Elders are not a new concept in the local church. They have their roots in the Old Testament as early as the time Moses delivered the children of Israel from Egypt (Exodus 3:16). As the Apostle Paul established new churches, we know, “Paul and Barnabas appointed elders for them in each church, praying and fasting as they entrusted them to the Lord, in whom they had believed” (Acts 14:23). A church without the leadership of qualified elders is not in order (Titus 1:5). God’s design has always been to place loving and capable leaders (1 Timothy 3:1-7; Titus 1:5-9) among His people to shepherd and oversee His mission and their spiritual health.
 
As Peter wrote to the dispersed and persecuted believers in 1 Peter, he knew as an elder himself how important it was to have godly men serving and leading those facing difficult times. The church needed the comfort and reassurance of Christ their living hope (1:3) as well as direction on how to live in uncertain times. As Peter encouraged believers and taught them how to submit to various authorities, even abusive ones in government, workplace, and marriage, he reminded them of another authority in their lives in stark contrast. Elders were not to be abusive, full of pride, or void of Christlikeness. Elders were stewards of Christ’s authority and were to be willing, eager, and humble as they served Jesus’ church. As shepherds (5:2), Elders were to reflect Jesus the “Chief Shepherd” (5:4) in every way. While other authorities like Rome were “domineering over those in their charge”, Elders in the church were to “be examples to the flock” (5:3).
 
Peter “exhorted” the elders to look beyond the short-lived sufferings he and they witnessed to the eternal glory that would be revealed in Heaven (5:1). What a hopeful appeal and present example to the suffering saints to remember their identity as foreigners and exiles! “Exhort” is the word parakaleo and means “called to one’s side to encourage”. What a fitting word that strengthens Peter’s instruction to “shepherd the flock among you” (5:2). What encouragement, comfort, and hope a Christlike Elder brings to those they not only lead but are among. They are among those suffering and being persecuted, but also those whose hope is set on something far greater in Christ. As the church watched the examples and felt the love of their undershepherds of the Chief Shepherd among them, they could flourish under any oppressive and abusive temporary powers knowing the mighty hand of God would exalt them at the proper time (5:6). Elders who humbly lead with righteous authority allow those they serve to “cast all their anxieties on the Lord” and know full well “He cares for them” (5:7). May the church have elders like these among us today.

The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers.
—1 Peter 4:7–11

Prayer became more precious to me when I started thinking of it as opportunities to have conversations with my Father. Prior to that, my praying was pretty much driven by either duty or desperation. I prayed because I knew I should or I prayed because I didn’t know what else to do.

But at some point, that changed. I grew up, I guess. I found myself looking forward to talking with my Father. I loved hearing from Him, and I learned that He really wanted to listen to me. It was the stuff of real relationship.

Don’t get me wrong, these weren’t casual conversations. I know my place. But even the “hard praying” was far better than it used to be. God still convicted and corrected me. There were still plenty of times that I came to Him dragging a load of anxiety or grief or regret. But what was entirely new to me was going to prayer with the confidence that God was glad to hear from me. He wanted me to pray even more badly than I needed to pray.

Just what you’d expect from a good Father.

During this study of 1 Peter, we’ve been talking about living as exiles—people who have been (re)born to live in another time and another place but who, for a little while longer, reside on the paved, gravel, and dirt roads of planet earth. It can be hard, really hard, to live so far from Home. But prayer, more than anything I know of, closes the gap. It makes the living conditions for exiles a lot easier to bear.

Suffering is unpleasant. Suffering is also not monolithic; it has various types. Right now the most famous bike race is going on, the Tour de France. In 21 stages over 23 days, riders test their pain thresholds and what determines the overall champion is how well he can suffer compared to his competitors. This is a type of suffering that is aimed at a certain outcome. In the Christian life this would be more akin to the practice of spiritual disciplines, which in the moment may not be pleasant, but are producing within us the fruit of righteousness.[1] There is also the suffering that is brought about by sin or just poor decisions. This kind is meant to be avoided by the Church.[2] But the suffering that Peter is particularly preparing the church for is a kind of suffering that is the result of persecution, the actions of others to harm or disadvantage us. This is a suffering that comes because we follow Jesus and treasure Him above all the world has to offer. The Christians in Asia Minor are going to experience expulsion from the markets, lose their homes, face interrogation over their refusal to worship Caesar. In the decades following this letter, the Church finds itself hotly pursued for the purpose of eradication. Peter wants them to be prepared for the days that are coming, the days that he is already beginning to see unfold in Rome.

One of the certainties presented to Christians through Scripture is that suffering is inevitable. Jesus Himself told us, “In the world you will have tribulation (affliction, distress), but take heart; I have overcome the world.”[3] Suffering became the general experience of Christians in the early Church, exemplified by the suffering of the Apostles and those connected with them.[4] Suffering was not an exception, but the expectation. And it was expected because they were “sojourners and exiles.”[5] This present ordering of things is a foreign land occupied by hostile powers, yet we reside as citizens of a Kingdom that is not of this world. As Tertullian wrote, “[The Church] knows that she is but a sojourner on the earth, and that among strangers she naturally finds foes.”[6] The present darkness is working to shut out the light and, yet the light only shines more brightly in the darkness. Suffering, rather than muting the gospel of Jesus, serves to amplify it. And regardless of the type of suffering experienced, one thing is sure; suffering reveals what we truly value, what we treasure above everything.

Peter to this point in his letter has sought to encourage the believers living in Asia Minor that even though persecution is increasing throughout the Roman Empire and their present possessions and way of life may be threatened very soon, their true home can never be threatened. Their inheritance is “imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven.”[7] As this persecution came, the Church only became more powerful in its weakness. They were threatened with death if they did not denounce Christ and worship the Emperor; their response was to reassert their worship of the true God revealed in Christ and gladly lose their life. For their death in the present age grants them entrance into the presence of God, their reward. It was unimaginable to consider trading the eternal hope of Christ for the fleeting comforts of life in the present. May we seize upon the same anchor, to treasure Christ in such a way that our life in the present world serves as a witness that there is more; there is more beauty, more goodness, more comfort, more justice, more life than what can even be imagined in this mess of a world. Jesus is coming to make all things new!

One of the testimonies during this era of the church that exemplifies what Peter is teaching here is that of Ignatius of Antioch, Bishop of Syria (Antioch). Writing to the church in Rome during his guarded transport from Syria to Rome through Asia Minor (the area where Peter’s addresses reside), he explicitly asks them not to intervene in his inevitable death, for he sees this as his way of faithfully testifying to the gospel of Jesus and obtaining the outcome of his faith. He writes:
 
I am writing to all the Churches and state emphatically to all that I die willingly for God, provided you do not interfere. I beg you, do not show me unseasonable kindness. Suffer me to be the food of wild beasts, which are the means of my making my way to God.[8]
 …
Fire, cross, struggles with wild beasts, wrenching of bones, mangling of limbs, crunching of the whole body, cruel tortures inflicted by the devil­–let them come upon me, provided only I make my way to Jesus Christ.[9]

Ignatius did not force his death, but willingly and fearlessly walked towards it bearing witness to the hope of the resurrection. He did not seek to be freed from his fate, but entrusted his soul to his faithful Creator and glorified Him by holding fast to his confession even unto death.

May we hold fast to our confession of faith in Jesus as we face the various trials in our day, knowing our brothers and sisters throughout the world are experiencing persecution unto death and may we faithfully pray for those experiencing these fiery trials that they may obtain the outcome of their faith, the salvation of their souls.[10]
 
[1] Hebrews 12:11
[2] 1 Pt 4:15
[3] Jn 16:33
[4] See Acts 4:1-3, 5:40, 7:54-60, 9:16, 12:2, 14:5,19, 16:19, 17:6, 21:30-31
[5] 1 Pt 2:11
[6] Tertullian, The Apology ch.1
[7] 1 Pt. 1:4
[8] Ignatius of Antioch, Epistle to the Romans 4.1
[9] Ignatius of Antioch, Epistle to the Romans 5.3
[10] 1 Pt 1:9

Eighteen years ago this month, I stood at the double back doors of my childhood church sanctuary. The pews were packed with dear family and friends. And I’m positive there were at least as many butterflies making a scene in my stomach.

Everything was perfect. Only the flower-petal path lay between me and my soon-to-be-husband. I tried my best to take it all in as I took my dad’s arm, and the band began to play and sing:

We’ve come to declare the beauty of the Lord,
declare the beauty of the Lord.

We had chosen this song for our wedding because it seemed to perfectly reflect the sacred privilege of husbands and wives in kingdom-of-God marriages. Marriage is meant to display, albeit in a less than perfect way, the beautiful love of God in Christ Jesus for us, His people.

But those lyrics are more than a wedding day declaration. They are a whole way of life… for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part!

In fact, every day of marriage, we have a choice. Will we follow our feelings and fight for ourselves? Or will we follow in His steps and choose what He chose – gentleness, purity, forgiveness, humility, faithfulness, submission, and love?

Will we partner with each other in pleasing God? Will we peel back the pretty facades and attend to the hidden issues of the heart? Will we bear with one another and honor each other? Even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when it isn’t reciprocated. Even if everyone else calls it crazy.

It’s easy to declare the beauty of the Lord when you’re wearing white, and the candles are lit, and the cake is waiting to be cut.

The real challenge comes later - when the music fades and the make-up has been washed off, and everything feels far from perfect. When the tensions are high, and you don’t see eye to eye. When feelings are hurt, and pride is wounded. When you’re tempted to pick up an offense or just focus on lesser things. That’s when the declaration really makes a difference. That’s when it’s most compelling.

If you would have asked me in June 2006, if I believed the words of that song as it related to my marriage, I would have blissfully said, I do. And I really did.

But all these years later, after good seasons and bad, I am more convinced than ever of the honor and responsibility we have as citizens of heaven in kingdom-of-God marriages.

As husbands and wives set apart from this world, we come to declare the beauty of the Lord!

(1 Peter 2:21-3:7)

The San Diego church was a flurry of activity, so I hadn’t quite heard what he said.
“Do what?” I asked, wanting him to say it again. The pastor grew up in southern California and stood there blinking back at me.

“Do…what,” he said the words back to himself trying to make sense of it.

“It means repeat what you just said.”

“I…don’t think it means that. Must be an Arkansas thing.”

He wasn’t wrong. The South has its own vernacular that doesn’t always translate to other places in the country. It makes us stand out when we’re far from home. In many ways, this is true of every culture.

It’s especially true in the Kingdom of God.

1 Peter 2:11-12
Dear friends, I urge you as strangers and exiles to abstain from sinful desires that wage war against the soul. Conduct yourselves honorably among [unbelievers], so that when they slander you as evildoers, they will observe your good works and will glorify God on the day he visits.

For millennia, citizens of Heaven have found themselves wandering among the hordes of cultures on earth. Their true citizenship not being found on a national registry but on a bloody cross and an empty tomb. It means, as a citizen of Heaven, I have far more in common with my brother in Christ over in Denmark than I do the guy from Des Arc sitting next to me at a Razorback game who cares nothing about Jesus.

And, according to Peter, accents don’t set us apart. Actions do. When we respond to someone’s anger with gentleness, when we hunger for righteousness, when we love our enemies and bless those who curse us, we speak the language of our native land.

It makes Arkansans scratch their heads and wonder why someone would do such things. It doesn’t translate to the culture they know. And as they stand there blinking trying to make sense of it, perhaps they’ll think, “Must be a Jesus thing.” Perhaps their hearts would be opened to hear the gospel message from us.

Or in Peter’s words, may you live in such a way that people around you long to move their citizenship.

I remember, as I was growing up, there was a consistent phrase that was repeated to me. Whenever I was going over to a friend's house, on a trip, or somewhere on my own, my dad would say to me, “Remember who you are and whose you are.” That phrase had multiple levels of meaning. On one level, it meant I needed to remember my family values and what my parents had instilled in me as good and honorable behavior. But on a deeper level, it was a reminder that I was first and foremost a child of God, empowered to live a life that reflected Him, and that I would be in His keeping as I did. It was a reminder that as I entered the world, how I lived and what I did would not be dictated by those around me, but by something much deeper and foundational.

1 Peter is very much a reminder to God’s people to remember who they are and Whose they are. Peter writes to some who are currently experiencing the persecution of Rome but many who have not yet but will shortly experience immense suffering, and his call to them isn’t resistance or revolution, but remembering. Remembering that their union in Christ and with one another is not determined by nationalistic, political, ethnic, socio-economical, or any other identities, but solely on their oneness in Christ Jesus, their Lord and Savior. He writes,

"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light." - 1 Peter 2:9

Peter urges the church (including us today) to remember that we are:

A PROMISED PEOPLE
Peter reminds the church that they are a ‘chosen race.’ When he mentions “race,” he is not referring to a specific, monolithic group but to the promised, multi-ethnic, diverse people that God has promised since the beginning. This people will be from all different backgrounds because their incorporation into the Kingdom of God will not be based on any earthly factor but on the love and grace of God in choosing them. In their instability, suffering, and trials, they can remember they are a part of God’s promised plan (Isa. 19:24-25) to bless all nations, and while they may not be chosen by the world, they are chosen by the only one that matters, God.

A PRAYING PEOPLE
Peter reminds us of the church’s priestly role, admonishing them as a “royal priesthood.” A priest was one who would perform the necessary sacrifices and offerings for the people’s sins to be forgiven, requests to be made, and worship to be displayed. Because of Jesus, our great High Priest, the church has now become a royal priesthood, a people set apart to intercede and to work on behalf of those around us. One of the main ways this is done is through the work of prayer. Are we a people of prayer, consistently and fervently interceding for each other and those around us?

A PURE PEOPLE
Peter reminds us that the church is a holy nation, set apart to be different and to display the holiness of God. The righteousness granted to each believer has been purchased and administered by the life and work of Christ, and that righteousness will produce a different way of life. It is not a better life than the world around us but a completely new one. Being a Christian isn’t a sub-culture we participate in but something that changes and permeates every facet of one’s life. What we value, the decisions we make, the things we do and do not do are not determined by the world’s standards, but by whether it reflects God and His Kingdom.

A PRIZED PEOPLE
The last thing Peter wants the church to remember is that they are a people for God’s own possession and purposes. The world may discard and disdain them, but their God prizes them. Why could they rejoice in their sufferings? Because they do not belong to the world; they belong to God. They are His. Knowing this truth is what brings courage and endurance to the life of a believer: that we are loved and cherished by God. Knowing this truth leads to the only appropriate response: proclaiming the excellencies of God.

May we be encouraged and challenged by Peter’s word to the church, and as we go out, may we remember who we are and Whose we are.

“One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn’t belong.” Do you remember this song from Sesame Street? A group of objects would appear on-screen, and we were asked to decipher which one was out of place. The answer was simple, but the ever-patient Bob McGrath would whistle through the jingle, giving our little eyes enough time to spot the difference. A red balloon stuck out in a group of blue balloons, or one shape did not match the others. Even as children staring at grainy 1980s television sets, we knew when something did not fit.
 
In his letter to the early church, Peter commanded his readers, “be holy in all your conduct” (1 Peter 1:15). They were to cast off the trappings of the prevailing culture and live as sanctified people. Down through the centuries, the instruction remains the same—there is not a corner of your life you get to claim as off-limits to Christ’s purifying work. We should live in such a way that if our marriages, our business practices, or our daily interactions were lined up alongside those of unbelievers, someone could easily find the outlier. And yet, so often, we make it much too hard.

Far too frequently, we take on the customs of a place we do not call home. We play their game to attain power and wealth. We explain away our sin patterns with the same kind of moral equivalency. Our scandals look like their scandals, our arguments sound like theirs. We fight with the same weapons, harnessing the same rage and vitriol. And so the city on a hill fades from view, behind a fog of our own making. The salt loses its saltiness. The light begins to flicker in the shadows. We lose our witness not because we are too different from the outside world, but because we are too similar.

We forget that our citizenship was blood-bought and we start acting like we belong here.

The Christian life is not child’s play; it is for the sober-minded. But the instructions are often simpler than we make them out to be. We are called to be holy. We are a people set apart, exiles commissioned to serve our host home and pursue righteousness so that when our time is up, those who have been watching can spot the difference.

Our otherness is an invitation to a lost and dying world, meant to make them homesick for a place they’ve never been. The salt creates a craving for richer foods, found at a coming feast. The light draws them in, away from the darkness. Our lives are a dispatch from a far country, heralding the good news, “There is something else out there, something better than all of this.” And we show it is better, dear brothers and sisters, by first showing that it is different.

1 Peter is a letter addressed to believers who have been scattered throughout several Roman provinces in Asia Minor – what would be the general region of modern-day Turkey. They have suddenly been confronted with the reality that they are not at home anymore. They are displaced and scattered abroad, but still chosen by God to be His representatives in this world.

So how do they do this?

As citizens of God’s Kingdom, they are still being sanctified by the Holy Spirit into people who can be obedient to His voice no matter where they live. Neither exile nor persecution can rob them of their citizenship in the Kingdom. Nothing can separate them from the love of God in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:39).

With that confidence in the power of God to save and to sustain their salvation, they can live confidently for Jesus in this world whether the world is favorable or hostile towards them. God’s mercy in salvation has given them a living hope solidified by the resurrection of Jesus. This living hope is leading them to an imperishable, undefiled and unfading inheritance that has been reserved for them in heaven. God’s power protects them against any threat to that gift of salvation and the inheritance that results from it. They have the possibility of living an abundant life now ushering them right into eternity because of the power of God as revealed in the resurrection of Jesus.

So, even though they are displaced from their homes, even though they are encountering various trials and the distress that can come from those trials, they can greatly rejoice. Rejoicing at the life that God has given them that will result in their resurrections as well. Rejoicing that God is at work in them even during these trials to strengthen them and refine them as gold is purified by fire. Rejoicing because their circumstances no longer dictate the fullness of life to be had – Jesus does.

As followers of Jesus, we will at times find ourselves at odds with our culture and the world. This should not surprise us, because this world is not our eternal home. So be hopeful that what God has started in us, He will complete. Regardless of the difficulties this life may bring, there is much rejoicing to be had. Our exile does not negate our adoption as children of the King or as citizens of His Kingdom. So, live abundantly and rejoice!

My husband and I became parents last year. Our daughter, Hope, is only 14 months old, but I already have a long list of ways I feel like we could’ve parented better–tweaking this sleep routine, displaying more self-control in that stressful moment…the list goes on. But as I was sharing this feeling with another young parent today, I remembered something about my own parents.

My parents were first-generation believers, coming to Christ in their twenties a few years after my older sister’s birth. They were (and are) anything but perfect parents. They were young, newly believing parents with tempers and passionate personalities. But they did something wonderful for me, something beyond getting sleep schedules just right or never raising their voices. No matter the season–be that successful career celebrations or living paycheck to paycheck, their marriage teetering on the brink or their marriage being restored and their love for one another reaching new depths–they prayed. They brought everything–sometimes reluctantly, sometimes with shouts of joy, sometimes with cries of anguish–to the feet of Jesus. 

My parents weren’t perfect. They aren’t perfect. But they knew who they served, and who they belonged to. And louder than any lesson they voiced, they displayed a life of believing in a God who is “compassionate and merciful,” who wanted them to come to Him again and again with everything life might bring (James 5:11).

James 5:13-20 invites us into this kind of life. “Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing praise. Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord.”

Though they aren’t perfect, and they aren’t even perfect at praying, my parents kept falling back at the feet of Jesus in prayer enough that when my husband and I found that conceiving a child wouldn’t be easy for us, and we began to pursue adoption much earlier than we planned to, we fell at Jesus’ feet in prayer too. For three years, in tears of anguish as we celebrated and mourned our first child all in one day, and alongside friends and family who wrapped their hope-filled arms around our breaking hearts, we kept falling at the feet of Jesus in prayer. For three years, in anger we cried out to God, and in faith we cried out too. And in June last year, Hope broke through and our first beautiful daughter was born.

James is not inviting us into a life of lifting our prayers up to a deaf or stoic God. He is inviting us to pray again and again, in all circumstances, to a God is always faithful to hear–a God who is “compassionate and merciful.” Won’t you fall at His feet in prayer today?

By: Jenny Stricklin

“Dear brothers and sisters, be patient as you wait for the Lord’s return. Consider the farmers who patiently wait for the rains in the fall and in the spring. They eagerly look for the valuable harvest to ripen. You, too, must be patient. Take courage, for the coming of the Lord is near.” James 5:7-8

For his eleventh birthday, my son asked for a rock tumbler,  a little machine that transforms natural rocks into smooth gemstones. He’d already collected a few gems from various souvenir shops, but he wanted to be able to polish his own.

When the big day rolled around, he was so excited to open his gift. Couldn’t wait to get the thing out of the box. He’d have smooth rocks in his pockets by dinnertime.

So you can imagine his disappointment when he discovered that it would actually take more than thirty dinnertimes for the tumbling to take full effect. That might as well be forever.

Waiting is the worst.

Turns out rock tumbling is a lengthy refining operation, in which the rough exterior of the rock is buffed off by varying degrees of grit over the course of several multi-day progressions.  So, if he wanted the smooth rocks, he’d have to surrender to the process.

And bless his heart, he did.

But do you know how he managed to endure?

I suppose it’s how any eleven-year-old could manage to wait thirty-something dinnertimes for a result they really wanted right now. Every day, he studied the pictures on that rock tumbler box. Every day, he imagined what it would feel like to hold those rounded rocks in his hand.

In other words, he fixated on the final product. When he considered what he had coming, he believed that the waiting was worth it. He remembered the trial was temporary.

I think that’s what James means for us too.

We can endure because eternity is near. We can suffer long because it won’t be long till suffering ends. We can surrender to the process, and in the process find surrender to be a good gift.

Study the Story. Imagine the day.

Of course, nobody knows how many more dinnertimes there are until that day comes. But everyone knows it will be worth the wait.

I would prefer not to set myself in opposition to the Person who is the very reason for my existence, salvation, and eternity. But I do it.

All the time.

The claim that pride is the “greatest of all sins” has always seemed like an exaggeration to me, even though Proverbs 3:34 indicates that God doesn’t treat it lightly. He opposes the proud? Why? Of course all sin separates us from God, but why does God’s reaction to pride seem so… extreme?

C.S. Lewis seems to have an idea. “As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always looking down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.” (Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis) And unfortunately, upon reflection, I see this in my own life.

• When someone accomplishes more than me, I sense a blow to my reputation. 
• When I’m told what to do, I feel annoyed at the use of authority over me.
• When I fail to “be the best at what I do”, I’m angry at myself for falling behind others.

This is all rooted in comparison. The desire to be better than, have more than, and be more well-respected than anyone else. Than, than than.

Contrary to what I used to believe, this doesn’t mean feeling stuck-up all the time. Pride manifests in many forms: irritation, anger, overconfidence, perfectionism, and sensitivity to failure. And while we’re busy looking down on the people we’ve “surpassed” and around at what we don’t have, we’re unable to look up.

He is the One Person we will never be greater than.

And His presence is an agonizing blow to our pride.

As C.S. Lewis puts it, pride is a “completely anti-God state of mind.” (Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis) And this mindset is particularly easy to slip into without noticing– purely because it can manifest in so many different ways.

But do we really want to live in opposition with the Person who is the very reason for our existence, salvation, and eternity?

I sure hope not.

Let’s ask God to search our hearts and reveal any wicked ways within us (Psalms 139:23-24). Perhaps we’ve slipped into an anti-God state of mind without even knowing it. And after we’ve identified the pride in our lives, let’s head straight into His presence.

After all, looking up keeps us from looking down.

I loved fishing with my dad as a kid. We would catch a ton of catfish and crappie in that 14’ flat bottom boat. One time when we finished fishing, we motored to the dock so I could get out and back the trailer down the ramp to load the boat. I was about fourteen and my dad would teach me to drive when we went camping. I was in such a hurry to drive that day I stepped out of the boat and it began to drift away from the dock.  With one foot on the dock and one foot on the boat, I slowly did the splits till I fell into the lake! I’ll never forget what my dad said when I popped up. “Son, you can’t be friends with the world and God at the same time. You’ve got to pick one!” I never knew what that meant till later in life I read James 4:4, “Do you know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Therefore, whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.” Expecting sure footing on both God and the world only leaves you suspended over inevitable failure. We’ve got to pick one!
 
James knew internal straddling produced external struggling. One cannot simultaneously be a friend of God and the world. That’s two-faced. Godliness and worldliness cannot coexist. James called those who act this way adulterers – those who unfaithfully cheat on God with the world. After all, we are the bride and He is the groom (Ephesians 5:22-27). James began chapter 4 by asking where the church's “fights and quarrels” originated. In verse 2, he implied that people would do whatever their flesh deemed necessary to win the fight. This wasn’t a street brawl or barroom tussle. It was a church fight as James asked about the fights “among you” (v. 1). Winning a church fight is never a win. Whether killing with words (see Matthew 5:21-22) or fighting with fists, James recognized external hostility in the church could only be stopped through internal humility in Christ.  Without God, our “wrong motives” fuel worldly “passions” (v. 3). Our spirit apart from the Spirit “envies intensely” (v. 5). What we need is the transforming grace of God who “opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble” (v. 6). The solution to stopping church fights is “submit ourselves to God and resist the devil.” In contrast, our flesh apart from Christ resists God and submits to the devil. 
 
For there to be unity in the church, there must be humility in its members. Humility submits and draws near to God (v. 7). Submission means we stop fighting against others because we realize we are really fighting against God. We throw in the towel and surrender to Him. Drawing near means we run to God through prayer and praise with fellow believers. Humility demands we change how we speak about others. It’s hard to slander your brother (v. 11) while you pray with him. It should grieve and cause when the church is fighting and in disunity (vv. 9-11). When believers quarrel and fight among themselves, everyone is down for the count and unable to rise to victory.  We must humble ourselves before the Lord so He can lift us up (v. 10).

If someone tells you that cats are cleaner than dogs, don’t trust them. That’s a Cat Person. Growing up we had two and they shed everywhere. My whole life I walked around with hair stuck to my clothes and never knew it until I started dating Danielle (my wife) who is very, very allergic to them. Whenever I came around, she’d start sneezing. And I didn’t want her to think she was allergic to me. So, I began taking cat hair pretty seriously. Anytime I left the house, I looked in the mirror and used lint rollers to get all of it off me. They probably saved my marriage.

But there are things more subtle than pet dander that can cling to us.

There are pathogens in the air that cause disorder and every vile practice. Most times, we have no clue that they’re seeping into our words and hanging onto our actions. We bring them with us every time we leave the house. And they harm others because they’re dangerous. Thankfully, the Apostle James has given us a mirror to spot them.

James 3:14-18
If you have bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast and be false to the truth. This is not the wisdom that comes down from above, but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic. For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice. 
 
But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.

The mirror shows us what clings to our hearts and minds. How often does jealousy corrupt our gratitude? How has selfish ambition eroded our motives?  James 3 can feel overwhelming at first glance. Wisdom from above is pure and peaceable and…so many things other things we often are not. But praise God for James 1.

James 1:5-6
If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind.

This call to prayer has been like a lint roller for my soul. Whenever I look into the mirror and see these earthly, unspiritual, and demonic patterns shaping my heart, I cry out to the Lord who is willing to generously give wisdom from above. If your reflection finds you lacking as well today, give it a shot. It’s a prayer He’ll always say yes to.

If you spoke to me after a Sunday service, or texted me to meet for coffee, or ran into me at the grocery store, you might be fooled into thinking that I’m quite far along in my journey of “taming the tongue.” It’s far easier to be “peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial, and sincere” (James 3:17) when the conversation lasts only a few minutes, and requires little of my true nature to be shared. But look a little further, and my struggles to control my tongue become clear.

No person highlights my need for James’ reminder to tame the tongue more than my husband. The stress of everyday life, from handling household needs to paying bills to wrangling our 13 month-old as she enters toddlerhood to even a small passing comment made on a busy day is all that is needed for me to “set ablaze” the forest of our marriage with my tongue. 

Why, with the person I love most, is it easiest for me to toss aside James’ warning in chapter 3 and take over as pilot of my own ship, rather than being led by the rudder of Christ?

Tish Harrison Warren in “Liturgy of the Ordinary” details the same struggle to make peace with her husband more than anyone else. Warren argues, however, that it is in these everyday moments, whether in our homes or our other small, daily spheres of influence, where our obedience to the Bible’s instruction to make peace by doing things like taming our tongues is most important.

She argues “We are a quarreling people, but God is reforming us to be people who, through our ordinary moments, establish his kingdom of peace. Believing this is an act of faith. It takes faith to believe that our little, frail faithfulness can produce fruit. It takes faith to believe that laying down my sword in my kitchen has anything to do with cosmic peace on earth.”

It’s much easier to focus on how well I’m taming my tongue in public than to reflect on how quickly I let my tongue wound my husband at home. And it’s much easier to convince myself that my obedience “out there” in the world is more important or impactful than my obedience at home, with only my husband’s and God’s ears present. But like Warren argues, when I repent and ask for God’s help to tame my fiery tongue in conversation with my husband on the living room couch, God is not only “reforming” me, but I’m getting to participate in bringing his kingdom of peace to earth.

Now, I’m praying I can start to see these everyday moments with my husband the way God does–as wonderful opportunities to see heaven come down to earth, through the seemingly small choice of asking the Holy Spirit to help me tame my tongue.

The men at her door were different than the others. She could tell right away. The word “Israel” conjured up stories she had heard for years about a rag tag group of slaves turned ocean parting army. Any city their God brought them to they conquered. And now, here they were in her hometown. Rahab trembled with fear. Fear, yes, but something else too. Something very much like hope.

Where Jericho saw a threat, Rahab saw salvation. A way out.

Before she ever opened her mouth to profess her faith, Rahab acted in a way to prove it. There was not enough time to do otherwise. In a moment, she had to decide if the stories she had heard were folklore or fact. And if they were fact, they changed everything. So she moved stealthily to hide the spies and then approached them with an audacious request. She asked for a rescue. She believed that God’s promise for Israel could be extended to her when everything around her said it couldn’t possibly be. She was the wrong woman with the wrong job from the wrong city. Would God even offer a lifeline to someone outside of the chosen race?

The answer was a resounding yes.

God didn’t just throw Rahab a life preserver, He grafted her in as a daughter. She didn’t merely survive; she was written into the sweeping story of His ultimate rescue. The woman from enemy territory became a matriarch in Israel’s royal line, a line that would give birth to kings and one day, a Savior. When they called the roll of ancestors to announce Christ’s birth, when few women were mentioned, Rahab was remembered. In a long list of Israelite men, the woman from Jericho was named.

Our faith begins when we believe that the stories we have heard are true, but it doesn’t end there. Not when the stakes are so high. Upon these stories rest matters of life and death, a choice between destruction or salvation—not only for us, but for those around us. So we move. We believe God’s promises extend to us and we act in a way that proves it.

The God of Abraham is the God of Rahab. If we don’t look closely enough, we will miss the miracle of that. James tells us we serve a God who looks at the faith of a founding father and the faith of a pagan prostitute and says “in the same way.” By grace, through faith.

And their faith had feet. Does ours?

Faith and favoritism are incompatible. Like oil and water, they do not mix – and believers should not attempt to combine them. Favoritism has no place in the Church or life of the believer. Unfortunately, favoritism, which is rooted in selfishness, has crept into the practices of the Church. Sometimes church leadership is selected by how much money or influence someone has rather than the character they possess. Sometimes sin is overlooked or dealt with inconsistently because we like some people more than others. Sometimes decisions are made based on how the church will directly benefit from them instead of considering how those decisions will primarily extend Christ’s love, compassion, and hope. Showing favoritism because someone is rich usually goes hand-in-hand with neglecting the poor. Does the Church start and sustain programs, practices, and even facilities to boast “look at us,” or do they form from sincere desire to help the least of these – the poor, marginalized, widow, orphan, foreigner, and those far from Christ?  
 
To combat favoritism, everybody needs a truth-telling and straight-shooting friend like James, the author of the book of James in the Bible. In James 2:1-13, the half-brother of Jesus reminds of the necessities for all believers and churches to avoid the sin of favoritism. James commands us to “show no partiality as you hold the faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory” (v. 2). We must ask, “Is Jesus glorified by my actions toward others?” Because Christ is rich in glory, we must not glorify the rich! Jesus, “who for our sakes became poor, so by His poverty you may become rich” (2 Corinthians 8:9) didn’t model prioritizing the fleeting riches of this world, but the eternal richness of the gospel.
 
James also reminds us God has chosen the physical poor of this world to be spiritually rich (v. 5). This is also true about the spiritually poor as, “blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 5:3). God is not against having riches, but consistently warns throughout Scripture how money can be a stumbling block through the “deceitfulness of riches” (Mark 4:19), a trap from the “love of money” (1 Timothy 6:9-10), and blinders because of “how hard it is for them that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God” (Matthew 19:23). If God has chosen to show favor to the poor, how can believers show favoritism to the rich?
 
James recalls the believers’ commitment to fulfill the Royal Law “love your neighbor as yourself” (James 2:8; Lev. 19:18; Deut. 6:4; Mark 12:28-31). James reminds when we show favoritism, we break the Royal Law. He calls favoritism what it really is – sin. James says when we break this one law, we’ve broken all of them (v. 10) as a reminder of our desperate need for Christ who alone can forgive sin and change lives. In contrast to favoritism, when we love our neighbor, we are also loving God Himself. Love left to our own interpretation will be steeped in selectiveness and selfishness - and that isn’t love at all! 
 
A final reminder from James is Jesus is the Judge. We must remember His justice (v. 12) and display His mercy (v. 13). Our words and actions will be judged by Christ (Matt. 12:36-37; Rom. 2:6-11). Christ, who is rich in mercy, desires mercy to flow from our lives to others. Every point from James reiterates we are to be people who express our faith through the love we have received from Christ.

But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing. —James 1:22–25

We’ve all known people who had an above average knowledge of Scripture that, sadly, didn’t appear to be much affected by it. They’re often critical, impatient, and boastful—all while being well-versed in what the Bible has to say about … being critical, impatient, and boastful.

I suppose that’s why James’ mirror analogy stings so much. I definitely see reflections of myself in that description—a guy that could quote Scripture and still not have much to show for it.

It’s a warning to us all, isn’t it? The desire to study the Bible is not necessarily a desire to grow in righteousness. We can want to know without wanting to be.

Personally, I love studying the Scriptures. I love teaching them. But, I don’t always love doing them (see Ezra 7:10). That doesn’t mean that I should put my Bible reading and studying on pause until I get my motives in order, it means I need to “persevere “as James puts it.

Interesting word, persevere. It highlights the connection between enduring obedience and deepening knowledge. When we act on what God’s Word says, we take the posture of one who will continue to learn and grow.

The one thing we must never do with the Word of God is forget it.

How many times have I read something in the Bible (or in a book, or heard a sermon or a podcast) and thought, This is good, I need to remember it. I’ll even say a quick prayer, asking God to help me remember it. But then I’ll get on with my day. And forget. What was fresh on my mind—and my heart—in the AM is hardly a thought in the PM. Because I forgot, because I didn’t do.

There aren’t enough highlighters, notebooks, apps, or study methods that can do for me what simple obedience can … It’s the doing that keeps me from forgetting.

Be honest. When we hear James say, “Consider it all joy, my brothers, when you encounter various trials,” joy is not what immediately comes to mind amid trials and tests. No one is happy when the difficulties of life come, but there is also no escaping trials and sorrows. They are just a part of life. We live in a fallen creation, and we are a fallen people. At some point in our lives, hardships will come. Wrong will be done to us by someone. Wrongs will be done by us to others. Tragedies will come.

So, how do we handle the various trials that come our way?
 
We can either be defeated by these trials or strengthened by them.

Living the way of Jesus is the answer, but it can seem like an upside-down way of living.

With Jesus, death always leads to life, surrender always leads to freedom, confession always leads to peace. Trials produce perseverance, patience, maturity, and even joy as we grow in our relationship with Jesus. His way is always the best way because he is “the way, the truth, and the life.” (John 14:6)
 
Jesus said in Matthew 11:28-30, “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”

Not only can we bring him all our weariness and burdens that trials can bring, but we can also learn from him through them. As we learn from him, we see that his yoke, his way of life, is easy and his burden is light.
 
Frederick Dale Bruner says this about Jesus’ yoke, “A yoke is a work instrument. Thus, when Jesus offers a yoke, he offers what we might think tired workers need least. They need a mattress or a vacation, not a yoke. But Jesus realizes the most restful gift he can give the tired is a new way to carry life, a fresh way to bear responsibilities. For in the final analysis, realism seems that life is a succession of burdens; we cannot get away from them; thus, instead of offering escape, he offers equipment.”

Jesus gives us everything we need to not just “bear up” under the weight of the trials, but to find joy and faith in him also.
 
Finding this joy comes from knowing that Jesus will supply everything we need for an abundant life.

James 1:17 says, “Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting of shadow.”

We have everything we need in Jesus and everything we have in Jesus is good. We can trust Jesus to be with us and to work for us.

Joy is always found in the presence of Jesus. Have faith in him.

Imagine standing in the corner of the room as the scene plays out. We are here to listen, to observe and learn.

Solomon enters; he kneels beside the bed of his father, David. Years have shrunk to hours. David’s final act will be that of both king and father: instruct Solomon on the main things of life and service.

But why are we here? What impressions is this exchange between father and son, old king and new king, dying man and living man to leave on us? What will we hear? How will it change us?

I’ve thought about this only a little, but here are a couple impressions the scene—recorded in 1 Kings 2—leaves on me.

Legacies are built on integrity. We all know that David was a flawed man, yet in the end, we identify his life with repentance rather than rebellion. He had given up his ways of hiding and denying and lying and blaming.

Can you imagine how differently this end-of-life conversation with Solomon would have gone had David still been living in darkness?

Integrity can be regained by the mercy and grace of God.

Our lives are chapters, not books. David didn’t build the kingdom on his own; he was neither the first nor the last to wear the crown. All his work that was underway would either be finished by someone else or left incomplete. Though a man of great influence, David’s importance didn’t make him immortal.

None of us are the book. Ours is not the whole story. And the sooner we come to grips with this, the more we will learn from the chapters that preceded us and the better we set up the chapters yet to come.

It started in secret, but David’s sin that began behind closed doors was beginning to seep out from the cracks. Nothing could stop it. Not even the body of a dead man. The prophet came to him with a parable, one that would hit close to home for the shepherd boy turned king. But David wasn’t the hero of the story this time. He wasn’t the protector of the sheep.

No, the shepherd had become the thief.

The blood of Uriah would drip down through David’s line, leaving its violent stain on his children, weaving itself into the very thread of Israel’s history. When Bathsheba was listed in future genealogies, she would be called the wife of Uriah, reminding all who read that she had never been David’s for the taking.

But rather than craft a comeback story, David penned a hymn of repentance. He wasn’t concerned with protecting his position of power, but with returning to his first love. More than anything, he feared losing the Spirit that fell on him as a boy in Bethlehem. It wasn’t time for a public relations campaign, but for brokenness, an examination of the darkest parts of his heart. And true heart cleansing is a bloody business.

Looking our sin square in the face is ugly and brutal. We would prefer to gloss over it and explain it away. We like to toe the line, offering an apology that is just remorseful enough but still protects our good standing with others. This simply will not do. When we downplay our sin, we make light of the wounds that paid our ransom. We look at the stripes on our Savior’s back and mutter, “those don’t seem so deep.”

There is a time to be wretched and mourn and weep. It’s the only way to begin to comprehend the kind of mercy it would take to save us. True repentance isn’t about restoring a position but returning to a Person. So, we face our brokenness head on. We confess. We were meant to be shepherds but acted like thieves.

And then we remember that the One who came by way of Uriah’s wife loved thieves until the day He died.

While the man hanging next to him looked like just another fellow criminal, the thief saw a Savior. He felt the weight of his guilt. He had never been more exposed to it than in that moment. Yet he didn’t ask to escape punishment. He just wanted to be with this Jesus. So, with his dying breath, he asked for rescue. And with the Savior’s dying breath, He offered it.

The thief became an heir. Jesus Christ’s broken body paid his admission into the kingdom.

Our sin was great. It was great indeed. Hallelujah, His love was greater.

And when those who bore the ark of the Lord had gone six steps, [David] sacrificed an ox and a fattened animal … So David and all the house of Israel brought up the ark of the Lord with shouting and with the sound of the horn. —2 Samuel 6:13, 15

Todd Henry wrote, “It’s possible to succeed your way into failure when you lose sight of the bigger picture” (emphasis added). Mr. Henry was making the point that in our work lives we can get so caught up in completing a project that we lose sight of the purpose behind our work. When we just move from one thing to the next, we eventually lose momentum, inspiration, and creativity. Life centers on getting things done.

For all the good results that our work may produce, Solomon said it was all “vanity” and “vexation” (Ecclesiastes 2). Not exactly the guy you want recruiting workers or rallying investors, but he does have a point: we can do good things—and do them well—and still miss the truly important things.

This can just as easily happen in our spiritual lives as well.

We can teach, sing, preach, lead, serve, greet, pray, attend, read the Scripture, set up chairs, care for babies, give, and do it sincerely. All good stuff. All necessary stuff. Yet without the presence of God, the awe-inspiring, worship-inducing presence of God it misses that “bigger picture.”

David and his chosen men learned this the hard way when, after a failed attempt, the death of one of their own, and a three-month delay, they finally retrieved the ark of God to return it to its rightful place in Jerusalem. In what would seem like an unusual act, if we didn’t know how badly things had gone the first time, they stopped just six steps into their 3-mile journey (as some have calculated it) and … worshiped.

An intentional pause to celebrate and acknowledge the presence of God. This wasn’t break time. Six steps hadn’t worn them down. This was Hallelujah! time.

God likes it when His people celebrate Him. And this is often when He empowers them, unites them, refreshes them, instructs them, reminds them of His glory.

We miss so much when we neglect worship.

We might still get things done, but how much better it would be if we were to stop—every six steps or so—and exalt our great God.

Ever had those moments? When it seems there is no way out of a tough situation? Young David was being falsely accused and chased by King Saul in Psalm 57. As you know, Saul and his men came into the cave where David and his men were hiding and David was trapped. The cave behind him, the enemy in front of him. But David managed to escape by the grace of God. Psalm 57 is his prayer and confession after he was rescued.

Sometimes we think there is NOTHING we can do when our back is against the wall. But notice all of the actions David took.

1. My soul will take refuge in You until destruction passes by. (vs 1)  He consciously turned to the Lord in trust and made God His hiding place. And, he kept trusting God until the dilemma was over. Are you?

2. I will cry to God Most High (vs 2) He knew that God was the One who "accomplished all things for me" and would "send from heaven and save" him. So, he cried out in faith. He prayed and kept praying. Are you praying?

3. My heart is steadfast, O God. (vs 7) He remained steadfast in trust in God and did not waver. Are you?

4. I will sing, yes, I will sing praises (vs 7) He praised the Lord. Praise is the ultimate expression of faith. David found a way to thank God in the midst of his dilemma, believing that God was absolutely sufficient. Are you praising?

Was all of this just a worthless exercise? Shouting into the wind? Spiritual bravado? You know the rest of David’s story. God stunningly delivered David, just as He promised. All that happened developed David into a mighty man that God could greatly use. And his witness to the faithfulness of God has stood (and will stand) to the end of time to help and encourage others.

There is a bench with an iron back and wooden slats. The arms curve downward like a ram’s horn. It sits at the edge of deep water that’s fed by a spring beneath the earth. The pool is aquamarine in the center, like a dallop of the Caribbean was scooped out and placed there. A constant breeze moves over the top of the water towards the bench at all times. It picks up the chill of the pool before it hits you so that the sun and the wind swirl in harmony. The grass beneath the bench is perfect. I don’t know a better word for it. Not pristine or fussy. Not itchy or unkempt. Perfect.

I’ve never physically been to it. There are no coordinates to plug into your phone. Yet I’ve sat on the bench with the Lord too many times to doubt its existence. It’s real. I promise.

I’m looking at it right now even as you read this sentence. I brought you here with me so you could see it too. This is where the Lord, our Shepherd, is leading us. This place is where He quiets our hearts and restores our souls. Where He sits with us. Speaks to us. Where we feast among adversaries and are shown the paths of righteousness.

I wanted to show you in case it’s dark where you are. In case you are in the valley where death is so near that you can smell its breath. Even there, if you stop long enough, you will feel His hand holding onto you. He is guiding you through that terrible place towards the bench and the water and the breeze. Mercy and goodness have not left you. They follow closely at your heels. Every inch of the path under your feet is paved with steadfast love and faithfulness.

So, do not be afraid to follow Him. He will protect you in the darkness. He is guiding you to the bench beside still waters. Go sit with Him and listen.

It was a rough day for Israel. Encamped along the battle lines opposing the Philistine army, they had listened to the taunts of a giant. They had listened and they were afraid - cowering in their self-deception that the very God whom their army represented was unable to rescue them.

Enter this confident teenager.

David was there, sent by his father to check on his brothers and bring them supplies. He was there to provide sustenance to the army of Israel but found a group of frightened men - men who wondered if anyone would step up and slay the giant - their giant.

Sound familiar? Have you ever sat in fear, believing that the God of the universe had abandoned you? Believing that you were stranded in the presence of a malevolent giant? Believing the lie?

Remember David.

When David approached King Saul, offering to kill the giant himself, Saul brushed him off. What could this adolescent do that neither he nor his soldiers had been able to do? What experience in battle did he bring to the table?

David had met giants before. He had killed a lion and a bear. When one of these beasts had threatened his flock, he ran after it to rescue his own. And when the bear or lion turned on him to attack, he killed it. Author and speaker Jennie Allen suggests that perhaps God sent these beasts to David. Maybe, in these little giant moments, He was preparing David for his big giant moment. Maybe God wanted to show David what was possible when the power of El Shaddai was with him.

And in his moment with a terrifying giant in his path, David did not cower in the shadows.

He ran.

He ran toward the giant. Rather than believe the lie that God was not able to deliver him, he set out to destroy this beast in the name of the LORD of Hosts, the God of the armies of Israel. This giant, who had defied the truth of the God of David was about to fall.

And he did. One stone from the sling of a truth believing kid was all it took.

I have two questions for you:

• What is your giant today?

• What lie are you believing about God?

Are you believing the lie whispered in your ear by the enemy that God can’t deliver you? Is it possible that every battle you’ve ever fought has been to prepare you for the giant you face today - and that even this battle is to prepare you for the giant you’ll face tomorrow?

Maybe God wants to show you what is possible when the power of El Shaddai is with you.

Run to the giant. Run in the name of the LORD of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel. 

Samuel filled his horn with oil and made his way to Bethlehem, with thoughts swirling in his head. It wasn’t long ago he had anointed Israel’s first king. Had it really gone wrong this quickly? At first, Saul fit the bill perfectly—head and shoulders above his peers, the son of a wealthy man, a poster boy for the Israelite army. But God did not let His people get far into a monarchy before He showed them how foolish their request had been. Like a mirror held up to the nation, Saul showed Israel how quickly their hearts could be led astray. Instead of fighting battles to protect his people, the warrior king began to fight to protect his own ego. So off Samuel went to find Jesse, a father of sons.

Samuel watched the brothers pass by in birth order. He assumed God would send a man who matched the stature of Saul. But as each came before him, God stayed His hand. Almost as an afterthought, Jesse mentioned one more son, still out in the fields tending the sheep. Not even worthy to make an appearance. As the small, ruddy, bear-wrestling poet was called in, the old prophet readied his horn with oil. This was the one.

Often the king we’re looking for is not the king we need.

Even though Israel deserved a king like Saul, God wanted a man on the throne with a heart like His, the heart of a shepherd. Shepherds fight every bit as hard as warrior kings, but for different reasons. They don’t fight for trophies on a wall, but to protect their flock against predators.  

While his anointing happened that day in Bethlehem, David’s coronation was not immediate. He didn’t storm the palace and stage a coup, but entered as a servant, a musician to soothe the troubled mind of a failing king. He returned home to tend the flocks while his brothers were away at war. Yet not a moment of this time was wasted. David would one day fight Goliath because he knew the strength of God’s hand as he fought bears and lions coming after his sheep. He would lead Israel in worship because he found his singing voice out in the fields.

Anointed men and women of God don’t look past their own flock to the horizon of bigger and better things. They take care of the people God has already placed in their charge. They don’t try to elbow their way into a calling. They know fields can be proving grounds for kings. They are faithful in the waiting and hopeful in the anointing.

Centuries later, a cry would ring out in Bethlehem from another red-faced boy. This Anointed One was little more than an afterthought in David’s town. He didn’t have the stature for a palace, but He had the heart of a shepherd. And He would do whatever it took to protect His flock.

He wouldn’t be the king we were looking for. He would be the King we need.