God, who gets invited to dinner at your place? How do we get on your guest list? 

"Walk straight, act right, tell the truth. 

"Don't hurt your friend, don't blame your neighbor; despise the despicable. 

"Keep your word even when it costs you, make an honest living, never take a bribe.

"You'll never get blacklisted if you live like this."
-Psalm 15 (The Message)

Regarding the shape of poetry, Robert Frost once wrote, "It begins in delight and ends in wisdom."

So too, this Psalm.

Once the reality of God is accepted, there is a desire to know how one can come to know this God, to dwell in his presence. How do we get "invited to dinner?" How do we join the feast?

The Psalmist offers simple words, words about friendship, neighborliness, justice, and honesty. They are words that delight us, because who among us does not wish for everyone else around us to live like this? But in the same vein, it could be said, those words simultaneously terrify us. We ask ourselves, "How am I to live like that?"

The Scriptures, read as whole, answer that question. "You can't," they say, "but, in communion with God, you can." That is wisdom.

The fellowship we experience with God through Jesus Christ brings about the assurance that we have been invited to dinner. We're on the guest list. By grace, through faith, we're in.

And because we are in, then the fruits of our life should reveal that we have been redeemed. Our friendships, our actions as neighbor, our commitment to justice and honesty, should all show up. We have not been invited because we are virtuous, we are virtuous because we have been invited.

The invitation has come. Now live as a guest.

God Almighty, help me today to pray the prayer of the psalmist. May I commit this short passage to memory. May I know that I am invited to your banquet, and you have bestowed upon me the grace to live as your guest. Today I commit myself to honesty, to justice, to neighborliness, to integrity, and to friendship. Today I commit myself to you. Amen.

"Come closer to me," Joseph said to his brothers. They came closer. "I am Joseph your brother whom you sold into Egypt. But don't feel badly, don't blame yourselves for selling me. God was behind it. God sent me here ahead of you to save lives. There has been a famine in the land now for two years; the famine will continue for five more years—neither plowing nor harvesting. God sent me on ahead to pave the way and make sure there was a remnant in the land, to save your lives in an amazing act of deliverance. So you see, it wasn't you who sent me here but God. He set me in place as a father to Pharaoh, put me in charge of his personal affairs, and made me ruler of all Egypt.
-Genesis 45:4-8 (The Message)

Charles Haddon Spurgeon, the great Baptist preacher, once remarked, "A soldier is trained by battles, and a mariner by storms. . . To sail against wind and tide would be more notable than to drift with gale and current."

Joseph had faced his share of "wind and tide", and had learned how to sail. Sold in to slavery by his brothers, imprisoned after being wrongfully accused by Potiphar's wife, and forgotten in Pharaoh's dungeon despite a promise of assistance from the cupbearer to the king, Joseph underwent trial.

We are not told how Joseph regarded his travails as they arose, whether he was cheerful in disposition or dark in mood. But we do know that once he was called in to service by Pharaoh himself, and was established as the highest official in all of Egypt, he gave credit to God for his power to interpret dreams, and saw the Lord as source of his wisdom. We also know that he considered his life as subject to the will of God, a person through whom God would accomplish a work. His sufferings are not diminished, but they are contextualized. God is providential. God reigns.

We live during a time where people are slow to acknowledge a God who "works all things together for the good" when we are unable to perceive what that good might be. But the God testified to in Scripture is just such a God. This does not mean that we may not question, or struggle, or ask difficult questions. The Bible also testifies to people who did just that. It appears the God of the Bible may be more good, and more complex, than we have presupposed.

I confess, having such as faith is not easy. But as Maltie D. Babcock wrote:

Back of the loaf is the snowy flour,
And back of the flour the mill,
And back of the mill is the wheat and the shower,
And the sun and the Father's will.

I trust that God is indeed good. Whatever good deeds may come at the hand of the good God, as Spurgeon observed, are to be engaged as the work God has prepared (Eph. 2:10). Whatever trials might come, also, must be welcomed as a mariner traversing a difficult sea, and as with Joseph, the glory goes to the God who sees beyond what I can see, who sees beyond the wind and tide battering my ship, guiding me to the harbor or grace resting over the horizon.

God in heaven, may I have a faith like Joseph. Help me to trust, despite trials. Give me the strength to persevere through my hardships, and to prepare me for the days ahead, so that I might become a more able Son or Daughter, a more well-equipped citizen of your kingdom. In Jesus' name, amen.

Joseph was running the country; he was the one who gave out rations to all the people. When Joseph's brothers arrived, they treated him with honor, bowing to him. Joseph recognized them immediately, but treated them as strangers and spoke roughly to them. 
He said, "Where do you come from?" 
"From Canaan," they said. "We've come to buy food."

Joseph knew who they were, but they didn't know who he was.
-Genesis 42:6-8 (The Message)

In George R. R. Martin's series of novels, A Game of Thrones, each house is represented by a sigil. House Stark is known by the direwolf. The Lannisters display a lion. House Targaryen is represented by the dragon. There is the Flayed Man, the Krakken, the Stag, and more. By their sigils all can see who they are, and unless challengers display their banners, upon sight they may remain unknown.

Once identities are unveiled, however, the grounds of engagement shift.

In the story of Joseph and his brothers, there is a concealed identity, and a tension results that appears elsewhere in literature, and in life. Joseph, encountering the brothers who sold him to slavers and deceived his father in to thinking him dead, recognizes his family, though they do not recognize him. They have bowed before him, an instance his boyhood dreams revealed would take place, and now he must decide how he will rule over them: with cruelty, or kindness?

"Joseph knew who they were, but they didn't know who he was."

But are we not faced with a similar scenario, each day?

Every day Christians go forth in the world, they can know they are beloved children of God (Eph. 1:15-23). Christians also know something about all they look upon; they are fellow image-bearers (Gen. 1:27), fellow sons and daughters of the King (Gal. 3:26-29), and, for persons who do not believe, are those whom God patiently awaits repentance and belief (2 Tim 3:8-9). Every day there is a seeing, and a knowing, of yourself and your neighbor, a neighbor who, as we see in the story of Joseph, may also have at one time been an enemy.

What we know concerning ourselves, and those around us, is of critical importance for how we choose to live our lives. The truths we hold dear about God, of course, are determinative for our actions, as it was for Joseph. At the moment he recognized his brothers, Joseph could have revealed himself and had his brothers crushed. He did not. Instead, as the story unfolds, Joseph reveals to his brothers the understanding he has come to possess of God through his trials, and an assurance that his hardships were not without a divine, greater purpose.

How does the God we have come to know in Jesus, and throughout the Scriptures, teach us to engage with those who do not know who we are?

Think deeply on this, for the answer should be a list of the virtues. We should receive others with love, joy, peace, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self control, yet even so, we know this is not of ourselves, but it is the gift of the Spirit in us. In these our sanctification, and the source of our salvation, are revealed. It is through such a life that we introduce others to the God who has already, and who continues, to save us.

Lord, help me to look upon others this day as persons created in your image, whom you call me to receive with love, patience, and hospitality. Help me to act in a way that reveals not only my character, but yours, that I may give you glory. When others do not know who I am, may they come to discover a person in whom God has been at work. In Jesus' name, Amen. 

 Be kind to me, God; I've been kicked around long enough. Once you've pulled me back from the gates of death, I'll write the book on Hallelujahs; on the corner of Main and First I'll hold a street meeting; I'll be the song leader; we'll fill the air with salvation songs. 
-Psalm 9:13-14 (The Message)

Don't these words sound familiar?

"God, deliver me. Life has been hard, tougher than I deserve. Remove my worries from me, take my enemies out of the picture, and I'll serve you. I'll lift my voice. I'll shout for joy. I'll tell the world! With a witness like me, everyone will hear of your loving-kindness, your goodness, your mercy. You'll see."

Ever feel guilty for praying a prayer like that?

I have.

But there it is, on the pages of Scripture. Just when we've convinced ourselves that we are chumps for talking to God that way, there we find David, ushering us along a well-worn path.

Life gets tough, challenges come our way, we find ourselves on the receiving end of attacks and enmity, not just as a result of circumstance, but the direct action of other people. David is honest enough to ask God to intervene. And he shares with us his planned response: a passionate, fervent advocacy for the God who is the Deliverer.

Like David, we proclaim that God alone is judge, the one who "holds the high center, he sees and sets the world's mess right"(v.7). We would even go so far as to say that God is the one who "gives people their just deserts"(v.8). There is even a desire that God would reveal to our enemies "how silly they look!"(v.20).

But David appears to know something we do not. How does Psalm 9 begin? With this declaration: "I'm thanking you, God, from a full heart, I'm writing the book on your wonders. I'm whistling, laughing, and jumping for joy; I'm singing your song, High God."(v.1-2)

Before David names his troubles, he affirms this deeply held truth: God is good. And he knows God will act in his own time. Read in isolation, we might hear David's words as permission to offer bribes to God, as we have in the past, saying, "God, do this for me, and I'll do great things for you." But David avoids that trap, by first naming the goodness of God, making his petitions and desires clear, and trusting that the goodness of God will ultimately show through.

When it does, David will be ready to celebrate, to share, to name it, and to demonstrate it. Justice for all, dignity for the poor, an uplifted chin for the head-hangers. Can't you see? In verses 17-20: "The wicked bought a one-way ticket to hell. No longer will the poor be nameless—no more humiliation for the humble. Up, God! Aren't you fed up with their empty strutting? Expose these grand pretensions! Shake them up, God! Show them how silly they look."

Trouble may be dogging your steps. But God is good. Declare your desires for justice, act when responsible, and keep your eyes open for the movement of God. And when it occurs, lift your voice. Sing the songs. Fill the air. Salvation has come.

High God, may the words of my mouth honor you. You are good, and I trust you. But where trouble has come my way, I ask you for justice. Where the wicked thrive, I ask that they may be brought low. I pray that you would act, even if that action comes through me. Open my eyes to see you at work, open my ears to hear your call, put your words on my tongue, that I may speak truth. And when your salvation comes, when your rescue plan unfolds, let me sing your praises with joy. Amen.

By the seventh day 
      God had finished his work. 
   On the seventh day 
      he rested from all his work. 
   God blessed the seventh day. 
      He made it a Holy Day 
   Because on that day he rested from his work, 
      all the creating God had done.
-Genesis 2:2-4 (The Message)

Today is the Christian Sabbath, designated so by the early church as a rememberance and a witness to all that on this day, Jesus rose from the grave, death was surely defeated, and victory had been won. Because of this, we can rest.

So rest.

Reflect.

Remember.

And wonder anew.

It is to be part of the rhythm of a life lived with God. 

One day Jacob was cooking a stew. Esau came in from the field, starved. Esau said to Jacob, "Give me some of that red stew—I'm starved!" That's how he came to be called Edom (Red).

Jacob said, "Make me a trade: my stew for your rights as the firstborn."
-Genesis 25:29-31 (The Message)

When is the last time someone offered you a stew?

There are certain, face value applications to this text I could list, all of which would be trite. How many of us have sold our birthright for a stew? How many of us, out of some compulsion or minor need, have resorted to a brash or unwise action, giving up something of immense worth? Each of us are capable of doing the math, without having someone walk us through the steps. Sit, meditate, think. Repent, if you need to. What have you been willing to trade, what small thing, or what large thing, for something of much greater consequence?

It would be better to sit with this text, rather than reduce it to a quick moralism. Jacob's shrewdness, and his lack of compassion for his brother, are counterexamples. Esau's lack of wisdom, his impulsivity due to an empty stomach, is also instructive. But we are all Esau. We are all Jacob. We've offered stews and accepted them; we've been unjust and unwise.

But God has something more for you, a feast that has been prepared. That feast is named Jesus, who called himself the bread of life, and gave us a meal to remember and commune with him by. Once that meal has been partaken, it allows you to recognize, to see the lack in every false stew, reshaping your moral vision to where you are enabled to refuse such offers, as well as to cease making them.

Jesus took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and said, "Take, eat; this is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me."

The stew loses its appeal when we have discovered a greater, more satisfying meal. That meal has been offered. Take and eat.

Jesus Christ, it is in your body and blood, and the bread and wine that we remember your sacrifice by, that we find the resources to resist the temptation of the stew, both as the one who offers, and the one who is tempted to trade. Make new our vision, our way of seeing, so that we might live holy lives as your disciples. Help us to see that your meal is greater. In your name, Amen.

I had barely finished offering this prayer, when Rebekah arrived, her jug on her shoulder. She went to the spring and drew water and I said, 'Please, can I have a drink?' She didn't hesitate. She held out her jug and said, 'Drink; and when you're finished I'll also water your camels.' I drank, and she watered the camels. I asked her, 'Whose daughter are you?' She said, 'The daughter of Bethuel whose parents were Nahor and Milcah.' I gave her a ring for her nose, bracelets for her arms, and bowed in worship to God. I praised God, the God of my master Abraham who had led me straight to the door of my master's family to get a wife for his son.
-Genesis 24:45-48 (The Message)

When we tell stories of our heroes, it is not their beliefs or convictions that we first name, but their actions. We tell of what was done or left undone. Then we explore the reasons, the ideas, the framework from which that person operates. It is the doing that grabs us.

In Genesis 24, Abraham sends forth a servant to the land of his forefathers to find a wife for his son, Isaac. The servant, unsure of how to proceed, offers a prayer to God upon his arrival outside the city of Nahor, in the land of Aram Naharaim. He says, "God, let the woman who consents to give me a drink, and offers to water my camels, be the one fit for Isaac." Rebekah, a young woman of great beauty, does this. The servant is then invited in to her father's household, where he is extended lodging and rich hospitality.

Oftentimes, this story is used to teach God answers prayer. "Look!", we say, "God responds when we ask!" But the first readers of this story would assume the hearing and answering of prayer as fact. What is more remarkable is Rebekah; her hospitality and her graciousness in receiving a stranger. It is the doing that grabs the servant, and how God, in the midst of the doing, reveals this is a God-doing.

Bob Goff, in his book Love Does, tells of a fellowship he holds with a small group of friends. At one time, these friends gathered for a Bible study--they would read and reflect and dig in to the text. But one day, they decided that study wasn't enough, so they changed the name of their meeting--each week, these friends would gather for a Bible doing. They would reflect on a given text, and ask, "how then are we to live?"

And while I believe there is an ineradicable link between the knowing and the doing, the beliefs and the actions, the point here is not lost. It is most often the doing that grabs us, that invites us in to a new world of thinking or seeing or believing. It is the witness, it is the life.

Today, be like Rebekah. Put your character on display. And let that character be God-rich, an evidence of substance, of eternality, of something that lasts, of someone doing something, in you, that transcends your own doing.

God Most High, let me make you known today with my life, but let my actions be illumined and narrated by stories like Rebekah's, who extended hospitality to a stranger, and thus found herself caught up in an occasion where God was at work. Let my life be a God-doing. Amen.

After all this, God tested Abraham. God said, "Abraham!" "Yes?" answered Abraham. "I'm listening."
-Genesis 22:1 (The Message)

The testing of Abraham is not a story that should be romanticized or sentimentalized: God commanded Abraham to take his son Isaac to a place on Mount Moriah and prepare him for sacrifice. At this point in the narrative, Abraham's knowledge of the character of God is defined by the experiences we have read thus far in Genesis, other unrecorded experiences, and the prevailing beliefs of peoples and cultures surrounding Abraham at the time.

Child sacrafice was not unheard of, neither was the fickleness of the gods. Abraham knew God, and knew that God had brought him thus far. But the test was still a test, a grueling, stressful, painful path that Abraham was called to walk. Abraham still had something new to learn about God, "after all this."

Abraham's faith was truly tested. He was open to the test.

Are you open to a test?

The biblical narrative captures the beautiful and the ugly seasons of life, assuming complexity. We often expect God to bring about the beautiful. But we distance ourselves from the possibility that God remains sovereign over our trials, our seasons of darkness. Some hardships arise as fallout from our existence in a fallen world. But it is possible that others come about so that God can walk through the darkness with us, refining our character and strengthening our faith, being our light. This was true for Abraham. It is true for us.

But before the moment God called Abraham's name, and Abraham responded by listening, we are told this occurred "after all this." Abraham had a history, a story with God. So do we. And even if our experiences with God are limited, we have the experiences of others, like Abraham. When we enter a trial, we have a larger narrative about God upon which we can depend. This narrative can sustain us, lighting our way.

When trials come, don't dismiss God's presence outright. Instead, look for the test, and trust. Assume a larger story. Remember Abraham. God is with you.

God of Abraham, you can be trusted. The trials I face, like Abraham's, are not easy. Help me to face my challenges and assume you are present, working, active, and desirous of my ultimate good. Amen.

By the seventh day 
      God had finished his work. 
   On the seventh day 
      he rested from all his work. 
   God blessed the seventh day. 
      He made it a Holy Day 
   Because on that day he rested from his work, 
      all the creating God had done.
-Genesis 2:2-4 (The Message)

Today is the Christian Sabbath, designated so by the early church as a rememberance and a witness to all that on this day, Jesus rose from the grave, death was surely defeated, and victory had been won. Because of this, we can rest.

So rest.

Reflect.

Remember.

And wonder anew.

It is to be part of the rhythm of a life lived with God. 

When Abram was ninety-nine years old, God showed up and said to him, "I am The Strong God, live entirely before me, live to the hilt! I'll make a covenant between us and I'll give you a huge family."
-Genesis 17:1-2 (The Message)

A warning to modern, Western, individualistic readers of Scripture: the work of God began long before you arrived on the scene. God didn't send Jesus Christ only to save you, but to fulfill promises made long ago, to be faithful to a story that has been under development for ages. Though God in Christ is doing a new thing, you are caught up in something that is, in fact, very old, an ancient story that continues to echo forth in to the future, a story that is shaping, molding, and directing our imaginations.

God's work among human beings has a long narrative arc, with pivot points along the way. In the book of Genesis we find the formational encounters that Israel reflects upon, reminding them of their collective identity, and how that should then shape the present demands of faithfulness. God's promise first given in Genesis 12, ratified in Genesis 15, and reassured in Genesis 17 are critical for those who call themselves Christians. In Galatians 3, Paul reaches back to these narratives in order to fully describe how God has written the Gentile people in to the Abraham story, in light of Christ.

Your story, too, has a long narrative arc, with twists and turns and new developments. God has been at work in your life, long before you dare to even imagine, in numerous ways you have yet to perceive. But there God has been, shaping, molding, and directing your imagination, nudging and pushing and comforting and challenging. And then a moment comes--a pivot point--when your small story gets caught up in the narrative arc of a larger story, a story that includes God conversing with a man named Abram, when he was ninety-nine years old. You read the promises, and you consider what they might mean, both for Abram, and for people later, like Jesus, and Paul. And you want to be part of that story. Your own story pivots. It changes. It is new.

Like Abraham, God has called you, "live entirely before me, live to the hilt!" God has invited you to receive the blessings of the covenant--yes, even you! Stepping in to that story, claiming it, living it, leaves you forever changed, forever different, with the resources of a larger past, and the hope of a blessed and more robust future.

Turn and pivot. Live a new story, with a trusted Author, Jesus Christ.

Strong God, I have heard and understood the story of Abraham, who was called to enter in to a covenantal relationship to God, to live entirely before you as a servant. His life changed, it turned on a pivot, from the time you first spoke to him to his last day. May my story, too, have a pivot, wherein my life becomes caught up in your life, where I live before you, to the hilt! Give me the wisdom to live according to your story, to remain faithful to your covenant you have given in Jesus Christ. Amen.