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“My Father is glorified by this: that you produce much fruit and prove to be my disciples.” (John 15:8, CSB)

Whenever we talk about living fruitful lives, the conversation generally circles around the things we should be doing. And rightly so—faith without action cannot be called Christian discipleship. That said, God is also concerned with cutting away things in our life that hinder our ability to produce fruit: sins, distractions, obsessions, ambitions, worries, fears, etc. When did you last consider what God may want to cut away from your life?

Jesus called the Father the vinedresser (John 15:1). He tends (as severely as needed) to every branch joined to Jesus, who is the vine from which our fruitfulness utterly depends. There is a serious warning in the depiction of the vinedresser removing every branch that does not bear fruit (John 15:2). More promising (though still difficult), in the same sentence Jesus teaches us the way that the Father tends to those who do bear fruit: “every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit” (John 15:2). Pruning is a necessary removal of whatever might be hindering the increasing fruitfulness that God desires in our living.

A caring brother shared a book with me recently by Dr. Henry Cloud, who writes about the importance of pruning. To illustrate, he explains that rosebushes and other plants produce more buds than the plant can sustain. If all the buds are allowed to remain, then the plant won’t produce nearly as many mature roses. “The gardener,” Dr. Cloud writes, “frees those needed resources so the plant can redirect them to the buds with the greatest potential to become mature roses. Those buds get the best that the bush has to offer, and they thrive and grow to fullness. But the rosebush could not do this without pruning. It is a necessity of life for rosebushes.”  

That was helpful for me. God is not only interested in cutting away things that are sick or dead (i.e. sinful), but also those things which—thought not wrong in themselves—are taking away from the main things that we were designed to become and produce. Take a few moments in your prayer time this week and ask the Vinedresser: “What needs to be cut?” 

How’s your political talk? When that certain elected official who irks you most comes up in conversation, what comes out of your mouth? When you read headlines that “blast” others on topics you feel most passionate about, how quick is your impulse to “share”? There is certainly nothing wrong with being outspoken about one’s convictions—indeed, we need strong voices that stand for what is right and good and true. But shouldn’t the believer’s voice have a distinct, Christ-reflecting wisdom and tone that sets it apart from the norm?

“The heart of the wise makes his speech judicious and adds persuasiveness to his lips.” (Proverbs 16:23, ESV)

“The tongue of the wise makes knowledge appealing, but the mouth of a fool belches out foolishness.” (Proverbs 15:2, NLT)

“When there are many words, sin is unavoidable, but the one who controls his lips is prudent.” (Proverbs 10:19, CSB)

There is a time to share our political views—views which should be formed by our faith—but if we merely parrot the voices of those who shout our views most provocatively, have we helped?

Now, that is not to say that the voice of wisdom is not at times provocative. One of my favorite proverb-pairings says, “Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest you be like him yourself. Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own eyes” (Proverbs 26:4–5, ESV). While these verses seem contradictory at first glance, they actually demonstrate that different scenarios call for discernment. Like Jesus, the voice of the wise will not always be predictable. Jesus spoke with stunning compassion to disgraced sinners and then delivered the woes to the religious elite!

The point is, as Christians, our speech—including our political talk and social media sharing—should reflect Christ. In this stormy political season, let’s not merely parrot the bashing and mocking; let’s speak with Christian wisdom and grace and virtue. 

The latest streaming TV series that has captured my interest follows the expeditions of a group of “overlanders” as they set out in 4x4 vehicles to see amazing and hard-to-reach places that many people never see. The views captured as they go are breathtaking. Their experiences on the road, obstacles overcome, and the joy of accomplishment in the end—while it makes for good TV—inspires people to do less watching and more going and seeing and doing.

While watching these adventurers set goals and go places others never go, I’ve also noticed how ready they are to go home as their trips come to an end. Sleeping in a tent for weeks on end makes one appreciate a real bed and hot shower more than before. Even more, the greatest joys of home come more into focus: family. Being away from home and longing for it has a way of reminding us what the main things in life truly are.

Paul—an overlander himself—used the metaphor of a tent to describe our mortal existence (2 Corinthians 5:1-9). Our current experience, in which we struggle and groan, is not permanent. We have a “house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens” and we long to “put on our heavenly dwelling” (2 Corinthians 5:1-2). We long for it not merely because this life is hard and that one more pleasant, but mostly because we long to be with Jesus. It is a longing for one’s family at home that says, “we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5:8). Paul thought of his life in the here-and-now as an expedition away from home. It was a life of meaning and purpose, as well as hardship and struggle, yet only a temporary excursion that would soon enough be outdone by the joys of home.

While Paul longed for that heavenly home, we also have a great deal to learn from the way he lived in his tent: “So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him” (2 Corinthians 5:9). If Paul had a “bucket list” (and it appeared that he did, Romans 15:22-29), it took its form by that one aim to please the Lord.

It gives me pause: What am I aiming at? What are my goals for today, this year, the next ten? Sometimes we live aimlessly. Sometimes we just chase our own dreams. But aiming to please God? Well, it’ll sure take you to places many never see.

About ten years ago, while serving as a campus minister, I received a handwritten letter from a church member named Walt McDonald, who I had not previously met. He introduced himself as a former professor of English at Texas Tech, elderly, and suffering from cancer. He suspected that his time was short and had hopes to speak to college students about the gospel while he had the strength. As I later discovered, he was not just a former professor, he was a former Air Force pilot, author of over 1,800 poems and other works, one of Texas Tech’s honored professors, and the 2001 Texas Poet Laureate.

I invited Walt to deliver a series of talks to the students in our campus ministry, and they were eloquent and powerful talks. To this day, I can vividly recall certain details and the effect they had on me. Two things impressed me most: First, that a man so widely applauded would relate to me and everyone around him with such humility. And two, that a man with such an accomplished past didn’t go on and on about it. He spoke instead about God’s grace and the hope held out in the gospel.

On the last evening that he spoke, Walt gave me a couple of his books. Occasionally, I’ll pick one up and read a poem or two. My favorite of his poems is one called: Faith is a Radical Master. It’s a baseball poem in which “God bats on the side of the scrubs.” The author describes himself as a weak player, late in the game, on third, and “wondering how I’ll wobble home” if someone gets a hit. “But there,” Walt writes, “there in the box is God….” God points his bat toward center field and “all my family in the clouds go wild, all friends I’ve loved and lost…tossing their gloves like wild hosannas.”

Since I’m not big on baseball, it took me a while to understand the poem. But I think I finally get it. It’s the expressed faith of a man who has come to know God as one who acts on behalf of the weak and the wobbly, bringing them home with rejoicing. Paul wrote, “We boast in the hope of the glory of God” (Romans 5:2). A few verses later it becomes clear that such a boast is not a boast in one’s own giftedness or goodness; it is the rejoicing that goes wild with hope when a person realizes that God bats on the side of the scrubs—yes, for the weak and wobbly sinner. 

One of the memes that has been going around recently shows a photo of Mr. Rogers with his neighborly smile next to a photo of Tom Hanks in the crazed look of his Cast Away role. The caption reads something like, “Your pastor before Covid. Your pastor now.” I love it. It humorously illustrates the real effects of this challenging season that all of us are feeling (and showing!)—including ministers. While I’m certainly among those ready for this ordeal to end, I am not among those most profoundly affected by it. Some have lost loved ones. Some have lost jobs. Some have had almost no human interaction for months—and they feel profoundly lonely. They may not be stranded on a deserted island or talking to a volleyball (yet!), but they are perhaps closer to the experience of a cast away than many of us realize.

Human beings were made to connect. As introverted as some of us are, we are all social creatures. Companionship and regular interaction with others are not luxuries of life; they are needs. Those of us who are regularly getting out and seeing people (above the nose anyway) might need to spend some time asking ourselves, “Who have I not seen?” Then give them a call. A simple phone call does not merely brighten their day; it meets a real need—every bit as real as the need for things like food and shelter.  

I was reminded recently of a word used by the Zulu people of South Africa to greet one another: sawubona. It means: “I see you.” It sounds kind of funny to our ears (and especially weird if you use it over the phone!), but it expresses something that every person truly needs and longs for: to be seen by another, to be noticed, to be heard, to be known. The story is told in Scripture about Hagar, the servant girl of Abram and Sarai who—after doing what they asked—found herself put away harshly, having nowhere go and no one to turn to. She fled to the wilderness, pregnant and alone. There, the angel of the Lord found Hagar and spoke into her situation. Profoundly touched, “[s]he gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”” (Genesis 16:13). We all find ourselves in a wilderness of loneliness at times, and we have a God who finds us there. He sees us there. He knows. He cares. And in God’s wonderful way, he helps us in such times to see the One who sees us. 

Several months back, during the shutdown, we had a water leak at the church building. On a normal week, it would have been no big deal; instead, it happened while all our staff were working from home. Thankfully, some of our servant-hearted members chose to spend a Saturday morning mowing the church yard and, in the process, discovered the leak, which by that time had grown to be a sizable flood.

It was all quickly cleaned up and repaired, and afterward got me thinking about a similar sight in the Bible. The person who called me that Saturday morning described how they came to notice a small stream of water which led them inside to the “lake” in the building. The description reminded me of one of the prophet Ezekiel’s visions in which he was guided to doors and gates of the temple and saw that “water was trickling out” (Ezekiel 47:2). As he followed the stream, its depth went from ankle-deep to knee-deep to waist-deep and finally to a river that couldn’t be crossed! This was not, of course, a water leak; it was a life-giving river flowing as a blessing from God to renew and restore a dry, lifeless wilderness. Ezekiel observed that wherever the river went, there was life (47:9). There were trees everywhere, fresh fruit, swarms of living creatures, and even the salty Dead Sea turned into a fresh-water lake teeming with fish (47:7-12).

Ezekiel was a prophet during exile, and this vision was part of a larger message of hope, of promise, of restoration, and of a future for God’s people and the nations. It was a vision of a drink offered to a Samaritan woman (of all people) when Jesus said, “Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life” (John 4:14).  It was a vision of those who, like you and me, would one day put their faith in Jesus: “Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water’” (John 6:38). It was a vision of the “the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the lamb through the middle of the street” in that new Jerusalem we await (Rev. 22:1-5). It was a vision for a discouraged people in a time of affliction that continues to deliver a timeless message to God’s people today: The future for God’s people is good and glorious. It may seem hardly a trickle at present, but a mighty river is coming.

How is your sense of anticipation these days? In many ways, being able to anticipate something good is as important as the actual experience of that good. It’s what keeps a person from despairing in long stretches of sorrow and struggle. We anticipate weekends, vacations, holidays, special events, changing seasons, the visit of a friend, etc. The expectation of relief and refreshment just around the corner adds joy to everyday drudgery. But without it, despair and discouragement set in.

We are walking a stretch of road right now that seems to have no such corner in sight.

Years ago, during a class I was teaching on discouragement in hard times, a quiet, gray-headed woman—whose life modeled joy and faith in hardship—shared the verse she recalled every morning: “In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectantly” (Psalm 5:3). In context, that verse is from a prayer that cries out for help, described in various translations as groaning or sighing (Psalm 5:1-2). It is on those mornings when all we’ve got is a groan and a sigh that such a psalm helps us look to God with that important anticipation factor.

I heard a story recently about two little girls. The older of the two was reading a storybook to her little sister. At one particularly exciting part of the story, the littlest one exclaimed, “That’s impossible!” To which the older (and wiser) sister responded, “You aren’t the boss of possible.”

Maybe you need that reminder today. If the road before you seems unpromising, bleak, lonely, and frustratingly joyless, remember that the God who is the boss of possible is with you. He is the one who makes “a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Isaiah 43:19). And when your downcast heart tells you that there is nothing more to do than groan and sigh, tell it: “You aren’t the boss of possible!” Then point your heart to God, with whom all things are possible (Matthew 19:26), lay your requests before him, and “wait expectantly” (Psalm 5:3).

Unaware that we would soon lose many of our normal ways of doing Christian life together, last February and March we spent six weeks, prior to the shutdown, studying a letter addressed to the “exiles scattered throughout the provinces” (1 Peter 1:1). How fitting it seems now.

In that letter, Peter compared their situation to exile (1:17) and reminded believers to live holy, standout lives that shine in the darkness (1:16-17; 2:9-12). He wrote about being grieved by various trials that test the genuineness of faith (1:6-7); about the church as a “spiritual house” (2:5); about our relationship to government and what it means to live as free people (2:13-17); about the close quarters of home and the call to be understanding and respectful in marriage (3:1-7); about suffering and the Christian response to insults (3-4); about the responsibility of elders/shepherds and the humble submission of the congregation/flock (5:1-5); about casting our anxieties on God (5:7); and about having a reason to hope (1:13, 3:15, 5:10-11). So relevant.

As I re-read the letter this week, one verse stood out as especially timely: “Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1:13). Our present experience (though it seems like forever!) is temporary, and so the mind of a Christian looks beyond what is to what will be. Secondly, the mind of a Christian needs to be ready to act. Literally, Peter says to “gird up the loins of your mind,” an expression similar to our own “roll up your sleeves.” Clear your mind of distraction and focus on God’s call to action.

The Covid-19 disruption has not stopped the church from being the church, but it has slowed or paused many of the normal ways we have always done things. So, we could just wait until normal is possible, or we could give fresh thought to what it means to follow Jesus now. Each of us have received a gift to use for service, and God has called us to be good stewards of such gifts (4:10-11). How do you intend to live and work for God’s glory as we move forward? 

How long, O Lord? (Psalm 13:1)

This difficult season drags on and on. How is it affecting you? Are you growing frustrated? Weary? Sad? Depressed? We can easily look around and back at history and notice that many have had it worse—but that doesn’t exactly lift our spirits. Things seem bleak right now. We miss normal. We miss smiles and handshakes and hugs. We miss singing at church, and that quiet, distinct, lovely sound of communion trays passing through the congregation. We miss our friends. We miss family. Will such joys ever return? How long will this go on?

Psalm 13 is a prayer for such times. It is one of many psalms categorized as a lament, and it is meant to help us through bleak and lonely times. Learning to pray this way is important; otherwise we tend to grumble. You haven’t grumbled recently, have you? ;)  

It is often pointed out that gratitude is the antidote for grumbling, and I wouldn’t argue. Scripture teaches us to “give thanks in all circumstances” (1 Thess. 5:18); and the practice of it certainly helps put everything in perspective. But that’s not to say that we shouldn’t also talk to God about the hard and unpleasant things. If you look to the Bible to learn how to pray, you find an abundance of lament: crying out to God in pain and struggle and loss. This, I believe, is as much an antidote to grumbling as gratitude is. It is often through the honest expression of sadness and frustration in prayer to God that leads our heart to truly trust him.

In Psalm 13, lament leads to trust. The feelings are voiced first—feelings of being forgotten, abandoned, humiliated, and sad (vss. 1-2). Then comes a very personal cry for help, addressing the Lord as my God and seeking to be considered, answered, and rescued (vss. 3-4). Then comes trust in the steadfast love of God and the confidence that there will again be cause for singing and rejoicing (vss. 5-6). Trust grows through the stages of prayer; so don’t skip lament. Talking through your most restless feelings with God will lead you to a place of peace in his presence.

Why go to church? It’s an important question for the time we’re in. Some of us, if we’re honest, have really enjoyed Sunday services at home. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing to admit. Sundays have been slower, more restful. There is no hurry to get ready, no concern for how you look, no hassle with hair or wind or traffic—just the anticipation of a few moments that lift our spirits and fill our hearts.

There is no question that God can use such a season to refresh and heal our sometimes hurried and restless approach to Sundays. It seems that he has been doing that in my own heart. But still, it needs only to be a season. God designed the church to be, well, exactly what the word means: an assembly, a gathering. Church is not just a spiritually uplifting and nourishing experience; it is the coming together of real people with all our wounds, struggles, heartaches, differences, quirky personalities, and wondrously varied gifts—all tied together in Christ. It’s harder and messier than virtual church, but greater.

Ephesians 4:1-6 is a hinge-point in a letter that says much about church. Paul urges Christians to walk in a manner worthy of the calling, which clearly, he sees as being lived in the context of fellowship with the people of God. Such a life-among-others is to be characterized by humility, gentleness, patience, and bearing with one another in love. We are taught to be “eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (vs. 3). This teaching is a call to diligently guard against the countless things that so often divide people: politics, race, differing opinions, unforgiveness, self-centeredness, etc. Our Christian bond runs deeper. It’s also a call to be eager about something our Father is eager for: all his children being together as one.

Online gatherings are the best we can do right now, and we thank God for such a blessing. Even when church doors open, it will be wise for some to continue to stay home a while longer.  But, when the time comes to “go to church” (and only when it’s responsible for you to do so), remember that while an online experience has its upside, there is something greater: the harder and messier but profoundly more beautiful unity in which we see God “over all and through all and in all” (vs. 6).