Maybe in reality I enjoy Him only if everything else I treasure goes my way. If my financial situation tanks, I really don’t find much joy in Christ despite Him delivering me from damnation. If my teenagers are just one disaster away from going down the tubes, I really don’t find much joy in what God’s done for me. (That comes later once they straighten out.) If I want to be married but am not, I have to admit God isn’t much of a compensation for me. If a dear friend stops taking my calls, God’s peace does not offset what I’ve lost. I enjoy God as long as my idols are present, clean, polished, intact.
Reassembling, we cried out to God to save those people–and use us in the process. Then we refilled the hole. Youth Pastor Brandon reminded us of our vision to reach the Next Generation, the put a lot of that generation on the rope lines to pull the 1880’s style plow Brandon steered. The furrow was long and deep. It did have a hook at the end that I thought maybe we could improve upon. But when I drove it with those older than the next generation pulling, there was no doubt: we’d been outclassed. Not straight at all, not so deep at times; a rather pathetic furrow in all honesty.
Especially, if you believe God in His sovereignty will save elect people without your help–or anyone’s. Especially if you believe that today, missions should be obsolete. “Let indigenous people lead their own to Christ.” You’ve got to hear this. It was aimed at pastors and the tip of the spear found its mark here. But it could stir you too.