Jesus told of two men who went to the temple to pray. The first, a Pharisee (think highly trained religious leader), bowed his head and thanked God that he was more spiritual than other men. Now, I pay attention to how Pharisees acted, because I too am a religious leader, highly trained in theology and ministry. These guys are my tribe, as unfortunate as such may be.

The other man, a tax collector, stood in the back of the room with lowered eyes. He beat his chest with his fist and prayed, God, be merciful to me, a sinner.

Which one received the mercy they needed? Jesus tells us the tax collector went home in good standing with God. The Pharisee sauntered over to his buddies, still lost as a goose.

Appeals for mercy (compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one’s power to punish or harm) pervade the Scriptures. We all need the compassion of the Lord on a daily basis. Although followers of Jesus can rest in his salvation, we remain sinful creatures. God’s mercies never go out of style.

The tax collector’s prayer points me towards my need for God’s overwhelming mercy, as well as pricking me about my inclination to look down on others from my perch of exalted religiosity.

So I’m trying to create a habit, to remember to pray this prayer throughout the day: God, be merciful to me, a sinner. Perhaps you’d like to join me?

Luke 18:9-14

Photo by Amaury Gutierrez

On a recent trip to Albania I worked with a team of American professors who lectured on university campuses. In conjunction with the local campus ministry (including line dancing with the students), we built connections on campus. It was a wonderful and encouraging time. But Albania has not always been a country open to Christian professors and dancing students.

After World War 2, Enver Hoxha founded the communist state of Albania. Hoxha launched a widespread campaign targeting religious clergy of various faiths, resulting in public persecution and executions. Religious properties underwent nationalization, coinciding with the closure or destruction of churches and mosques. This culminated in 1976, when Albania became the world’s first constitutionally atheist state. Under this regime, citizens were forced to renounce their religious beliefs, adopt a secular way of life, and embrace socialist ideology.

During these religious purges members of churches and mosques were forced to tear down their own houses of worship. If anyone protested, or complained, or even showed remorse, they were taken away for questioning, some never to return. Imagine being forced to destroy centers of worship, of burials and baptisms, of weeping and rejoicing and neighborly connection. Cruelty marked Hoxha’s regime.

But in the early 1990’s the walls of communism fell across Eastern Europe, Albania’s among them. Today churches and mosques dot the capital of Tirana, all rebuilt in the last 30 years. When the government collapsed only a handful of believers were left, but a generation later thousands and thousands follow Jesus.

Walls crumble and faith rushes in. Today over 100 Albanian staff work with our organization alone. Many more faithful believers serve the Lord in other capacities. Every one of these men and women would have been imprisoned for their faith just a few short years ago.

Psalm 24:1 states, The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who move upon it.

No boundaries exist that permanently withstand the movement of God. Today North Korea maintains walls against the news of Jesus, as well as various Muslim lands. We also know friends and family members with bricked-up hearts. But these barriers are far less stable than their builders realize.

There are no lost causes with the Lord. My time in Albania has me praying for what I consider lost causes and lost people. Who or what comes to mind when you think of a lost cause? Perhaps it’s worth lifting them up to the Lord again, appealing to the one who breaks down walls.

Psalm 24:1

Photo by Denis Ismailaj

Ever wanted to get someone back? One rainy day while escorting a group of prospective students and parents around the University of Missouri (I worked as a tour guide at Mizzou), a driver swerved towards a large puddle and nailed our group. Furious, drenched, and sharing colorful language not included in the regular tour, I hankered for a piece of that knucklehead.

Jesus and his disciples were refused entry into a Samaritan village. James and John (aptly nicknamed the Sons of Thunder) asked Jesus, Lord, should we call down fire from heaven to burn them up? Jesus rebuked them—surely wondering at their thick-headedness—and headed down the road.

James and John savored the power they witnessed in Jesus. They experienced a storm turned off, diseases healed, limbs knit together, demons sent screaming, Pharisees put in their place, and a young girl restored to life. They itched to fire that gun for themselves.

Like James and John, I too would like the fire of heaven available on a whim. A vehicle at Mizzou would have exploded back in the day.

But I fail to grasp the reason for such power. Not to punish, but to seek and save the lost. Jesus chose the metaphor of a Good Samaritan to help his followers understand this very point—James and John and myself in particular.

Jesus came to rescue, not to disfigure. To invoke his name in wanton displays of power, or to take the authority from others that is rightfully theirs is to use his name in vain. On the other hand, bringing his message of salvation honors Jesus and releases his power for its intended purposes.

Luke 9:51-56

Photo by Josep Castells

Jesus calmed a raging storm with a word. His disciples sat in the boat terrified and amazed.

Jesus healed a man long possessed by demons and a menace to his neighbors. As the now gentle man sat at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind, a great wave of fear swept over the people of the region. So much so they begged Jesus to leave.

Jesus entered the home of Jairus to raise his young daughter from the dead. The crowd of mourners laughed at Jesus because they knew she had died. Their laughter passed away when the girl walked out of her room.

Some folks laugh at Jesus, while others ignore or refuse to even consider Jesus. But you might as well shut your eyes to a tornado.

Better to follow the example of his disciples, sit with terror and amazement, and wonder what he might do next.

Luke 8

Photo by Nikolas Noonan