I gave up chocolate, but not for Lent.

Sometimes a forfeit is not a fast.

Christians worldwide go without things they desire from Ash Wednesday to Easter, remembering Jesus Christ’s own 40-day fast in the wilderness. The faithful aim to dedicate increased attention to seeking God during this period each year. People forgo alcohol, candy, or desserts. Others skip television or swear off social networking. Some quit smoking. Plenty of people don’t eat meat on Fridays during this season of Lent.

I’m not slamming any of this. I salute the devotion behind it.

This year, I’m giving up chocolate, but not for Lent. As much as I love the taste of a crunchy chocolate bar, a sweet mocha shake, or a chocolate chip ice cream cone, I’m done with all things cocoa. I’ve had to face up to a difficult truth: Chocolate triggers my migraines. It’s just not worth it.

That’s a handy metaphor for sin. It seems fun for a moment, but the aftermath can be painful. The Bible calls it “the fleeting pleasures of sin” (see Hebrews 11:25, ESV). Chocolate is delicious, but I surely pay the price afterwards.

Oh, Henry!

So chocolate is out – for now (in the Lenten season) and from now on. Well, when I wake up in Heaven with a brand-new resurrection body, I won’t have to worry about migraines. I’ll eagerly dig into some gooey chocolate treat at the Lamb’s marriage supper (see Revelation 19:6-9).

But my personal chocolate ban is not a Lenten sacrifice. I’m claiming no credit for it.

Don’t we kind of try that sort of thing sometimes? We stumble onto some seemingly good deed and allow others to salute us for it. But we didn’t actually do anything righteous at all? It’s not as if we deserve any reward for something we didn’t do on purpose.

“I the Lord search the heart and examine the mind, to reward each person according to their conduct, according to what their deeds deserve.” (Jeremiah 17:10, NIV)

My chocolate aversion is not a fast.

It’s not a sacrifice, even if I miss it sorely. I’m skipping this savored sweet because it makes me hurt. That doesn’t make it a gift to God or an avenue to deeper devotion.

In fact, some of my most earnest prayers have occurred when I have been in head-banging agony. How many believers would agree that suffering brings us to our knees more than comfort? (I’m not begging for more headaches here, just recalling when God has met me tenderly and faithfully in my most horrific moments.)

Here’s a confession.

This year, I haven’t really given up anything tangible for Lent. In fact, I made a conscious and intentional decision not to do so this time around. Instead, I want to ask for more:  More devotion, more boldness, more faithfulness, and more deep desire to seek His heart.

Mostly I want more of God.

Chocolate has nothing to do with it.

Someday in eternity, I’d love to be able to echo David’s words:

“The Lord has rewarded me according to my righteousness; according to the cleanness of my hands He has recompensed me.” (Psalm 18:20, NASB).

And my hands won’t be clean because they are free of melted chocolate. They’ll only be clean because He washed them for me.

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Feasting among foes: Is it biblical?

Although believers are commanded to reach out to others with the gospel of grace (see Matthew 28:16-20 and other spots), the Bible also warns us about shunning outright evil (see Job 1:8 and 28:28, as well as Proverbs 3:7-8 and 14:16). The Apostle Paul exhorted the Corinthian church especially to avoid ongoing association with fellow believers who refused to turn away from obvious sins (see 1 Corinthians 5).

Sometimes it’s a necessity. It may be impossible to break away from such company – at least, for a season.

Maybe it’s a disgruntled roommate. It could be an unpleasant neighbor. It might even be an abusive family member. And the question may not be one of such folks’ own faith or personal conduct (which really isn’t up to us), but of outright hostility to us for our faith or some other reason. It could even be a matter of a certain individual’s own psychological baggage from the past.

And, at least for the moment, we’re stuck in a prolonged period with such a one.

Hey, you probably get it. We’ve just come through the holiday season.

Although December is a month of merriment for many, plenty of people endure unfavorable interactions, especially in extended family gatherings.

Simply put: Life may include times when we cannot help but break bread (or spend time) with those who berate, belittle, browbeat, and betray us. We may have to make nice (even for a while) with those who degrade, disregard, disrespect, or dishonor us.

Today, I’m looking at Psalm 23:5a in a way I never considered it before.

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“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.”

Just yesterday, someone lashed out at me for someone else’s minor misstep that apparently represented his own last straw. Hurtful words exceeding even the dreaded F-bombs (Yes, that’s possible.) circled around me. I just happened to be there, in his wake, as words and fragile objects were hurled about.

I’m reluctant to haul off and call someone like that an actual enemy. But the unsolicited attack still hurts. (I cringe every time.) So the verse seems to fit.

Jesus feels our pain. It’s His pain too.

And He feeds us and sustains us, especially in those tough times. He prepares a place for us in His own presence, surrounding us with His acceptance and grace and mercy and love – even while others try to bring us down.

Someday God may call us to shake the sand off our proverbial sandals and walk away from such opposition. But He might not. In the meantime, how far are we willing to loan our cloaks and carry those packs? Can we continue to turn the other cheek, when someone persists in kicking us in the proverbial other-kind-of-cheek?

But we may still have to show up, even if others aren’t willing to grow up.

If we’re wise (and in our best moments of mental clarity and solid discretion), we’ll try hard to hold our peace on certain subjects around those who oppose or assail us. Dogs like to fight over prized items (see Matthew 7:6). So there’s that.

Can we break bread with such folks without being broken beyond repair?

Prisoners of war still eat in their cells, even though their captors lurk by the doors. Maybe, on a much smaller scale, this is sort of the same idea for some of us. And maybe we can turn that notion into intercession for those whose very lives are imperiled in such ways.

God, grant us grace. All of us.

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Fighting for heir time

A dear friend is embroiled in a nearly bloody battle with her siblings over potential inheritances from their father, who is still very much alive. Supposedly, one brother is going through particularly tough financial troubles and draining his father’s coffers. The siblings are truly ticked off over what they perceive as an inequity.

If their Uncle Jake (not his real name) knew what was going on behind the scenes, so to speak, he’d have a fit. They are fighting over his funds, which have nothing to do with them at this point – and might never, if he catches wind of their antics. Seriously, Uncle Jake is likely to live another 10 to 15 years.

Are his kids gonna fight that whole time?

It would be easy for us to stand and shake our fists at such folks.

Maybe we’d try to be a bit more subtle and just shake our heads, roll our eyes, or sigh in supposed superiority. Or we might try to take sides in this conflict, which isn’t ours at all.

We might even quote this well-known Bible verse:

 “Whoever brings ruin on their family will inherit only wind, and the fool will be servant to the wise.” (Proverbs 11:29, NIV)

OK, not so fast. First, who appointed us as family court for someone else’s family? And are we all that better?

Isn’t it exactly what we do with God's eternal promise?

Do we consider Heaven and wonder how big our mansions will be and how many jewels we’ll have in our crowns (compared to others)? Have we ever wondered where our seats at Heaven’s table might be located? Like the mother of Zebedee’s James and John, who questioned Jesus about eternity’s seating chart (see Matthew 20:20-28), are we jumping the proverbial gun a bit here?

Are we putting on airs, simply because we are heirs?

Maybe.

First, what’s an heir? The dictionary defines “heir” as someone who has legal rights of inheritance of position, property, and title of another. This may occur by descent, relationship, or legal documentation.

Jesus, the only Son of God, is Heir of Heaven. All that the Father is and has belongs to Him as well:

“But in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, and through whom also he made the universe.” (Hebrews 1:2, NIV)

The Lord made us legal co-heirs by His sacrificial death in our place. In other words, the Heir of Heaven left the air of Heaven to bear our errors and share His eternal inheritance with us. The price He paid makes us children of God. Legally, completely, and forever.

“Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.” (Romans 8:17, NIV)

“If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” (Galatians 3:29, NIV)

“Since you are his child, God has made you also an heir.” (Galatians 4:7b, NIV)

“So that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.” (Titus 3:7, NIV)

And all this has nothing to do with anything wonderful we think we have done to earn or merit such reward. It is all about grace and what Jesus did for us.

What wonderful assurances of our forever home.

Based on everything the Bible says about Heaven and how it is beyond all comprehension, I am pretty sure there will be more than enough (of whatever wonders Heaven has) to go around. No one can stop it or use it up or grab it away. Not now or ever.

And, once we catch a glimpse of God in all His glory, I think it’s a fair bet, nothing else will matter.

Just being with Jesus will likely undo us.

May it ever be so.

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