

But God’s people put all of that in jeopardy by building the golden calf and inciting God’s anger with their idol worship. They were set to experience separation from Him again. Yes, He would still bring them into the promised land, but He would not accompany them there (Exodus 33:1–3). 

Because of their sin, Israel could not be in God’s presence—but Moses could. The Lord spoke to Moses “face to face, just as a man speaks with his friend” (v.11). And so on behalf of the Israelites, Moses pleaded with God to reconsider:  

“If your presence does not go…don’t make us go up from here. How will it be known that I and your people have found favor with you unless you go with us? I and your people will be distinguished by this from all the other people on the face of the earth” (vv.15–16).

Moses knew what was really at stake for the Israelites: the true promised land, God Himself. Moses knew that God was not merely a means to an end, not just the path to blessing. God is the blessing. God’s presence was the very identity of His people. If He wasn’t in the new land, then there was no point in going. Without Him, there would be no real blessing, no peace, no rest. 

So what does your promised land look like? 

Mine looks like a land of abundant provision, free from shame and fear, melancholy, sickness, and loneliness. Scripture tells me all of these needs and more are met now, in Jesus Christ, though He is far more than a means to an end. He is Alpha and Omega, beginning and end—and everything in between (Revelation 22:13).

He doesn’t just provide. He is our provision (Genesis 22:14). 
He doesn’t just make us righteous. He is our righteousness (Jeremiah 23:6).
He doesn’t just give us peace. He is our peace (Judges 6:24, Hebrews 13:20).
He doesn’t just heal us. He is our healing (Exodus 15:26).

And if we know Jesus, we are never truly alone. He is always with us (Isaiah 7:14; Matthew 1:23). His promise to each of us is this: “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest” (Exodus 33:14). 

In His attributes God reveals Himself to us—His character, His nature, and His heart. Like Moses, we can boldly ask to know more of God, to see more of His glory. This is why God delivered the Israelites, and it’s why He sent His Son to deliver us. God came near so we could truly know Him and never be separated from His presence again.

Repent and believe.

Of all the important words used to tell the gospel story, these are the two I’ve struggled to truly understand. Here in Mark 1, Jesus is calling us to repent and believe, but too many times I’ve interpreted His words as “grovel and behave.” Or really, Get your junk together, Kara, and then go out and do the work God has called you to. 

Sometimes it’s easier for me to fall in line with the idea of God’s justice than it is to trust and receive His love for me. To trust Him, I have to be vulnerable, my heart and mind laid bare before Him. And yet to even begin to understand God’s gift of salvation, I have to understand my need for it, my need for Him. 

In all of Scripture, David’s words in Psalm 51 have to be some of the most vulnerable, self-aware, and unguarded. Many of us know this part of David’s story and the impetus of this psalm—how he lusted after Bathsheba, bedded her and committed adultery with her, and then had her husband Uriah, his friend and confidante, murdered (2Samuel 11–12). David left behind an enormous amount of suffering in the wake of his desire, and this psalm proves his awareness of his sin. But in the midst of all that relational wreckage, he confesses to the Lord: “Against you—you alone—I have sinned and done this evil in your sight” (Psalm 51:4).

David is grieving his sin before his Maker. He knows he is utterly lost and in need of God’s forgiveness when he prays, “God, create a clean heart for me and renew a steadfast spirit within me” (v.10). The earthly king is asking God to restore what’s been lost: the joy and peace that can only be found in right relationship with God (vv.10–12). 

Our sin grieves God, and it should grieve us, too. For those who do not trust Jesus for salvation, sin separates them from an eternity with God. For those who do trust in Him, their salvation is secure, but sin can still prevent them from experiencing an abundant, vibrant relationship with God now, on this side of heaven.

Like David, we all have sinned and fall short of God’s glory and perfection. But this is the good news: we’re not called to live perfect lives. Jesus already did that for us! His righteousness is ours if we believe and trust in Him (Romans 3:23,10:9–10). We are called to continuous repentance, to keep turning away from our sin and the false promises of this world, and to turn back to God with all our heart (Joel 2:12). 

If you’re anything like me, there have been times when you’ve struggled to believe you’re truly forgiven and radically loved (Zephaniah 3:17). You’ve heard the righteous rebuke in Jesus’s call to repent, but perhaps not the loving invitation to turn back to Him, and to continue coming back—not because your salvation isn’t secure, but because He knows our rebellious hearts keep us from knowing and enjoying His presence today. 

The time has come! Jesus—Immanuel, “God is with us”—has come near. Repent and return to Him. And then keep turning back to Him. Believe the good news is true, and that it’s true for you.

I tend to overreact to my fear by attempting to take matters firmly into my own hands. My mind begins the work of imagining and anticipating any and all potentially tragic outcomes (e.g., the almost apocalypse of 2000). At the very least, I hustle to protect my reputation; fear of man versus fear of God is very real in my world. My M.O. is to do what’s best in my own eyes and maintain my “good” standing in the eyes of others—whatever that means. I wish I could say that every time I’ve been afraid I’ve taken action by turning to God. While that would not be true of me, at least in today’s reading, it is true of Jehoshaphat. 

An imperfect man in his own strength, the king knew his limits. He also knew the God without limitation. It wasn’t enough for him to seek his own well-being; Jehoshaphat sought the Lord’s favor and protection for his people as well. Out of fear and reverence for God, they were called to holiness, to lead wholehearted lives of integrity before Him (2Chronicles 19:9–10). Jehoshaphat reminded them that even in the face of battle, fear of the Lord ought to outweigh fear of their earthly enemies.

Scripture tells us that when “Jehoshaphat was afraid…he resolved to seek the LORD,” and then he led others to do the same (2Chronicles 20:3–4). In doing so, the people found exactly what they needed from their God. When faced with “a vast number” (v.2,12) of their enemy headed toward them, God told them to put down their fear and discouragement because the battle was not theirs—it was His (v.15). The victory would be His as well. Through the obedience of His people, God would reveal His glory to the other nations. 

Jehoshaphat had no need to run for the hills in self-preservation or stockpile supplies for a fate that would never come. By the time the battle was marching toward his doorstep, he was already in the habit of seeking the Lord (2Chronicles 19). He knew the one true God who is able to save, whose “faithful love endures forever” (2Chronicles 20:21). How unfathomably wonderful that we get to know this God too.