What is Makin’ Music?

This past year, I had the absolute honor of being one of the student coordinators for my university’s spring production, Makin’ Music. As the climax of my Makin’ Music experience, I couldn’t help but write about what this year has meant to me. I hope it resonates with everyone who has participated in the show, and I hope it inspires and intrigues anyone who hasn’t. Makin’ Music is a gift that has impacted who I am, and so, even though this post is a little atypical of my blog’s style lately, I felt that I had to write this. I hope it captures in some way everything that Makin’ Music is and means to so many people. 

How do you start to explain Makin’ Music?

It doesn’t make any sense. It’s a musical, I start out by saying. But not like a regular musical. It’s more like a variety show. Except not at all. The students perform an original story, they write their own lyrics to the tune of familiar songs. And they wear costumes with lots of sequins and really exaggerated makeup and sometimes paint on their faces. They transition between different blocks, they do choreography. They have a set and these hand-drawn backdrops that pop up on the screen behind them. There are five shows, actually, and they last about 7 minutes. One for each of our social clubs on campus, because we have social clubs?

At this point whoever I’m trying to explain this to is completely lost.

It makes no sense. I’ve tried to explain it hundreds of times but I always fall short. Unless you see it, unless you do it, unless you experience it for yourself, you just can’t understand.

You can’t understand how in between the ridiculous makeup and glitter-doused prop pieces and the hairspray, something magical takes place. You feel it when you hit that perfect last note and sprint off the stage into the dark and you’re smiling so hard you can’t breathe and the adrenaline racing through you carries you all the way out to the flagpole where you scream for your club and your people and your show with all the energy you didn’t know you had left in you. Because that moment is straight magic.

But that moment is just one perfect culmination of all the magic that happens in between. The magic you feel when you hit a harmony for the first time. When you realize the person next to you in the block has become one of your new best friends. When your soloist really breaks free and everybody cheers her on. When those gangly and awkward Bible major boys who have never done anything like this in their life realize they love it, clumsy arms and smiling faces all the way from the back row. When you start to cheer on other people. When somebody’s mic dies but the whole student section erupts into applause when their solo ends. When people battle sickness and injuries because they just want to be part of those 7 minutes. When you walk through the parade into Loyd with so much pride for the people beside you and so much joy in your heart that it’s busting out of your face. When everybody starts to sing along to everyone else’s shows from the balcony on Saturday night. When people from another club stop you and say, “Great job,” and really mean it. When you’re backstage minutes before you go on, dancing and jumping and lip-syncing your heart out with your best people in the world. When you pray together. When you cry together. When you laugh together.

That’s magic.

It’s just 7 minutes. But those 7 minutes are the peak of everything. The climax of a year’s worth of hard work. Brainstorming, writing, re-writing, choreographing, costume designing, vocal practice, hours and hours and hours of cast rehearsals. The climax of a year’s worth of crying and not sleeping enough and being busy, busy, busy and loving all the magic that makes it worth it. It’s an exhausting, beautiful, rewarding year that ends in 7 minutes of flawless execution on stage. Which you get to perform 5 times in costume, at most. Only 3 of which count for judging.

And it ends in victory or heartbreak, there’s really no other option.

I’ve ended every Makin’ Music I’ve been part of in tears. My freshmen year, because our show was so far away but I still loved it so much. My sophomore year, because our show was so close. And this year, because after getting to watch every piece of this incredibly inexplicable thing come together, after standing there and announcing with my own voice who got take a trophy home with them, I wished that there was someway, anyway I could give every single one of them what I felt they all deserved— anything, anything to show them that the magic had been real, that everything they had done had been worth it.

The cynic says why. Why put so much of yourself into something more likely to end in failure than victory? Why spend so much time or money or energy or effort? Why keep on loving something that ends in tears? What’s the big deal?

But the believer knows why.

It’s because it’s worth it every time. It’s because after the sting is over and trophy-less hands walk away, there’s still so much to celebrate. So much love between friends for the show you’ve created together. So much joy from the moments and memories you’ll never forget. So much gratitude for the opportunity to be part of something so much bigger than just you. And it’s those feelings and memories that validate the magic, that remind you it was worth so much more than a trophy could ever prove.

And it’s just as true for the faces that do leave in victory too. Because after their victory has passed and their trophy has found a home in the corner of someone’s dorm room floor, it’s not that piece of plastic that matters so much after all. It’s the love, the joy, the memories, the pride in what you created together that really lasts. That’s what they’ll talk about in ten, twenty years. That’s what will be passed down to new club members for generations to come. The memories, the stories, that incredible feeling. The trophy may even be lost or broken someday, but what really matters always lives on.

That’s magic.

Last Saturday night I cried because I wanted them all to win, I really did. But I’m realizing that they all did— and they know it. They know it because of the moments that will stay with them forever. Because of the friendships they’ll never lose. Because of the unity they experienced that will challenge them for the rest their lives. Because of the magic that they’ll never forget.

Because after it’s all said and done, we all prayed together. And then we all got up the next morning and went to worship God together.

That’s why everyone really wins.

I can’t explain Makin’ Music because it’s so much more than the costumes or the makeup or the set or the vocals or the lyrics. It’s about the music inside of you— your own unique gifts and talents and person that you bring to the table. It’s the magic of being in this event that connects your heart to the heart of anyone and everyone who has ever been part of this random weekend in April. It’s about that thing that keeps people coming back.

I can’t explain Makin’ Music because it’s about love. And trying to explain love is trying to explain God. And somehow, that’s the key that pulls this whole crazy thing together.

How do you start to explain Makin’ Music? You don’t. You just love it. You just do it. You just let the magic live inside of you. You just let it change you. And then you become part of the most beautiful community of people who can’t explain it either.

The most beautiful community of people who— simply by being part of it— have truly won.

Who have won in a way that doesn’t make sense, in a way that goes deeper than anything on earth can comprehend, in way that only works because it comes from people who get that there’s so much more to life than winning. Who have won because even when we don’t win, the joy and the love and the magic that come through it are all threads that remind us there’s a better victory.

That is Makin’ Music. Just a little show at a little college in a little town that taught me about the biggest victory of all. And for that, all I can say is, thank you.

Photo credits to Becky Welch

 

-Amelia

 

Makin’ Music takes place every spring at Freed-Hardeman University. To find out more about the show, visit https://www.fhu.edu/campuslife/sociallife/makinmusic. To support to the show, visit https://dreams.fhu.edu/project/15429. 

the Israel series: Tel Dan

This is how I feel about Tel Dan: blegh

And I don’t feel bad saying it because it’s pretty much what God said about it too.

On Monday of our trip, we went to Tel Dan. A “tel” just means an archeological site that’s turned into a mound or a hill. So Tel Dan refers to the ancient ruins of the biblical city of Dan, which is now a national park in Israel. On the day we visited, it was POURING the rain. Pouring. So much water. Everywhere. So much mud. So many soaking wets socks and shoes.

But we trudged through the hike anyway, umbrellas, tourist headsets, and all. We were a sight to see, I’m sure. It was so wet it was comical. We helped each over rocks and puddles becoming ponds and every now and then we took a chilly glance up to see the ruins around us.

It’s not that Tel Dan wasn’t interesting. It was just wet. And blegh.

Because here’s what went down in Dan.

Most places we went were awe-inspiring because they made me think about Jesus, about God’s plan, about God’s power, about the church, and about my faith. Most sights were positive and uplifting. But Tel Dan was an exception. Something definitely happened there, but it was much more sobering than awe-inspiring.

In 1 Kings 11, nearing the end of King Solomon’s reign, one of the King’s young officers named Jeroboam was leaving the city of Jerusalem and ran into a prophet of God. The prophet told Jeroboam that God was going to give him the kingdom of Israel, because Solomon had disobeyed God. God promised Jeroboam that he would be blessed and the kingdom of Israel would be his if he would walk in God’s ways and do what was right.

When Solomon died, his son Rehoboam assumed the throne. But Jeroboam, supported by the people, revolted against him. All the people except the tribe of Judah made Jeroboam their king. Rehoboam was left with one tribe and a warning from God to not fight back.

So Jeroboam took his place as the leader of Israel, just as God said he would. But he didn’t get very far before fear of losing his new power overtook his remembrance of God’s commands. He quickly forgot that God has promised him the throne under the condition that Jeroboam honored and obeyed Him. Rather than trusting that God would keep the kingdom within his reign as He’d said, Jeroboam decided to take things into his own hands.

Jeroboam was afraid that if people continued going down to Jerusalem to worship God, He would lose them to Rehoboam, whose territory contained the city of Jerusalem and the temple there. So he ordered the construction of two golden statues of calves, each complete with an altar. He set one statue up in a shrine in Bethel on the south side of his territory, and the other he set up in the northernmost part of his territory—in Dan.

Yep, this is gonna go downhill pretty quickly.

Jeroboam told the people, don’t worry about going to Jerusalem! Here are your gods right here (I imagine some pointing to the cow at this point). They saved you from Egypt! Now you can just worship here instead!

The people fell for it.

They went right along with Jeroboam and starting worshiping the cow statues and ignoring God. People were even traveling farther than it would take them to get to Jerusalem to go all the way north to the altar at Dan.

I imagine that at this point Jeroboam was just congratulating himself on how splendidly this was going. He picked people to be priests of the “gods,” and participated himself in the sacrifices and burning of incense. He even made up a random feast for the people to celebrate. The kingdom of Israel was moving away from God fast.

God says that “this thing [in Dan] became a sin” (1 Kings 12:30). This thing. The statue had no real power until Jeroboam and the people gave it the power to pull them away from God. It became a sin for them. It was blegh. Worse than blegh. It wrecked Jeroboam’s world. God was furious with them. He had given Jeroboam an incredible gift, entrusting him with the care of His people and their kingdom. But Jeroboam had thrown the gift away carelessly, and he would pay the price.

God’s message came to Jeroboam: “Because I exalted you from among the people, and made you ruler over My people… and yet you have not been as My servant David, who kept My commandments…but you have done more evil than all who were before, for you have gone and made for yourself other gods…and have cast Me behind your back— therefore behold, I will bring disaster on the house of Jeroboam, and will cut off from Jeroboam every male in Israel, bond and free; I will take away the remnant of the house of Jeroboam, as one takes away refuse until it is all gone” (1 Kings 14:7-9).

I hate the rain and the mud. And I hate this story, because I see in it a terrifyingly easy-to-fall-into trap that can take you from being on God’s side to being an idiot cow-worshipper before you’ve even had a chance to process what you’re doing. God said Jeroboam had cast Him behind his back, just tossed God aside like he didn’t care, like God was someone You could dispose of or ignore. That scares me. Because how many times do I just toss God aside too?

Idols are so foreign to me. But they’re still real. We don’t have gold statues and altars just casually around these days, but we do have idols. And it scares me how quick I am to criticize Jeroboam for abandoning God while I’m over here sinking in my own mud of replacing God with some silly thing that could never really replace Him.

I pick the cow all the time. It looks like choosing to do what I want instead of what’s better for a sister in Christ. It looks like seeking approval and acceptance from a boy instead of resting in the approval of God. It looks like picking up my phone for the millionth time instead of opening my Bible. It looks like staying up late studying but not waking up early to pray.

Mostly that’s what I thought about as we trudged through Dan. When am I going to stop falling for idols and start choosing God? How can I stop myself from building an idol and an altar to it just like Jeroboam did?

It comes down to trust. Jeroboam forgot that when God said He would give him the throne as long as Jeroboam served Him, He really meant it. God’s promise was trustworthy. And God didn’t need any help fulfilling it. He didn’t need Jeroboam to take things upon himself and keep the people from crossing into Rehoboam’s territory. God would have taken care of it and maintained Jeroboam’s power without any problems. But Jeroboam didn’t trust him.

So how can I keep from making the same mistake?

Trust. Trust that when God says He’ll do something He really means it. He’s capable of following through every time. He just wants us to do what is right and keep His commandments. If we can remember that He’s the one who brought us here, and trust that He’ll keep taking us where we need to be, then maybe we won’t be so tempted to build a replacement cow when things get tricky and we aren’t quite sure what He has in mind.

When life gets wet and muddy, remember Tel Dan. With a sobering earnestness, remember that God wasn’t joking when He said, “You shall have no other gods before Me.” Remember the consequences of forgetting that God is God. Remember that God is with you and for you— so long as you are with Him and for Him.

Trust Him. Choose Him. Even when it seems too wet and muddy.

Especially then.

 

Amelia

the Israel series: Caesarea by the sea

Who is God?

I don’t know about you, but when I think Mediterranean Sea, I think warm. Sunny. But when we went to the Mediterranean Sea, it was definitely not sunny, and definitely not warm. It was more like the wind was blowing so hard from the storm rolling in that I could hardly even stand up straight.

On Sunday afternoon of our trip (this is literally still day two, we did so much and there’s so much more to tell!!), we visited Caesarea Maritima, the ruins of what once was an impressive, bustling, coastal metropolis in the Roman Empire. “Maritima” just means “by the sea,” and it distinguishes this town because of its location right on the shore of the Mediterranean.

Why does Caesarea matter? The ruins we saw in the ancient part of this city were crazy impressive. A huge theater, a hippodrome, an aqueduct. But what does Caesarea have to do with God’s story?

Acts 10 tells about a man named Cornelius, a Roman centurion. He was a Gentile, but he was known for his good deeds and his belief in God, and he was about to change history. This man named Cornelius lived in Caesarea Maritima.

One day as Cornelius prayed, an angel told him in a vision that his prayers were heard by God, and instructed him to send for a man named Simon Peter to tell him what to do next. For starters, that’s a little crazy. But Cornelius trusted and sent two of his servants and a soldier to find this Simon Peter. They followed the angel’s instructions and headed to Joppa.

The next day, Peter went up to the roof of the house where he was staying to pray. He was really hungry, because it was lunchtime. All of a sudden, he had a vision too. But this vision was way wackier than Cornelius’. Peter saw a huge upside-down parachute thing coming out of the sky and it’s full of all kinds of animals, just a whole zoo of them (I picture lizards, owls, turtles, pigs, camels, frogs). And a voice tells Peter to go ahead and pick one of them to eat for lunch.

Peter, as I imagine I would also be, was horrified at the prospect. But unlike me, it wasn’t just because he wasn’t too keen on getting near them. It was because even if Peter had wanted to eat them, he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t, because the animals in the vision were “unclean” according to Jewish law. Peter had grown up with this law as the rule of his life. He had never eaten anything deemed unclean. It was so ingrained in his lifestyle that he could hardly consider the concept of eating them. Becoming a Christian had not changed that strict dietary law for him, even though in Jesus, he was free from all the restrictions of the old law. Peter, as the vision suggests, still had much to learn.

Peter replies, no way Lord! I’ve never eaten anything “common or unclean.”

And the voice says, “What God has cleansed you must not call common.”

Apparently Peter didn’t get it the first time because the vision happened twice more. “What God has cleansed you must not call common.”

And just as Peter is standing there wondering what in the world is going on or what he’s supposed to have learned from the strange animal vision, here come Cornelius’ men knocking on the door of the house.

The men told Peter about Cornelius and asked him to return to Caesarea with them. The next day, they departed, with Peter and some of the other Christians from Joppa. I wonder if Peter thought about the vision on the way. Just like Peter had never eaten anything “unclean,” he had never set foot in an unclean person’s house. And here he was, headed to the house of a Gentile. I wonder if he heard that voice over and over again: “What God has cleansed you must not call common.” I wonder when he really figured it out. I wonder if he was afraid. I wonder when he decided that God’s plan was bigger than his fear.

When they arrived at Cornelius’ house, there was a small gathering of family and friends present. And Peter, crossing the threshold of a Gentile’s house for the first time in his life, began his message by saying, “God has shown me that I should not call any man common or unclean,” and proceeded to share with them the beauty of the story of Jesus.

In Caesarea Maritima, for the first time ever, Gentiles were invited to hear the good news. No longer was salvation for the Jews alone. In Jesus, all people are welcome. Everyone of every race has the same opportunity to be saved.

So as we stood there looking out at the Mediterranean, wind whipping through our hair, waves crashing onto the rocks and spraying us as the splash blew out across the shore, storm clouds darkening the sky in the distance, I thought about what it must have been like that day. What it was like to stand in Cornelius’ house and watch a Jewish man allow God to break down the racial barrier in his heart and share Jesus with someone he had previously believed to be unworthy. To watch a group of Gentiles receive gladly with great faith the truth about Jesus, and to see the Holy Spirit fall out on them. To see that whole gathering of people rejoicing as Cornelius and his family and friends were baptized into Christ, in one short day turning from racially isolated strangers to brothers and sisters, united as children of God.

I think it must have been even more powerful than the great waves of the sea.

I love this story because it’s my story. I’m a Gentile. At Caesarea Maritima, God changed history. God used Cornelius as a gateway for Gentiles to be His people too. He opened the way for all people to come to know Him. Just as His creation of the sea and the beauty of the crashing waves convey His power and glory, His perfect plan for saving people conveys His love and power and greatness.

Who is God? Standing on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea reminded me He is a God who shows no partiality. Indeed, “in every nation whoever fears Him and works righteousness is accepted by Him” (v. 35). And trying to ignore God’s impartiality is like trying ignore the fierce wind off the ocean. Trying to push the gospel into a corner of racism is like trying to ignore the mighty swell of the sea. It can’t be done. Jesus is for everybody, period. God shows no partiality, period. It’s so obvious in God’s Word. And I’d rather embrace the power of God’s plan for all people than try to hide it or fight it. God shows no partiality, so I must show no partiality. It’s as beautiful and simple as that. “What God has cleansed you must not call common.”

Caesarea by the sea. Where God shows His power through His creation. Where God showed His power through His salvation.

I wonder what happened after Acts 10. I like to think that Cornelius and his family and friends just took off with this fire in their souls for Jesus. I hope that many of Cornelius’ soldiers heard the good news and became believers too. I wonder if Cornelius or his family or friends ever went down to the Mediterranean Sea just a few yards from their house to baptize another friend into Christ. I wonder if the new church in Caesarea met at Cornelius’ house. I wonder if as they sang and praised God together that they remembered their Jewish brothers and sisters in Joppa and their brother Simon Peter who first told them about Jesus.

I don’t know for sure what happened with them, but I do know what Peter did next. Peter got back to Jerusalem and ran straight into a bunch of scandalized Jewish Christians who just could not believe what he had done. But Peter, who had finally figured it out, told them the simple truth. I love their response: “When they heard these things they became silent; and they glorified God, saying, ‘Then God has granted to the Gentiles repentance to life'” (Acts 11:18).

Who is God?

He is powerful in the storms of the sea. He break barriers down. He cleanses. He makes people un-common. All people. That’s who I want to stand with. How about you?

“Who is so great a God as our God? You are the God who does wonders; You have declared Your strength among the peoples.” Psalm 77:13-14

Amelia

the Israel series: Nazareth

Nazareth doesn’t get a lot of air-time in scripture. It was a tiny, tiny village where Jesus grew up, and God’s word doesn’t give us much description of that time in Jesus’ life.

The biggest story that Nazareth does get doesn’t give it a good reputation.

In Luke 4, Jesus has begun his ministry by traveling around and teaching in the region of Galilee. He came home to Nazareth and went into the synagogue on the Sabbath day. The Jewish tradition was to gather on the Sabbath to read from their treasured and limited copies of the Scriptures. Jesus was given a scroll and He read from Isaiah 61, a beautiful prophecy about Himself: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, Because He has anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed; To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.”

When Jesus finished reading, everyone in the synagogue stared at Him. He closed the book and sat down. Then He stated a simple truth: “Today this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

And the gathering turned into an uproar. “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” they said. We know this kid! He grew up here! Where did he get these ideas from? He’s crazy! He thinks he’s the Messiah? Ha!

They were so angry that they dragged Jesus out the city and were about to throw Him off a cliff— and would have, if Jesus hadn’t miraculously disappeared through their midst.

Jesus knew that this would happen. He said to disciples, “A prophet is not without honor, except in his hometown and among his relatives and in his own household” (Mark 6:4). 

After that day, Jesus never went back to Nazareth.

That’s why I love our Nazareth story so much.

Nazareth has changed a lot since Jesus’ day, but there wasn’t much that we were there to see. We spent three nights in Nazareth, but every day we traveled out of the city to view other important sites. Except Sunday. Sunday was different.

On Sunday, we met the sweetest, most incredible group of people, people who prove that although Jesus never physically returned to His hometown, He is back in Nazareth today. On Sunday, we worshiped with the church in Nazareth. About 20 Nazarene brothers and sisters in Christ welcomed us in and together we prayed and studied God’s Word. In a little two story building, we sang songs of praise in both English and Arabic, together, at the same time. We took communion. Our customs were not all the same, but our hearts were.

Worshipping in Nazareth took my breath away because it pointed me to the God who brings all people together through Jesus Christ. Right there in Jesus’ hometown, we worshiped together. And in that moment, no other labels mattered. There was no American, no Israeli, no Arab, no white— nothing but Christian defined us. We were altogether the called out of Jesus Christ.

Only God can do that. His love brings people together in a way that breaks barriers, surpasses language, eclipses race, and transcends culture. Without Jesus, it makes no sense. With Jesus, nothing else but this incredible, barrier-breaking love makes sense.

As one of the men prayed in Arabic that morning, my eyes filled with tears. Though I couldn’t understand the words he said, the emotion behind them was so evident and an overwhelming sense of God’s presence with us filled my soul. All I could think was, “Oh God, who is like You? Nobody brings people together like You do.”

And as I think about Jesus’ last physical day in Nazareth, I realized that He was trying to share a little bit of that message with the people there too. He gave the people in the synagogue two examples of people who—unlike them—had figured it out, who actually realized the evidence in front of them and believed in God. The widow of Zarephath, who trusted that God would provide for her by Elijah’s promise, and Naaman the Syrian, who was healed of leprosy after following Elisha’s instructions from God to wash in the Jordan River.

You know what’s interesting about those two people whom Jesus heralded as examples of true faith?

They were Gentiles.

They weren’t “God’s people.” They were people that the Jews viewed as dirty, undeserving, and immoral. But Jesus lifted them up as people of another race who had come to understand God’s love and put their faith in Him. Jesus was making a point about who God really is. God isn’t a God of division. His love unifies. He wants everybody to know Him.

The people of Nazareth in Jesus’ day didn’t get it. But there are some wonderful people in Nazareth today who have figured it out. God’s love is greater than our differences. Through Jesus, He draws all people to Himself.

It was like a little bit of Heaven. That’s what the preacher in Nazareth said after we all sang together. He was right. I don’t know exactly how Heaven is going to work, but I do know we’ll all be singing praises to God together, whether its in a million languages at once or in one new heavenly language all its own.

How dare we place divisions where God has not. The people of Nazareth in Luke 4 were so focused on staying apart that they missed what was right in front of them and threw the Son of God out of their lives. But the Christians who live in Nazareth today are so focused on bringing people together that they’ve invited the Son of God back in.

Galatians 4:27-28 “For as many of us as were baptized in Christ have put on Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

In Jesus, there is neither white nor black nor Arab nor anything else that separates us. In Jesus, we only wear one label—His— and we become one body in Him.

Nazareth taught me about the church that belongs to Jesus Christ. And Nazareth taught me about Heaven. In the city where my Jesus grew up, His love still lingers.

I’m so thankful His love makes us all one in Him.

 

Amelia

Let God be magnified

Let GOD be magnified.

I’ve been thinking about pride lately. Pride keeps us from doing the things we should and makes us do other things for reasons we shouldn’t.

Why do I do the things I do for the Kingdom? Maybe, if you’re like me, it’s easy to serve or be kind under the pretense of glorifying God, while our true purpose is to be seen by others or to bring glory to ourselves. Oh, we would never say that out loud. We tell ourselves that we’re so spiritual, but deep down we’re doing those things because that boy we like is watching or that professor is here and I want to impress her.

Matthew 6:1, “Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.”

Why I am helping this older lady? Why am I writing that memory verse on my hand? Why I am washing the dishes after the church potluck? Is it because I really love God or is it because I really love other people thinking that I love God? Would I do the same thing if no one was here to see me? If no one ever knew?

Psalm 70:4, “Let all those who seek You rejoice and be glad in You; and let those who love Your salvation say continually, ‘Let God be magnified!’”

People who are truly seeking God and who are rejoicing in His salvation want God to increase, not themselves. They say, “Let God [and not me!] be magnified!”

What stands out to me in this verse is that the attention could easily be drawn to themselves here. Let those who seek God show everybody else how happy they are and how much better they are than them. Let those who love God’s salvation receive praise from others because they’re so in love with God and everyone can tell they’re so spiritually minded. It seems like a lot of the time that’s how our spiritual life goes. I hope everybody sees how joyful I am and how much I love God! I hope everyone thinks I’m so spiritual!

No, that’s not what people who truly love God do. People who seek God and love His salvation point all the joy and glory and honor to Him. They do everything with the mindset of increasing God’s greatness in other’s eyes.

And that goes straight against our pride. That cuts straight through all the times we did something good but with the motivation to make ourselves greater. Yikes.

What’s my goal here? That’s what I need to ask myself every time I head down that road of spiritual showing-off. Who I am I really trying to magnify— myself, or God?

Matthew 5:16, “Let your light so shine before others, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in Heaven.”

So many people know that familiar verse by heart. But are we really living it? Why shine? Why do good things? Sometimes the way we actually live would make people think it reads like this: Let your light so shine before others, that they may see your good works, and glorify you for being such a good person.

I’ve missed the mark on that one like a million times.

What we’re really talking about is godly humility, and there’s so much more to learn and study about it. But maybe the one thing we need to remember today about magnifying God is that we’re really bad at it— but God knows.

That’s why I love verse 5. Because right after stating the standard of the truly godly person who joyfully says, “Let God be magnified!” and really means it every time—that mindset that we want to have but struggle so much to fulfill— the writer says the truth about himself: “But I am poor and needy; Make haste to me, O God! You are my help and my deliverer; O Lord, do not delay.” (Psalm 70:5)

It’s like he’s saying: this is what I want to do Lord. I want to seek You. I want to rejoice in You. I want to say continually, “May You be magnified.” But I’m not very good at it. I know You’re the One who can help and deliver. Please help me, Lord, and don’t delay.

Maybe the best way to battle pride is to turn it over to Him. When I recognize that having the right attitude of humility is difficult for me, He can start working on my heart to help me grow. The faster I say, “I can’t,” the sooner I can say, “But look everyone, He can.”

The sooner I can say, “Let God be magnified.”

 

James 4:6 “…God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.”

 

 

Amelia

 

the Israel series: the Jordan River

We did a lot on our first day in Israel. So when our bus stopped yet again on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere and we pulled ourselves out of the almost-nap daze and into the sunlight without much knowledge of where we were headed, I was completely unprepared to walk right up to the Jordan River.

It blew. me. away. (A regular Israel occurrence but still a notable one.)

Definitely not because the water was pretty— on the contrary it was a nasty-looking greenish brown. Not because the river was so mighty. It’s actually decreased a lot in size over the last couple thousand years. Not because the border between Israel and the country of Jordan falls right in the middle of the river these days— intriguing, but not what made it special.

The Jordan River blew me away because I could not believe I was standing on the shore of the same place where God cleared the water away for Joshua and His people to cross over. That’s one of my favorite Bible stories ever. And I felt kind of like a little kid standing there and thinking, “It really happened. They really did cross this river. That I’m standing in front of. Right here.”

I love the story in Joshua 3 and 4 of God’s people crossing the Jordan River. I think it’s the underrated water-parting story of the Bible. I get it, the Egyptian chase across the Red Sea with God parting the water into two giant gravity-defying walls for His people before collapsing them onto the Egyptian army is pretty cool. It’s got a lot more drama and thrill and pizzaz. But if it’s okay to pick a favorite, mine is crossing the Jordan.

Because it comes at such a different moment. The calmness and purposefulness and reverence of that river-crossing makes it uniquely beautiful to me. They weren’t on the run, rather, God was on the move.

Joshua told the people, “Sanctify yourselves, for tomorrow the Lord will do wonders among you” (3:5), and the next day, the priests led the way with the ark of the covenant ahead of all the people. I wonder what they were thinking as they approached the river. I wonder if they talked about what God had done before at the Red Sea, if the oldest few who remained whispered about what they had seen then, if the kids jumped up and down in excitement, if any of them were worried or afraid. When they reached the river bank, which was overflowing because it was harvest time, the priests stepped into the Jordan. As soon as their feet dipped in, “the waters which came down from upstream stood still, and rose in a heap very far away…So the waters that went down into the Salt Sea failed, and were cut off” (3:16). Unlike the water walls of the Red Sea, God caused the northern waters of the Jordan River to be held back upstream as the rest of the water drained away south, leaving a wide expanse of land that was so dry it was like water had never touched it. God’s power on full display.

As a non-swimmer, not-a-big-fan-of-water-especially-dirty-opaque-water kind of person, I could not imagine getting into the river that was before me as we stood on the banks of the Jordan. But what I could imagine was how amazing it would be if right before my eyes, that water washed away and cleared a path to the other side. The Jordan River was, to me, impassable. It was for God’s people in Joshua 3 too. But God made the impassable passable. He made the wet dry. He made the mighty river humble. He showed His power over everything, power that would carry the people from that moment throughout all their conquest of the promised land.

At the Jordan River, God said, “You are weak, but I am strong. You are overwhelmed, but I make peace. You cannot do this alone, but with Me you can.”

And that’s why when the last person had crossed, Joshua sent twelve men back into the river for a quick but important task. With the priests still standing firm, those twelve men, one for each tribe, picked up a stone from right in the middle of the Jordan. Then the priests walked away, the water came rushing back, and they carried those stones with them to their campsite, where they used them to build a memorial.

What did the memorial mean for them? It was a reminder of all those things God had implicitly spoken by showing His power and making a way across the river. “For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan before you until you had crossed over…that all the people of the earth may know the hand of the Lord, that it is mighty, that you may fear the Lord your God forever” (4:23-24).

You know, there’s another really important story that took place at the Jordan. It’s the one that most tourists who come to visit the river are way more focused on— the story of Jesus’ baptism.

Matthew 3:13-17, “Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him… And when Jesus was baptized, immediately he went up from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened to him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming to rest on him; and behold, a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.'” 

A lot of theological questions arise from Jesus’ being baptized, but I’m not super concerned about answering them. I just think that Jesus’ baptism was in its own right a sort of crossing. In the same river that God had parted for His people so long ago, He was doing another parting. He was making a new Way.

When the Israelites crossed the Jordan River, it wasn’t an end goal, but a starting point. And God was showing them that He was working and that He was with them and that He was making a path to victory.

When Jesus was baptized in that same river, it wasn’t an end goal, but a starting point. And God was showing the world that He was working and that He was quite literally with them and that He was making a path to victory.

The lessons that God was teaching when He parted the waters of the Jordan are the same lessons He was sharing when Jesus was baptized. In that moment, when Jesus went down under the water and came back up again, God said to humanity, “You are weak, but I am strong. You are overwhelmed, but I make peace. You cannot do this life alone, but with Me you can.” And it was like a little foreshadowing of the end goal, when Jesus would go down into the earth but come back up again in victory. At the Jordan River that day, God said, “This is the real crossing. This is the real dry ground. This is the real Way. This is My Son Jesus.” God was on the move.

And it’s kind of like everything Jesus did after that was a memorial stone. Every miracle, every teaching, every healing, every moment that His power was displayed was a reminder: “Remember what God is doing for you.”

It’s pretty cool when God’s plans make so much sense. Here’s where it comes together. When you and I are baptized, it’s not an end goal, but a starting point. It’s God showing us that He is working and that He is with us and that He is making a path to victory in Heaven. And it’s not the water we’re baptized in that’s so special. The water of the Jordan River wasn’t so special either.

What’s special is the God who makes a way at the water over and over again.

Good grief, that plan has me smiling so big! It had me smiling at the bank of the Jordan, and it has me smiling right here today.

 

Amelia

“all” 2019: All-in

At the beginning of the year, I shared that my word for 2019 is “all” because there are so many applications that it has in scripture regarding our walk with Christ. Today, I want to share the first of some of those applications, starting with the phrase that has been on my mind the most in the new year: all-in.

It’s like a mantra I’ve been repeating to myself over and over again. It’s been the thing I’ve spoken to God in the mornings, “Okay, here I am, I’m all-in.” It’s been the steady course reminding me what direction I want to head in the middle of a chaotic day, “Okay Jesus, I’m all-in.”

But what does that really mean? What does all-in represent for my faith?

Yesterday I read Matthew 10. The words Jesus spoke in this chapter are hard and maybe a little confusing. But as I thought about His teaching, it occurred to me that maybe this is the definition of “all-in” I’ve been looking for.

In Matthew 10:28-33, Jesus said, “…do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. But rather fear Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father’s will. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows. Therefore whoever confesses Me before men, him I will also confess before My Father who is in heaven. But whoever denies Me before men, him I will also deny before My Father who is in heaven.”

What does it mean to go all-in for Jesus?

It means to not be afraid. Jesus said that the only person to be afraid of is the One who can actually condemn your soul. Nothing else is worth the worry and fear!! Things of this world may kill our bodies but our souls will survive. Isn’t that crazy powerful? Don’t be afraid to live! Going all-in means living a fearless life. Living like you really believe that your soul is secure in God and facing the things of the world that make your skin crawl. Not bugs or heights or clowns, but deep fears. The fear that keeps you from walking up to a stranger and telling her God loves her. The fear that keeps you from saying, “Would you like to study the Bible with me?” The fear that holds you back from worshipping with all your heart because you don’t know how people around you will react. The fear that stops you from bringing up God in a conversation with your friends because its awkward.

Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Facing that fear dead in the eyes and saying, “My God is greater than you. My God has power over you. And in Him, I will not let you control me.” That’s going all-in. That’s stepping out and choosing what He wants you to do instead of letting fear choose just the opposite for you. That is living.

And what does living in that kind of fearlessness make you do? It makes you confess His name before others. Proclaiming Jesus becomes the core point of your day. It doesn’t have to be loud or broadcasted to lots of people. It comes in the quiet moments when you choose to pray with a friend in the middle of a classroom, when you choose to sing a song of praise, when you tell somebody in the grocery store that they’re beautiful and beloved, when you do anything that gives Jesus the spotlight instead of you. It’s a living confession of faith. A fearless confession that pours out of you every day. That’s all-in.

But how can I do that? What gives me the motivation to live that fearless, all-in, declaring Jesus life? It’s because we can know for sure that God knows us and cares for us. We are valuable to Him. Jesus said He knows the number of every hair on our heads. God is a personal God, who cares about the details of your life. He’s pursuing you because He desperately wants you to go all-in for Him.

This is my all-in definition: a fearless life of claiming the God who claimed you first.

It’s easy to write it, and harder to live it. But Jesus’ promise is that when we confess Him today, He will confess us before the Father someday. That’s when “all-in” will truly be attained: when we are all in heaven with Him.

Amelia

 

the Israel Series: In the desert

If you’ve talked with me recently or follow me on Facebook, you may know that I just got back from a once-in-a-lifetime trip to visit the country of Israel with my university. It was an incredible opportunity, and I learned so much politically and historically, but most of all, spiritually. We packed so much into every minute of the trip, and every day my mind was blown at least 5 times. Seeing the places I’ve read about in Scripture come to life right before my eyes was just beyond words. We all just kept saying to each other, “Wow, are we really here?” And that was every single day, every single place we went. I gained so much information and connected so many things in Scripture that I’m still trying to process everything we learned. But there were so many amazing moments that I really want to share, so I’m starting a little series here to write about some of the places and memories from our trip that I hope will inspire and move you.

Our first night and morning in Israel we spent in the desert. I had never been in a true desert before, and the landscape blew me away. Dry, dry dirt everywhere and these incredible flat-topped mountains. Everything the same dusty beige. And surprisingly for the desert, a huge body of water to the right, so enormous it looked like an ocean. The Dead Sea, with a salt concentration so high it kills life, standing like a cruel mockery to a thirsty wanderer in the land.

In the middle of this terrain, our professor read Psalm 63.

“O God, You are my God; early will I seek You; My soul thirsts for You; my flesh longs for You in a dry and thirsty land where there is no water…” (v. 1)

In the desert, where you are surrounded by nothing but barren land, where the largest source of water is so undrinkable that it will do the opposite of what water is supposed to do for you, in this desert, David’s soul thirsted for God.

I don’t think I ever understood the desperation of a “dry and thirsty land” until I was standing in it myself. And standing there in it, I realized that it is with this kind of desperation, the desperation of a person who hasn’t seen water in days, that we ought to long for God and diligently seek Him. We need to run after Him like He’s our only hope. We need to search for Him like He’s our source of life. We need to ache for Him like we’d die without Him. Because the truth is that we would. He is all of those things to us and more. He is the only one who really sustains us.

Life can be as desperate as a dry and thirsty land. Sometimes we feel completely hopeless and lost, with no idea when “water” will be in sight. In those moments, we need only God to be our sustaining source.

But even when life is not like that, we still need to seek God just as persistently, with the same kind of thirsting that we’ve learned from seasons in the desert. David knew it. When he was in the desert, he longed not for physical provision, but for spiritual life.

“So I have looked for You in the sanctuary, to see Your power and Your glory. Because your lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise You. Thus I will bless you while I live; I will lift up my hands in Your name. My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness, and my mouth shall praise You with joyful lips.” (v. 2-5)

In Jesus, my soul shall be satisfied. A thirsty, dry mouth will yet praise Him with joyful and fulfilled lips. He is life in the desert.

 

Amelia

I want to get engaged

In my social club, we do this special thing when a girl gets engaged. We call it a “Candle Lighting.” The girl who’s engaged keeps it a big secret, and we all get together and sit in a circle and pass around a candle with her ring tied to it. We keep passing until whoever is engaged blows the candle out! Then we all scream and cry and the girl gets to tell the story of how he proposed before we all hug her and celebrate. It’s really wonderful.

But for some of us, if we’re not careful, we can leave a Candle Lighting feeling a little sad. Because it just isn’t looking like a Candle Lighting is in the cards for us. Being engaged seems like a faraway dream. And it’s sad because there’s nothing we’d love more than to have a Candle Lighting, to have all our friends celebrate such an exciting new season with us. There’s nothing we’d love more than to have the promise of that ring and a sweet boy behind it. There’s nothing we’d love more than to be engaged.

We had a Candle Lighting on Sunday night. It was perfect, but then I left with that feeling heavy on my heart. I want to get engaged.

So here’s what I’m thinking.

I’m going to get engaged. I want to get engaged to life. Engaged to the present. Engaged to right now. I want to get engaged to living in the fullest and best way.

I want to get engaged to people. I want to get engaged to a reckless love that doesn’t just talk. I want to get engaged to taking action. Engaged to the hopes and dreams of others. Committed to sharing and dreaming and loving along with them. Engaged to the promise of what their future could be.

I want to get engaged to joy. I want to get engaged to face-splitting smiles and heart-lifting songs. Committed to a peace that passes understanding. Pursuing kindness and friendship and faith. I want to get engaged to fearlessness, to a passionate dedication to live in freedom and do what’s right.

I want to get engaged to Jesus. I want to get invested in what He’s offering, to trust in His promises and believe in His faithfulness. I want to be fully committed to Him. I want to hear what He’s asking me to do and to say, “Yes!” every time. I want to run towards Him so hard, so fast that when I get to the end, I’ve got nothing left to give.

I want Him to look at me and be able to say, “She’s spoken for. She’s Mine. She said yes. She’s promised herself to a life that’s spent with Me.”

So yeah, I want to get engaged.

Engaged to God. Engaged to hope. Engaged to a life that’s worth living in Him.

That’s my new plan. I hope it’s your plan too. It may or may not include a ring somewhere along the way, but it will include a crown of life at the end.

I think that’s worth blowing the candle out on.

 

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. ‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in Him.’ The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the soul who seeks Him.” Lamentations 3:22-25

Amelia