As a young person growing up in the churches of Christ in the ’90s, I loved the song “Go Tell John” — mainly because it spoke of the power of Christ. My faith was freshly minted and idealistic, and I was convinced I would be willing to die for my Lord and savior.
“Go tell John That the lame have learned to walk That the poor can hear the word of God and the deaf can hear me talk Go tell John That the blind can finally see, oh and Blessed is the man who doesn’t fall away because of me.”
A few weeks ago I was in a nostalgic mood and created a Spotify list with all my favorite Free Indeed songs (IYKYK). Today “Go Tell John” played for the first time on my (3-hour) playlist. And I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, seemingly out of nowhere.
“As he sat there in that prison cell, he knew just how it came about And he knew his life was over and he was never comin’ out But there was just one thing he had to know, he had to make a final plea So he sent his friends to ask the Lord if he was who He claimed to be.”
I’m now a 40-something-year-old who has seen darkness and deep despair. I’ve never been in an actual prison cell, but I’ve been imprisoned by the suffering of both mind and body. And I know that sometimes, we just need the assurance that Jesus is worth it, that He’s worth all the trouble we will face in this world.
“Go tell John That the dead are raised again Go tell John That the lepers now are cleansed Go tell John That the path he chose was right Go tell John That I truly am the light.”
It’s precisely because John’s situation punches the gut so hard that Jesus’s answer is all the more important — and powerful. Doubts, questions, despair, Jesus doesn’t judge. He is gentle with us, promising not to break a bruised reed or snuff out a smoldering wick.
“And blessed is the man who doesn’t fall away because of me.”
Jesus tells us that He is the Messiah, that He IS worth it — if we can only hold onto Him. So hold on, friends. No matter the darkness of your prison cell.
[“Go Tell John” written by Keith Lancaster and John Sublett. Original account found in Matthew 11.]
What is my job, and what is God’s job? I’ve asked this question a lot in my life. The balance of grace and works has often befuddled me. If God gets the glory for everything — and we know He should — then do I have responsibility at all?
I confess I have sometimes felt frozen in place, not knowing what I was supposed to do about a particular struggle, because I thought that somehow God was supposed to do everything. He fights our battles for us, right??
This question came up again last fall when I was in the middle of a mental health crisis. Was I just supposed to sit alone in my prayer closet, begging the Lord to deliver me from my anxiety and depression? Or was I supposed to do something about it? And if so, what?
I slowly realized that I did need to do something. And oh how many things can be done about depression and anxiety! It can feel overwhelming to a perfectionist like me. It feels like I need to do all the lifestyle treatments both perfectly and often enough while also depending entirely on God to save me.
I had forgotten that all the things that can be done to help myself are actually invitations from God to participate in my own healing. I’d been in that place before and even written about it, but we humans are such forgetful beings, aren’t we?
Interestingly, I first gained clarity on this question while talking with my therapist about my editing business — because I battle the faith-works tension regarding my job too. I often rely on a belief my hairstylist first expressed to me: “God brings me the clients I need.” Her example of faith was an inspiration to me, and her statement has proven true in my life over and over again.
But do I play any part in this?
My therapist said I do. It’s my job to do a good job, to bring all my dedication and skills to each project. It’s also my job to promote my services online (even though it feels awkward). “God can’t do those things,” she said. “Only you can.” God has given me a body and put me on this earth, and there are certain things only I can do.
In her book Field Notes for the Wilderness, Sarah Bessey writes about the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000. The miracle didn’t just happen because Jesus multiplied the bread and fish. It happened because someone offered something small, which Jesus used, and because the disciples participated and handed out the food. The people wouldn’t have eaten without them passing out the food.
I’ve always loved the feeding of the 5,000, and I’ve always connected it to a child’s act of faith. I had never connected it to the attending and waiting skills of the disciples. The disciples wouldn’t have seen the miracle if they’d clustered around Jesus. Only in moving out from the center did they witness the miracle.
And so it is with us: Jesus invites us to participate in the healing He performs. The power isn’t ours, but we won’t see the goodness of God unless we take part. The man whose friends lowered his paralyzed body through the roof still had to pick up his mat and walk, after all. And in some mysterious, incomprehensible truth, we only partake of the miracle God is waiting to give us when we join Him in His work.
A man going on a trip entrusted three servants with separate portions of his wealth, each according to their abilities. To one he gave five talents, to another he gave two talents, and to a third he gave one talent. (Paraphrased from Matthew 25)
An enduring truth in my life has been that I have two talents, while my husband has five. God has given him gifts in many areas, and He has given me gifts in a few areas.* God has also given him more energy with which to grow his talents. I have always had less energy, though it’s especially pronounced in my forties.
But God gives us both the same task: to nurture the talents we have been given and to pour them out for others. To make my talents grow, I have to steward my energy well, which often looks like saying “no” when others with more energy talents might be able to say “yes.” Investing my God-given gifts means honoring my God-given limitations.
In biblical times a talent had enormous value. Some calculations indicate that a single talent was worth about seventy-five pounds of silver, while other sources say it was about twenty years of wages. We don’t know for sure, but we do know that a talent was worth a lot.
And so it is with us today. Each talent that God gives a person is valuable. Gifts aren’t worth more or less in the kingdom — though God may appear to give some of us more than He gives others.
Not that I’m accusing God of giving me too little or my husband too much. The differences between us don’t usually bother me anymore. I know the God who made me and in whose image I was created. I know the One who knit me together in my mother’s womb just the way He intended. And I know He’s given me talents that He calls me to use in encouraging others and bringing Him glory.
Still, I have fewer talents than some, and far less energy than many. My talents aren’t very flexible; if I’m pulled too far in one direction or simply in too many directions at once, I don’t stretch. I don’t bend or spring back. I just crack. In my forties I am brittle.
Sometimes I wonder why God made me with such limitations, which have always been present but which are exacerbated in midlife. But when I get alone with God and quiet my soul, I find I know the answer to this question. God has given me limitations so that I will depend on Him. So that all the glory He gets from the talents He has given me? I’ll know He’s the source of it all — the gifts and the talents and the time and the energy and even the discernment to steward them well.
Accepting the reality of our limitations is key to investing our talents in the economy of the kingdom. The servant with the single talent didn’t really understand his own fear or the heart of his master. He didn’t understand that the master wanted him to do something, even if that something was small or yielded only small growth. And he didn’t understand that his fear was keeping him from doing the small things he could do.
As a lower-energy person, I must be careful not to slide into the mindset of that lone servant, burying my talents in the fear of being completely poured out. I have to imitate the mindset of the servant with two talents, content with what I’ve been given and determined to make it count. To do this, I have to depend on God for my every morning, my every afternoon, my every evening. It’s the only way I’ve found to actually spend the gifts I’ve been given.
Because I’ve tried in times past to live my life apart from God. I’ve rejected dependence on God, resentful that I need Him so much, jealous of those in the world who seem to live just fine apart from Him, able to accomplish and achieve without dependance on a holy God. But I’m apparently incapable of that. I have cut myself off from the life-giving vine before, and everything in my life withers and dies.
How thankful I am that God offers His Spirit to help navigate the difficulties of life. How thankful I am that He gives of Himself to guide us through valleys and mountains and plains. How thankful I am that He doesn’t leave us alone to figure out how to invest our talents. He will show us, every second of every day if that’s what we need.
So you’ll find me honoring God by saying “no” to lots of good things so that I can do the things He’s actually calling me to. You’ll find me honoring God by monitoring my energy and listening to my body and to my emotions. You’ll find me honoring God by asking Him for help every morning and thanking Him when He gives it — as a good Father delights to do.
*The situation as I see it, not as my husband sees it.
The word myth often conjures up the idea of epic fantasy tales or of commonly held beliefs that need debunking. In fact, the Oxford Dictionary defines myth as both “a fictitious or imaginary person or thing” and “a widely held but false belief or idea.”
The dictionary also defines myth as “a traditional story, especially one concerning the early history of a people or explaining a natural or social phenomenon, and typically involving supernatural beings or events.” The word derives from the Greek mythos which simply means “story.”
And that is what I think of when I think of myth: I think of story. I think of narrative. So when I use the word myth to describe the Bible, I’m not saying it’s not true – because I most certainly believe it is true. Rather, when I say the Bible is myth, I’m saying that it’s full of stories that infuse meaning into our lives and that it is, in actuality, one overarching Story.
The God of the Bible audaciously makes a world, joyfully populates it with creatures, and then willingly redeems those creatures from sin and death. This story is unlike any story humans have ever told. Indeed, the Bible’s uniqueness among world myths is one reason I believe it, love it, and base my life on it.
Jonathan & Elizabeth Trotter 