by Joel Bates “There’s going to be complications.” Now that statement immediately has my full attention and produces much anxiety. My wife is pregnant…really, I’m not kidding. and at her age—which I will not reveal in this writing for my own protection. When medical professionals examine her, they often warn, “There may be complications.” I went to the bank the other day to do something as simple as open a new account, and sure enough the teller informed me, “There may be complications.” I lead a small non-profit Christian adventure camp, where just describing what we do feels complicated. Added to that, I face keeping the place running and managing the overhead costs, recruiting and training staff, dealing with government red-tape, addressing insurance issues, developing marketing schemes, and implementing ministry programs. Sometimes I wring my hands and want to scream, “Why does it have to be so complicated?” Even a simple situation can become complicated—like discovering the toilet paper roll is empty and you need it right now! I really hate complications. Then the holidays arrive and, well, complications accompany them, too. Please don’t get me wrong. I love Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s, but let’s admit it; there’s going to be complications. Did I budget enough to get those gifts? Will people like what I got them? Which side of the family do we visit for Christmas? The church wants you to be in the choir or even more…the pageant. There’s the company party and decorating the house, sending the letters, trimming the tree, wrapping the presents. By the time the day comes to bake the turkey, your figurative goose is already cooked! Alternatively, consider the complicated feelings that rise to the surface for many who live through the holidays facing the loss of loved ones. How complicated it must be to long for the days when you had something other than heart ache to complicate your life! I was lamenting complications to my wife recently, and after listening to me complain, she reminded me that everyone has complications. We are all forced to live in a world where it’s common to hear, “There are going to be complications.” We all will face complexities, dilemmas, problems, trials, crises, pain, loss, tragedy, the unexpected, the unexplainable, frustrations, heart break, embitterment, obstructions, and confusion. There will be complications, and where is God in all this? Does He notice or even care? Is He simply above it all? There are three pictures that stand out to me when I consider the question of whether God notices or cares about our complications. Think back to the narrative of Christ’s birth. It’s easy to do that around Christmas, especially if you’ve gone through the mayhem of Black Friday shopping. Oh, little town of Bethlehem, how crowded and bustling we see thee lie. Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, there is no silent night in the stable nor in the heavens because a war is raging in the cosmos between angelic forces at the birth of a King. In the little town, there is no room in the inn, and everyone’s irritated because they are a displaced people group, scraping out an existence in overcrowded conditions under Caesar’s cruel whims fed by insatiable greed. Held unaccountable, molesting Roman guards patrol the streets, so you’d better keep your wives and daughters close at hand. That’s the setting for the birth of the King of Kings. The scene is even more complicated, though. Mary will be forced to deliver the Christ child out back in a stable. Imagine the complications of finding the proper supplies for the job, the help necessary to aid her in birthing the Savior. Did Joseph have to obtain permission to use the stable and a permit to park the donkey outside? Imagine the braying and bleating, the street traffic, and the pounding pulse of a restless, clogged thoroughfare that usually provided sleepy passage through a backwater burg. And amid all this complication…a child is born. The Prince of Peace rests there in Mary’s arms. Fast forward about 30 years or so to a big lake on a dark night. A storm is kicking up to a full gale, causing even the seasoned fishermen in the boat to lose their cool. The Christ child born so many years ago is now a man on a mission, but presently He is fast asleep, peacefully resting in a boat that is being beaten by wind and waves. The scenario is plain to the salty seamen piloting the perilous craft. They are caught by surprise in the middle of the lake with nowhere to go but down. The solution is complicated. They cannot unfurl the sails for fear of capsizing. They cannot out row the gale for they haven’t the strength. They won’t outlast this storm, and they know it. So, they rouse the Man who is used to complication. He was born to it, made for it, angered by it, and rises to meet it. Wiping the tired from his salt-sprayed eyes and pulling back the wet, wind-whipped hair, He extends a hand to the mast to steady himself and cries out into the midst of the storm…the mayhem, the peril, the complications, “Peace! Be still.” And at the words of the Prince of Peace, all that was complicated becomes simple, silent, and serene. Fast forward again to a day where the sky looks much like that day on the lake as dark storm clouds gathered. A thick, ominous gloom lies heavily across the land. Sorrowful followers pull His limp body, or what’s left of it, from a cross and hurriedly entomb it. Life itself has left humanity, and most of humanity doesn’t even know it, doesn’t realize what they’d done as they laughed and jeered at the man, scorned Him, and spit upon His body. They had beaten and mocked Him and tried to tempt him to deny who He was. It is a time riddled with complications, but not for Jesus. The Pharisees, Sadducees, and religious leaders have had to compromise their staunchly held doctrines and even ignore their own laws to unite against Jesus. Herod has had to befriend Pilot, his Roman enemy, to see Jesus crucified. Pilot wrestles with his inner conflicts as he sentences a clearly innocent man to be executed. All of Jerusalem faces the complicated fact that they’d celebrated the Messiah and cried “Hosanna!” to Jesus just five days earlier and now shout, “Crucify Him!” in a frenzy on Friday. But Jesus, who had been born into complexity, who had grown accustomed to resting in the midst of problems, knows exactly what He is doing, and so He goes to the cross. He goes through with His death, serving all this complicated mess of humanity, including us today. With their Hope lying in that dark tomb, amid a hurting world where the demons rejoiced over the death of Emanuel, the disciples grieve the loss of their Lord. Jesus just lies there in that tomb, practicing what he preached and lived and demonstrating once again that He is the ultimate Prince of peace. Even death can’t rile Him. For He understands hope; in just a few short days He will rise once and for all and put an end to letting complications have the final word. He brings forth life and the solution to every complication. Now fast forward one more time to today…this moment, this holiday season. There may be a day, week or month ahead of you filled with the light and momentary complications of everyday life during the holiday season. Jesus is able to help you rise above the stress and bring you peace. Maybe it’s worse than that, and you’re in the storm of your life in a season where it looks like the boat is going to sink or capsize. Jesus will rise up, call out, and command the storm to be quiet. He still calm storms. Test him and see. Maybe there’s even more, and you’ve officially ruined your life. Maybe the enemy is tempting you to yank that steering wheel to drive into a tree and end it all. Maybe you’re staring at a bottle of pills that promise no more pain. Be assured, Jesus is not just the Prince of Peace for those with only slightly messed up, complicated lives. He is the Prince of Peace and the great Savior and Redeemer of totally lost causes. He was, for all the world knew, a lost cause as he lay in that dark tomb. But He knew the truth about complications: He’d been born into them, walked among them, ministered through them, and had never been overcome by them, thus proving that He is the Authority over all complicated scenarios that humanity faces. And He has given us an example of the appropriate response when we encounter life’s complications: Rest in Him and cast your complications upon Him for He is the Prince of Peace.
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by Joel BatesWe love telling stories at Discovery Ministries. Just about everything we do involves a story and invites a retelling. A group gets back from visiting the cave, and the stories begin. A youth group, split into two hiking groups, spends the day orienteering in different locations. They arrive back on camp late for dinner having experienced similar challenges and nearly identical weather and terrain, but the stories are vastly different. An expedition returns after being on the trail for a week, and there are more stories to tell than there is time to hear them—the details will unfold during the next few months.
If you’re like me, you crave a fresh perspective and a winsome new tale. I want a new movie more than a good flick I’ve seen before. Outdoor, experiential Christian ministry always results in a new experience and a great story to tell, but what about the old stories? Seeking new stories, we tend to forget the rich, old stories—stories that define us. A few weeks ago, as I sat in my office, I heard the interns rummaging through the storage closet. “We’re getting rid of old stuff,” one of them directed. She was holding an old, dusty three-ring binder that looked like it hadn’t been opened for at least a decade. “Do we need this?” she asked me. “What is it?” “Oh, just some old copies of past years’ receipt letters.” I shrugged my shoulders. We’ve been sending out monthly receipt letters for over 40 years at this point…letters informing our donors about the life and times of DM…letter after faithful letter by the hundreds. Who would miss the dusty, old reports? I was about to grant permission to destroy the binder when curiosity halted my reply, “Wait! Open it and read an excerpt before we toss them.” The intern thumbed through the pages to a receipt letter dated August, 1980-something. She began reading about how a group of college students from a local campus ministry had come to Discovery Ministries to help put up some drywall on one of our lodge buildings. As the intern continued reading, others working in the office stopped to listen. The letter told of groups who had visited the ministry for the first time and included a quote from one of the participants about how wonderful the experience of doing group initiatives had been. The letter closed with a word about how the staff members were faring at the end of another busy summer—weary but jubilant. After she read the last sentence, everyone was silent in the room, captivated by the voice of the past speaking into our here and now. “Wow,” someone whispered. “I just led group initiatives this morning.” Another intern added, “That was over thirty years ago, and it could have been describing what I did last week.” “Read another,” someone encouraged. Again, we heard a cheerful description of the life and times of our ministry from a bygone era, but the descriptions felt strangely familiar. “We can’t throw this away,” someone said. “It’s got too many great stories.” I couldn’t agree more. Stories are important, especial the old ones. I’m reminded of King Josiah’s story which is a story about finding a story. You see, Josiah was the grandson of Manasseh, one of the nastiest kings of the Bible. Miraculously, Manasseh repented in the end, but not before he had laid waste to the spiritual heritage of the kingdom of Judah. He killed the prophets, desecrated the temple, and demolished the public worship of Yahweh. His son Amon was no better, continuing in idol worship and general ungodliness. He was so intolerable that his subordinates assassinated him and placed his 8-year-old son, Josiah, on the throne. Josiah’s name meant, “Founded by God,” and that’s exactly what happened just a few years into Josiah’s reign. Against the odds, Josiah came to love the Lord so much that he threw himself into the restoration of Jewish worship. He set about renewing the nation’s relationship with Jehovah. The people experienced a revival and began remodeling their center for worship—the temple. It was there in the crumbly, dusty, woebegone house of the Lord that one of the priests found a story. It was a book actually that contained a forgotten, old, old story of God’s relationship with His people, the covenants they had made, and the promises of the Father to His children. The story was so powerful that when King Josiah heard it, he tore his robes in distress. He was the ignorant product of evil kings—a young man who loved a God he didn’t know very well—and he was in charge of a kingdom with a forgotten legacy. The story affected his soul and altered the course of history, bringing a blessing instead of a curse. There’s a great hymn that says, “Tell me the old, old story.” You may think you’ve heard it all before, but there’s still more. You may think we are living in a world too far gone—that the story is lost and no one remembers, but there is nothing that can destroy it. You may feel afraid to tell it—that you’ll get the details wrong, but it’s a story the world needs to hear! Have you rediscovered a dusty archive buried in the annals of ancient history? Do you remember a ministry story of how Jesus impacted people’s lives through challenge and adventure? Does the old, old story you’ve read a hundred times from the Bible still jump out at you, ready to redefine your purpose and rescue you from a mundane existence? Be bold and courageous. It’s time to tell the stories—the old, old stories! Looking for a stocking stuffer? Consider Joel Bates' new book, Life Outside! This is the perfect gift for someone who loves stories, the outdoors, adventure, and seeing God in new ways. by: Joel BatesIf it hadn’t been for the darkness they would have seen me crying and then I would have had to try to keep it together. Praise God for hiding places. Let me start from the beginning. Yet again, I was hiking late at night behind a troop of wilderness wanderers—this time missionaries-in-training, good people called to reach needy peoples. They had persevered and were descending the last ridge into a valley that would be our home during the 24-hour solo before the trip ended. Hiking in the dark was not new to our group, but as we ambled down the barely distinguishable path this night, a strange feeling came over me. I peered into the dark forest, but saw nothing there. Looking up, I saw a million brilliant stars floating in a jet-black expanse, but they did not illumine my way. I paused and heard only the sound of crunching gravel beneath the hikers’ feet. What was I sensing? My headlight beam created a hindering glare, so I shut it off. I momentarily became vulnerable to the darkness and whatever was out there. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. But, I knew something or someone was approaching, pursuing as we neared our destination. Unable to remain quiet, I tapped my co-leader on the shoulder and quietly shared, “We are not alone.” He looked at me with fascination, “Yes, I feel it, too!” I could see him grinning! “He is here,” I whispered. “The farther down the ridge we go and the darker the night, the more I feel Him.” Sometimes, when hiking at night through a thick, tangled woods, my imagination causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stick out and makes every shadow looks like a bear. I was familiar with that misconception, and this sensation was far from that. I had a giddy sense that the divine Creator of the world was behind us, beside us, and before us, enveloping us in supreme solitude with Him. I felt hidden away from the world and all its worries. Even though we were vulnerable, being hours away from any help if trouble should befall us, I felt secure and protected in God’s unmistakable presence. I was still marveling at and relishing the Lord’s presence when the group halted for a snack. So, as we sat on our packs and munched a granola bar, I could only think about Jesus sitting next to me. One of the sweet ladies in our group—a lady headed to impoverished parts of the world where she would join the suffering, dusty throng and, even more, become a living sacrifice, began to sing. Her voice was clear and sublime. Her words of praise poured forth and washed over me, and soon we all joined her in singing the familiar hymn. “Then I shall bow in humble adoration and there proclaim, ‘My God how great Thou art!’” My voice stalled out, choked with emotion, and the tears just started falling freely. I had often happily sung those words in church, but I had never allowed them to penetrate my façade to reveal the depths of my emotions. Fellow worshipers would surely have perceived such lack of control as weakness! In the darkness, no one saw my tears; I didn’t have to try to keep it together. That experience showed me that I need to grow, but until I do, I’m grateful for the darkness that shields me from expectations of others. I am grateful for the arms of Jesus that wrap around me when I’m sitting in the dark on some far away and forgotten trail with only the voices of other sojourning saints filling the space with praise. Praise God for hiding places! Did Paul feel this way as he and Silas sat in darkness late one night, deep in the heart of a Philippian dungeon? Acts 16 tells how these two missionaries, when faced with great adversity, chose to sing praises to the Lord. God responded by sending an earthquake, and then things got really exciting. The jailer, who thought his life was over, met Jesus, and the whole household found new life in Him! A dungeon seems like an unlikely place for a revival to break out, but Paul and Silas must have felt the intimate closeness of God in that dark place. Maybe they sang for joy because the great peril of their situation gave greater definition to their love. Maybe they praised because they were experiencing the overwhelming honor of having the presence of Almighty God with them in that place. Later in Paul’s life, he would write to the Roman church, “For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom 8:38-39). He might have added, “And no darkness will keep Him from us.” Funny how Jesus shows up to sit beside us in the most unlikely places. Often I sense Him in the vulnerable times because my heart is more attentive when the times are tough, like when I’m descending into a valley in the dead of night. Maybe you’re experiencing a dark time, or a vulnerable circumstance. Know that the Father is near, and it is in these moments where a little singing and a few tears may be the perfect response. “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,
even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.” Psalm 139:11-12 |
Come along side us as we journey in and out of the wilderness, discovering our Creator in creation.
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