“A toast . . . to my big brother, George. The richest man in town!” – Harry Bailey

We watched that timeless classic It’s a Wonderful Life tonight.

There’s a reason people have been watching this movie for sixty years. It speaks to so many aches in the human heart: the desire for a life of meaning, for friendship, for rescue, for redemption, for joy. And it portrays the high virtues of self-sacrifice, perseverance and goodness in the character of George Bailey, a struggling everyman who, though harried and flawed, gets all the big things right.

George’s innate sense of goodness and honor is displayed well in these two gut-wrenching scenes (script courtesy of corky.net):

GEORGE (harshly): Listen to me! Listen to me! Think! Think!

UNCLE BILLY (sobbing): I can’t think any more, George. I can’t think any more. It hurts . . .

George jerks him to his feet and shakes him. Uncle Billy stands before him like a frisked criminal, all his pockets hanging out, empty. George’s eyes and manner are almost maniacal.

GEORGE (screaming at him): Where’s that money, you stupid, silly old fool? Where’s the money? Do you realize what this means? It means bankruptcy and scandal, and prison!

He throws Uncle Billy down into his chair, and still shouts at him:

GEORGE (cont’d): That’s what it means! One of us is going to jail! Well, it’s not going to be me!

Emphasis mine. Contrast this with a scene a few minutes later:

GEORGE (desperate): Please help me, Mr. Potter. Help me, won’t you please? Can’t you see what it means to my family? I’ll pay you any sort of a bonus on the loan . . . any interest. If you still want the Building and Loan, why I . . .

POTTER (interrupting): George, could it possibly be there’s a slight discrepancy in the books?

GEORGE: No, sir. There’s nothing wrong with the books. I’ve just misplaced eight thousand dollars. I can’t find it anywhere.

POTTER (looking up): You misplaced eight thousand dollars?

GEORGE: Yes, sir.

It’s only for a brief second, but you can almost see a flicker of amazement in Potter’s eyes when George claims responsibility for the loss of the money. Unbeknownst to George, Potter knows full well that Uncle Billy is the one who lost it. George Bailey, in his desperation and humiliation, is still willing to take the blame and give up everything to protect his uncle and business partner. This kind of behavior is incomprehensible to a man like Potter.

In the end, of course, George is unable to save himself. Aren’t we all? Yet saved he is, through the miraculous intervention of a messenger of God sent to heal George’s confused and broken spirit, and the intervention of a loving wife and a hundred friends united in prayer and in tangible help to save George from the financial ruin that faced him.

That’s a picture of what Church is and should be if I’ve ever seen one.

And George’s life, from start to finish, is a picture of the abundant life Christ promises us, full of sacrifice, and perseverance, and honor, and true friendships, and redemption.

It truly is a wonderful life!

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” – John 10:10

Something to meditate on, from the (digital) pen of Jared Wilson, who I consider to be one of the best writers on the church and discipleship there is:

Dietrich Bonhoeffer says that when Christ bids a man come, he bids him to come and die. That's not something you hear from America's pulpits too often these days. We are more accustomed to learning about how to let Jesus make us successful at whatever it is we are trying to do. But when Jesus said "Take up your cross and follow me," the flesh and blood people who heard him 2000 years ago thought only of death. We have the luxury of thinking of "taking up our cross" metaphorically, like it is some ordinary life burden to bear. A difficult spouse or boss. A nagging doubt. A problem with our self esteem. Financial debt. Whatever. But the disciples of Jesus had seen hundreds of literal bodies decaying on literal crosses. "Take up your cross" did not mean "put up with something irritating."

So over and over the New Testament, from Jesus in the Gospels to the apostles in the epistles, tells us — urges us, commands us — to be "in Christ." That is where real life is found.
Back in Ephesians 2, verse 14, Paul says that Jesus himself is our peace. Paul will not let us believe for any second there is any virtue or value worth having outside the person of Jesus Christ. Peace is not a general feeling or a universal moral virtue. Jesus Christ himself is peace. Just as love is not niceties or altruistic kindness. God Himself is love. The Bible does this to us over and over again — it continually points to the triune Creator as the epitome of, the manifestation of, the giver and the gift of all the things we think of as good and right and necessary.

Jesus is not a pop song, snuggly sweater, affectionate boyfriend, poster on your wall, self-help book, motivational speech, warm cup of coffee, ultimate fighting champion, knight in shining armor, Robin to your Batman. He is blood. And without blood, you die.

I’ve been doing the M’Cheyne one-year Bible reading plan recently. It’s pretty cool. This passage was part of yesterday’s reading, and I think it bears on some of what I was feeling yesterday:

But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself.

Philippians 3:20-21 (ESV)

I guess as children of God we should not be surprised when we feel like we just don’t quite “fit” here. We are truly strangers and aliens.

In fact, it’s better if we don’t get too comfortable. Our real country calls us, and one day we will repatriate it, leaving all this behind.

Cool.

Amy Sherman over at Common Grounds has a great post on the “Gift of Agitation”.

John Piper, in his book, A Hunger for God, has very helpfully reminded us of what the appropriate posture of the Church should be. It is the posture of the longing Bride, waiting at the altar for the appearing of the bridegroom. She is tapping her foot and glancing at her watch. The bride is filled with a “holy discontent” over the absence of her Bridegroom and is busy crying out “Maranatha! Maranatha! Come Lord Jesus!” The New Testament church exhibited this posture, because it was a persecuted church. Christians were intimately acquainted with suffering and poverty. They were eager for Christ to consummate His Kingdom, because they knew that things on earth were not the way they were supposed to be.

Unfortunately, this agitated posture is not the posture of the typical American congregation. We do not long fervently for the consummation of Christ’s Kingdom because we’re really rather happy just the way things are. American abundance and affluence anesthetize us. We are comfortable. We are not crying out night and day for God to bring justice on earth. We forget to shout, Maranatha!

Convicting. And this contentment with the way things are is something that I have to fight all the time.

Of course, go and read the whole thing.

[Hat tip: Jared]

Robin, from the excellent Write Thinking:

I was born-again on a Saturday morning after reading several books, The Hiding Place, Woman to Woman, and Prison to Praise. When I finished that last book around 6 a.m., I gave my heart to Jesus. I didn’t have a church or a mentor or a Bible study (although I’d been reading The Living Bible New Testament for a number of months). It was just me and Jesus that morning. I found a church and great studies and sound teaching in very short order, but right then it was just the two of us.

A week later, full of the joy of the Lord, I walked into a friend’s home one morning and saw that she’d been crying. I told her what had happened to me and that Jesus loved her. When I returned to her home after I got off work, she’d been born again, too.

Now if that doesn’t prove the Lord can use anybody, I don’t know what will. Sometimes it isn’t how much you know but how excited you are for God that He uses.

So good.

I’ve never felt so effective for God as I did in those clumsy, joyful days after I became a Christian (of course, I didn’t know it then – I was just living!)

For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering. For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one origin. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers, saying,

“I will tell of your name to my brothers;

in the midst of the congregation I will sing your praise.”

And again,

“I will put my trust in him.”

And again,

“Behold, I and the children God has given me.”

– Hebrews 2:10-13

If you are a child of God, Jesus is not ashamed of you. He is not ashamed to call you his brother, his sister.

Are you forgiven, redeemed, cleansed, and yet prone to terrible shame? Go to the One who knows you better than you know yourself. He lives to heal you, and he is not ashamed of you.

It doesn’t mean God isn’t grieved by the sins we commit. Sin is a terrible thing; it’s far worse than we know. But – trust me on this – Jesus death on the cross holds more power than you can imagine. It was the final crushing of sin and of the devil’s greatest power, the power of death. “It is finished!” Jesus cried, and he meant it. Over. Done with. I write this as one who knows the darkness in the heart of man; in every one of my thoughts are entwined evils for which I should be destroyed.

But I’ve been rescued and cleansed by One who is powerful to save and unashamed to call me his brother.

Ashira l’adonai ki ga’oh ga’ah

I will sing unto Adonai for He has triumphed gloriously

Ashira l’adonai ki ga’oh ga’ah

I will sing unto Adonai for He has triumphed gloriously

Michamocha, ba-elim adonai

Who is like You, O Adondai, among the gods?

Michamocha nedar-bakodesh

Who is like You, glorious in holiness?

Nachitah v’chasd’cha, am zu ga’alta

In Your mercy, you lead the people You redeemed

Nachitah v’chasd’cha, am zu gaalta

In Your mercy, you lead the people You redeemed

Ashira, Ashira, Ashira…

I will sing, I will sing, I will sing…

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

– 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

One thing that always crosses my mind when I read the words of Paul is this: “he knew what he was talking about”.

I can talk all day long about affliction, about having spiritual eyes, about being renewed. But I really only know of these things in small ways. So many miles to go . . .

I was thinking today about how hard prayer is. And I’ll tell you why I think it’s hard: it’s because our physical eyes can’t see the spiritual world. There are people that I care about deeply and pray for every day but who I rarely see; I am “in the dark”, you might say, about what’s really going on with them. So I try not to worry, but to just pray, as God reminds me – I often fall into the doldrums of rote in this spiritual exercise. One of the people I’m thinking of has drifted far from God – it’s hard to believe it happened, but it did – and needs to come back. Desperately. Another has gone through a great struggle, and won, but is now on her own, and I pray she stays strong and finds peace when she’s lonely. Yet another has had a recent terrible heartbreak, and is having trouble hearing from God or feeling him. Two others – I often think of them in the same context – were once guys I saw many times a week. We used to worship together. I’m not sure where either one is spiritually now. Yet another seems OK, but I find myself troubled and multiple times daily lifting this person up to God, for over a year now, and I’m not even sure why.

Now my prayers are weak water compared to the hell-shaking, kingdom-shattering prayers of the great heroes of the faith; people such as Paul. There are many reasons why this is, not least of which are my sloth, my thorn-tangled faith, and my immature, distracted mind. But I also think that a large part of my trouble is my eyes.

“. . . as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”

I haven’t yet learned to look to the unseen. I haven’t developed, much, the ability to see what is happening in the spiritual world which is by definition hidden to our physical eyes. There is a spiritual sensitivity that develops in a mature Christian; a second sight if you will, that begins to see the “real world”, meaning the world of the eternal, in front of rather than behind this flimsy veil that we call reality. Though this side of heaven no saint sees things completely clearly, I believe there are those stronger in the faith that can almost see the power of God unleashed when they pray.

I’m not there yet, not even close. So I say my weak prayers and I wonder and I worry in the “through the mirror, darkly” world through which I often stumble, because my eyes still need clearing. I need eyes of faith. Then I’ll see.

I pray that sight will come with time. It is a comfort to me, though, to think of these friends and loved ones, and lift them up to God, daily and weakly, alongside my prayers for my own family. I believe that’s what God wants me to do. And I thank him so much for the privilege of prayer. I pray he’ll make me better at it.