Are there any bargain hounds out there?  Let me assure you, you’re talking to one of the best.  I’ve been practicing since I was a kid.  There was the time when our small town was having its annual yard sale day, and I left the house with twenty-five cents.  I victoriously returned with an old film camera, a threadbare ball glove, and a bike…never mind that the bike was rust covered and neither tire would hold air.  My mom asked where I got all that junk, and I replied, “I traded up!”
 
It’s natural to want to trade up.  We want to get a bargain for our buck, to come away with the satisfaction that we have gained rather than lost.  This dilemma has been challenging the camp staff lately as we’ve attempted to purge the maintenance shop of “things”—items we have accumulated over many years.  To the newcomers, most of the items are junk, but that’s just because they don’t know the history and don’t see the potential.  Sure, I want it out of the building and off the property, but shouldn’t we get something for it?  After all, we’ve been providing free rent! 

In the end, we agree to try to sell some of it, but then our progress hits a road block as we try to settle on the price tag.  Of course, our asking price doesn’t mean much when the bargain hounds come around, kicking tires and scrutinizing every angle with a fine-tooth-comb all in an attempt to find the flaws to render it worthless.  Reminds me of the man in Proverbs 20:14, “’It’s no good, it’s no good!’ says the buyer, then off he goes and boasts about his purchase.”

Listening to the sermon in church last Sunday, I became convinced that while I may be good at driving a hard bargain, God is pretty bad at it.  The sermon, taken from Genesis 18, retold the account of Abraham and God looking out over the plains of Sodom and Gomorrah, and God says, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.  I’m going to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah.  There’s so much wickedness down there that an outcry has reached my ears.”
 
God lays His cards on the table, and Abraham, being a shrewd dealer, begins to haggle.  But this is not like two bargain hounds haggling over a used car, the one pointing out all the flaws in hopes of a discount and the other praising all its merits so he can get his asking price.  This haggle is different.  Abraham knows he has no leverage, but he asks anyway, “God would you be willing to come down on the price?  What if there’s 50 good folks in that valley?  Then will you spare them?” 

I picture God scratching his chin, smiling coyly at the meekness of the petitioner and knowing the man who’s asking doesn’t possess the cash to make the purchase.  “Yes, I could come down a little on the price.”

I’m sure this story is familiar to you.  Abraham continues to haggle with God in this fashion until he reaches the bottom price—ten righteous people.  “If only ten, what then?” he asks with his hands up, prepared to deflect a blow that surely will come from a holy, all-powerful God who must finally now be insulted.  But instead of a punch comes a promise, “Yes, even if only ten righteous people dwell there, I will not destroy it.” 

If you read your bible or even live very long in this world, then you know the sin story of humanity has a forgone conclusion.  In this account, God’s angelic messengers sent to investigate soon find the faithless failings of these famously fornicating, fearsomely fallow folk in Sodom and Gomorrah.  Judgement comes heavy and harsh in the form of raining fire and putrid sulfur.  It turns out, not even ten righteous ones dwelt in that land.
 
Abraham tried to drive a hard bargain with God, but in the end, God carried out His plan.  Is this simply a case of God pretending to haggle over the price of righteousness, knowing there were not even ten faithful people to be found?  Is this story just another illustration of the disparity between God’s divinity and humanity’s depravity?  You could argue either supposition, but I think scripture is demonstrating something deeper here—namely grace.  I read this account and do not see a God who exercises vengeance with his cruel might, but of a God who, despite an overwhelming tide of wickedness, would stay His hand if only to save a few. 

The direct application here is that wherever you are, if you are a faithful follower of Jesus, you are conferring an unseen, spiritual benefit on those around you.  The fragrance of Christ on you is not just the sweet smell of your own salvation, but also a bastion of good for those who dwell in the land around you.  True, every person must make a choice to declare Jesus to be Lord, but realize the powerful effect we believers have on the world around us.  God said He would spare a land of wickedness for as little as ten righteous people.  If you’re a bargain hound, you know the savings doesn’t get any better. 

But wait...it does!  The second take-a-way from this narrative is that no matter how you slice it, God is just a bad haggler.  He has all the power, holds all the cards, is all deserving of complete justice, and yet He tells Abraham, “Sure, for ten good folks, I’ll hold back my wrath.”  Then He goes and does something even more spectacularly outlandish.  He takes his most valuable possession, His only Son, a prize beyond estimable value, and says to Abraham and all of Abe’s seed, “I’ll make you an even better deal.  How about I give you my Son; I’ll take your sin and give you real life?”  I guess God knew that even if Abraham scoured the planet to come up with one, let alone ten righteous people, he could not do it.  Jesus is the only one. 
​
Jesus says, “You get all of me and all my benefits.”  Terrible salesmen, this father and His son, but terrific saviors.  He goes on, “There’s just one catch.  You give up everything else—all that junk collecting dust—and come follow me.”  Some may hear that and declare, “God sure does drive a hard bargain!  I trade everything and all I get is Him?”  For me, I’d call that trading up.

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by Joel Bates

While most people eagerly await the countdown for the ball to drop on Time’s Square or lean in for that first kiss of the year or raise a glass to toast the end of another chapter, I think about the “Day One” adventure.  Our family has developed this tradition of opening the year with an intrepid outing that goes back to my high school days when my dad and I attempted to summit the highest peak in my old stomping grounds, the Black Hills.  Harney Peak, as it was called back then, rose up to a respectable height of nearly 8000 feet above sea level.  However, it was not the altitude that created the most challenge. It was the deep snow pack that concealed the trail and often left us foraging waist deep in fresh powder and heaving for oxygen in the thin, cold air.
 
Now that I live in Missouri, where the highest elevation in the state is but a trifle to the Rocky Mountain region, what we lack in altitude on our New Year’s Day hikes we make up for in distance.  This year, we picked a seven-mile section of the Ozark Trail that we had never been on, which is saying something as I’ve spent the better part of the last 18 years leading backpacking trips on or near this fantastic path.  Even if the trail offered little in the way of snow-packed, high mountain adversity or the promise of alpine vistas, it offered the key ingredient to all adventures…the unknown.

​As my wife and kids and I set out, it was not snow that covered the ground, but a thick carpet of fallen leaves that mostly obliterated the trail.  Repeatedly, the lead hiker would veer off into the woods only to discover that there was no track.  We would branch out until we found the path and call the others over to regain the trail.

It took so much focus to remain on the path that we barely took in the scenery around us.  About half way through the hike, we came into a section of trail that was maintained better and easer to follow.

My spirit rose now as I trudged along finding that I could pay much more attention to my surroundings: the distant hills rising in the mist, the stag on the adjacent ridgeline, the crisp, pure air filling my lungs, and the silent amity of the old forest sentried by thick, aged oaks and tall, ragged pines.  The destination lay clearly on the map, but how we would get there was a mystery unveiled only by continuing down the winding track.  I felt a deep gratitude for this trail and all the trails I’ve trod and was reminded of one path in particular—the way of faith.
 
It’s no surprise that trails are a common theme in scripture since everyone walked wherever they needed to go.  Making a journey is a spiritual concept, and it is no surprise that paths make it easier to get where you’re going. The right trail makes all the difference in getting to the intended destination, and even now with modern maps and GPS, one can see how easy it is to lose one’s way and stray off course.  God hasn’t left us to aimlessly walk our own way.  Scriptures provide proof:

You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.  Psalm 16:11
 
You search out my path and my lying down
and are acquainted with all my ways. Psalm 139:3
​ 
With weeping they shall come,
and with pleas for mercy I will lead them back,
I will make them walk by brooks of water,
in a straight path in which they shall not stumble,
for I am a Father…  Jeremiah 31:9

​Scriptures like these magnify the Lord’s intentions to walk this journey with us, and there are even tools to help us navigate.

Lead me in the path of your commandments,
for I delight in it.  Psalm 119:35
 
Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.
Psalm 119:105

Whoever heeds instruction is on the path to life,
but he who rejects reproof leads others astray.  Proverbs 10:17

In the path of your judgments, O LORD, we wait for you;
​your name and remembrance are the desire of our soul.  Isaiah 26:8

​Through leadership, evident commands, the lamp of scripture, the light of God’s voice, the instructions and reproofs, and waiting on the Lord, we obtain exemplary tools for navigating this strange and wondrous course.  But similar to hiking on a leaf-strewn path, the way can get confusing, and our sinful selves wander off the way, sometimes by our own willfulness.  What then?
​
One of my favorite passages of scripture comes to this trail traveler as a great comfort when I consider how perilous the way is and how many snares, and wrong turns there are.  Isaiah beautifully addresses the traveler’s concern,

And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity
and the water of affliction,
yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore,
but your eyes shall see your Teacher.
And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying,
“This is the way, walk in it,”
when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.
​Isaiah 30:20-21

Can you just hear that whisper at the critical moment when you are desperate and don’t know which way to go?  Maybe you’ve turned down the wrong path and been traveling for what seems like too long a time to turn back and ever find your way again.  There is hope softly spoken.  This deep, impenetrable comfort is for all of us who walk this trail of faith when we consider that the Holy Spirit is right there with us every step of the way—graciously, patiently, lovingly whispering the directions all along the way.
​ 
Drawn to these thoughts by the simple ritual of an annual excursion—a day’s journey down a new trail—it merely marked the start of a new year. However, the eternal stakes of our life’s path and the direction we take are of supreme importance.  As you consider your path in the coming year, the question is not simply are you walking on the Trinity’s trail and in the divine direction, but are you listening to the Whisperer of the way?

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“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.