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a monthly devotional journal
by David Lampel
Issue No. 101
April 1999

"B u t  a f t e r  I   h a v e  b e e n  r a i s e d ,
I  w i l l  g o  b e f o r e  y o u  t o  t o  G a l i l e e ."

- J e s u s  C h r i s t


If we inherited our bent toward sinning from Adam, then we also inherited our unique relationship with Jesus from those who saw Him and walked with Him during those waning days of His time on earth. Few moments from His life are more intimate, more personal, than those Jesus spent with His friends during His last forty days upon this earth.

We look upon the death and resurrection of Christ as an epochal, historic moment--a turning point in God's relationship with man. We see it from the hazy distance of two millennia: a moment of great import, yet one that often takes second place to the tyranny of the immediate. We gather together and proclaim the truth of Christ's atoning death on the cross; we gladly declare it to be both historical and doctrinal truth. We rightly worship a Savior who would sacrifice Himself for common man. Our hearts fill with gratitude and praise for one so unselfish and kind--then, come Monday morning, we get back to our real lives: back to the factory, the office, the housecleaning and laundry.

But at Calvary there were those who had lost a close friend. Their real lives had been taken up into the life of the one who had dripped His blood onto that Jerusalem hillside, and it was a family member, a brother, that was then sealed away inside a cold rocky grave. They had all invested their lives in this Man: who He was and what He represented. Then suddenly, He was gone.

Jesus said He would be raised, but, based on their behavior, most of His followers probably assigned that notion to one of His mysterious stories or obscure prophecies. He was gone; with their own eyes they had seen Him put away. Jesus said He would walk with them again, but surely no one could walk away from that kind of horrible death. And certainly no one could walk through stone.




There have been mornings I awake in a clammy sweat, pushed from my slumber by a dark nightmare in which I am left to live out my days without the companionship of my wife. On those mornings sleep vanishes, and the wrenching emotions leave me feeling sick and disoriented. It takes the entire next day for me to shake the sense of loss, to wash the nauseating aftereffects of the nightmare from my system.

For the friends and family of Jesus, that nightmare was real.

Mary from Magdala was still living her nightmare when she came to the tomb that Sunday morning so long ago. Jesus had been much more to her than a respected teacher, and His loss had brought upon her life a heartsick void that she carried along with her that sad morning. Then, heaped upon that sorrow was the strange disappearance of even the body of her Lord.

Life without Him. How would it be to have Jesus suddenly removed from our lives? We have walked alongside Him, heard the tender strength in His voice, accepted the wisdom from His heart. We have felt His strong arms holding us up when others have turned aside, we have felt the rush of His love passing between us. We've known His forgiveness, a mercy only He could possess. What would it be like, were all that taken away?

Those who have never married have grown accustomed to living alone. Even if they would rather be wed, their present lives move to the rhythm of being alone. They have learned, even unconsciously, to rely upon themselves for many things some of their friends receive from their mates. In contrast, those who are married--especially those venerable marrieds--have grown accustomed to the rhythm of depending on someone outside themselves.

Having never known union with Christ, unbelievers never mourn His loss, for they literally don't know what they're missing. The church, however, is the Bride of Christ. Every believer has been joined in an intimate, mystical way with the Bridegroom: the Son of God. Were He, somehow, to be taken from our lives, as He was to those who watched Him die at Calvary, it would be to experience one of life's most agonizing pains.

Imagine, then, the unbounded bliss Mary felt that morning when she heard, once again, that tender voice of her Lord. This one to whom she had given herself totally, the one in whom she had come to rely for everything, this one who had then been brutally wrenched from her life--this one, her Lord, had returned!




Day after day we plod along, trying to work things out for ourselves, befuddled by events and frustrated by our inability to understand the mysteries of life. We're sometimes blind to the presence of Jesus, thinking we're doing things on our own when, really, He's been a part of it all along.

When we finally see that someone, or something, is there helping, we imagine that it's only our own wisdom masquerading as a stranger. Something deep inside us whispers that it is really the Lord, but we push aside the idea. It can't be Him; surely we can work small things out for ourselves.

But the Lord says "What things?" So we do our best to explain, stumbling and tripping over our tongue, our reason swathed in thick cotton, like trying to explain the clarity of nocturnal imaginings with clouded memory, a sleep-masked brain, and a tongue formed from the bottom of an old shoe.

But He listens, kindly, until even He loses patience with our slow-headed obstinacy. And, good friend that He is, Jesus takes us to task: "You're being foolish! You should know this by now! How long will it take? Listen to me, let me explain again how it all works together..."

So we listen, but the dim bulb only begins to glow a little brighter, not yet to full wattage. Recognition comes, but slowly. The many layers of human reason cling stubbornly to us, loathe to give way to the light of the eternal.

After awhile, though complete realization is still outside our grasp, we invite Him to stay. He's a pleasant enough chap, good company and, anyway, who knows--He just might have something to contribute. So dinner is served, the table spread. We take our places about the table and, because we're polite, we invite the wise stranger to say grace. As He lifts His gaze heavenward and gives thanks for the bread, the bulb finally comes to full glow. It is the Lord!

It was Him all along! It was Jesus listening to our frustration, our confusion and misgivings; it was Jesus patiently explaining what we now see was the truth; it was Jesus who walked beside us, shared our weepings and our joy, who took hold of our hand, who picked us up when we fell. It was Him all along!




Modern technology is a wonderful thing. A satellite can be launched and positioned in a geosynchronous orbit (always over the same global location) 23,000 miles above the earth. This satellite receives digital data from a location in the United States, then sends back that digital data over the entire country. I can mount an eighteen-inch metal dish on the roof of my house that will receive that data, and in my living room I can then view a television picture that has traveled more than 46,000 miles, yet is sharper than the signal I receive by antenna from a city only 30 miles away.

They say we have satellites up there that use optics so sophisticated that they can photograph any spot on earth, revealing objects as small as a person. Intelligence groups can conduct covert operations in the dead of night, from the opposite side of the world, and watch the whole thing take place in real time from the image sent to them by a satellite orbiting thousands of miles in space. Modern technology is certainly a wonderful thing.

It's also quite ancient.

God has been using it since the beginning of time.

From the infinity of heaven, the Son of God painted all of creation into existence. Galaxies and nebulas, stars and planets, orbiting moons and rocky satellites--all were breathed into place by the all-powerful, utterly holy God. By simple will, this great God created man and woman, then caused them to multiply. As mankind spread across the globe, the Godhead manipulated whole nations of people, as if they were figures on a chessboard.

Yet this same God--too utterly pure for humans to bear His presence--has many times stooped to deal with individuals in their moment of need.

Man cannot create a lens that will read the condition of a human heart from the infinite height of heaven. But God performs this feat countless times every day. He is a God of the heart, a personal God. He cares about every individual under His care--just as Jesus cared about the bruised hearts of His friend Peter and His brother, James.




The human spirit is tuned to the same senses used by its physical container: touch, sight, hearing, smell, and taste. Try as we might to will it into a higher level of super-sensory, our spirit clings tenaciously to its physical, earth-bound roots. Loftier philosophies may entice, but every component of the human form still responds best to those five elemental senses with which we were born.

God's Spirit, on the other hand, is held down by no such restrictions, for He is, in His entirety, spirit; He has no physical form to weigh Him down. He is free to soar wherever God's will designs. The Spirit may employ the same senses as humans: He certainly can hear our groanings, and can touch our hearts with soothing balm; He peers deeply into our intentions, and might even sniff out our base fears and imaginings. Though He may employ these earthy senses from time to time, surely the Spirit--being God--more often relies upon the one sense that does not come naturally to humans: faith.

"... arise in your hearts?"

When our eyes see a bird with orange breast pecking about in the soil for worms, we know we have seen a robin, and that spring is just around the bend. When a master cabinetmaker runs his callused hand over a board, he knows whether or not it is ready for the stain. When a mother hears the cry of a child, she knows it is hers. These senses are built into us; we need not strive to acquire them. Short of disability, they are there without our trying.

Our sense of faith, however, is not nearly so sure. Because it is not natural to us, and because it is the least used, this sense often languishes in disrepair, so that on those rare occasions when we do pull it out for use, we must first blow off the dust and cobwebs, and oil its rusty joints.

How splendid it would be if our faith were in the same limber shape as our sight or smell or touch. How convenient it would be to rely upon it with the same certainty as our corporeal senses, so that when we are called upon to know the ways of the Lord--to understand with certainty His words, His works, His methods--then our faith will be prepared, ready, and true.

And this is what the Lord means when He longs for us to grow up. Spiritual maturity in the human believer means a closer, more steady communion between our earthly spirit and His. It means that we have trained our other-worldly sense of faith to be as reliable as those with which we were born.




The apostle Peter and his chums would fit right into small town America. Take your average Joe on the street--middle aged, hard-working family man, decent guy, a little rough around the edges--and place him into a troubling situation. Maybe there are problems at home, maybe his boss has been giving him a hard time. Worse than that, maybe he's been presented with an unwieldy intellectual problem, something that troubles his gray cells and he can't quite get his mitts around the predicament. What is his response?

"Let's go fishing."

The favorite way for the American male to deal with a troublesome situation is to ignore it while doing something productive with his hands. Everything will work out fine so long as he just keeps busy.

The second verse of a Christian song popular in the Eighties begins: "When my plans have fallen through / And when my strength is nearly gone / When there's nothing left to do / But just depend on you / And the power of your name."

Good rhyme; bad theology.

No matter the condition of any individual's faith, the human spirit is designed for self-sufficiency. No matter that our relationship with Christ is as solid and deep as can be, we will always try to work things out for ourselves before we call for help. Peter and the boys worked all night on the energy of their own cunning and strength, but for naught. No fish. One word from Jesus, however, and their nets strained under the immensity of the catch.

Jesus doesn't want us to expend all our energy trying every imaginable human solution before we come to Him. He wants us to come to Him first. He is the one with all the answers; He is the one who always knows where the fish are hiding. Jesus is not to be reserved as the solution of Last Resort, but used quickly, instinctively, as the first solution to every troublesome situation.

When his disciples asked John the Baptist to draw a comparison between himself and Jesus of Nazareth, John replied

Christ's perspective is more sweeping than ours. As we decrease our own importance, as we develop the habit of relying on Him, it will become more instinctive for us to turn first to the Lord in all things.




Forty days after the resurrection the eleven remaining disciples joined the ranks of the rest of us. They no longer would have the person of Christ by their side.

They no longer would hear His voice, feel the touch of His comforting hand upon their shoulder, gaze into His expressive eyes. They no longer would laugh with Him over something clever said around the fire, no longer smell His sweat at the end of a hard, dusty journey. Jesus was gone, lifted up into the clouds, and no one among them knew when He would return.

Now things would be easier for them.

For roughly three years they had been torn between the earthy humanity of Jesus of Nazareth and the supernatural power of the Son of God. This one who grew weary by the end of the day, and who would flare with anger over something stupidly said, would also miraculously heal the congenitally lame, converse with demons, and walk atop the surface of the Sea of Galilee. Just as they would become accustomed to the Man, Jesus would display His deity; just as they would get used to walking with God, Jesus would ask for something to eat!

Now, before their eyes, the Man Jesus had ascended into the bosom of His heavenly Father, leaving as a final image in their memories the sight of one last miracle. Then He was gone. There would be no more fish dinners around a crackling fire, no more intimacies shared beneath the branches of a palm, no more sitting at His feet as He shared His wisdom.

Now it would be easier. For if men's feeble minds could hold only one image of Christ at a time, then surely it must be of His deity. In God's wisdom Jesus came in flesh, so that men and women could know that He understood and cared; in God's wisdom Jesus came as a man, for only as a man could He suffer and be killed, then miraculously be raised on the third day.

But only God could save their souls. Only the blood of spotless, sinless God could atone for their sins. And only if He left their side could they share in His supernatural power through the work of the Holy Spirit. They now had a clearer picture of their relationship to Christ: servants to the King.

T o  t h e s e  H e  a l s o  p r e s e n t e d  H i m s e l f  a l i v e ,  a f t e r  H i s  s u f f e r i n g ,  b y  m a n y  c o n v i n c i n g  p r o o f s ,  a p p e a r i n g  t o  t h e m  o v e r  a  p e r i o d  o f  f o r t y  d a y s ,  a n d  s p e a k i n g  o f  t h e  t h i n g s  c o n c e r n i n g  t h e  k i n g d o m  o f  G o d .


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All original material in Aspects is Copyright © 1999 David S. Lampel. This data file is the sole property of David S. Lampel. It may not be altered or edited in any way. It may be reproduced only in its entirety for circulation as "freeware," without charge. All reproductions of this data file must contain the copyright notice (i.e., "Copyright (C) 1999 David S. Lampel."). This data file may not be used without the permission of David S. Lampel for resale or the enhancement of any other product sold. This includes all of its content. Brief quotations not to exceed more than 500 words may be used, with the appropriate copyright notice, to enhance or supplement personal or church devotions, newsletters, journals, or spoken messages.

Unless otherwise indicated, all scripture is from the New International Version. NIV quotations are from the Holy Bible: New International Version, Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by the International Bible Society. Used by permission. NASB quotations are from the New American Standard Bible © 1960, 1962,1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977 by The Lockman Foundation.


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