laying down the nets

Matthew 4:18–20 “While walking by the Sea of Galilee, He saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter) and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And He said to them, “Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men.”Immediately they left their nets and followed Him.”
 

leave your nets

©hannah mclean 10-12-2024

 

will you leave your nets
and follow Me?
will you lay down old
the new to see?
will you trust your works
can leave your hands
and pick up where
Redeemer stands?
 

will you forfeit
all you’ve ever known
and follow Me
from house and home?

it matters not that
men say “no”
it matters not where
men say “go”
it matters only
if you choose
to follow Me
your nets to lose
 

a better word
i have for you
a better work
your hands to do
I look across
your narrow sea
and call you out
“will you follow Me?”

The feet of Jesus

Revelation 1:12–16 “Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the lampstands one like a son of man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around His chest. The hairs of His head were white, like white wool, like snow. His eyes were like a flame of fire, His feet were like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace, and His voice was like the roar of many waters. In His right hand He held seven stars, from His mouth came a sharp two-edged sword, and His face was like the sun shining in full strength.”

I read this passage today, and looked down at my paper to answer the correlating questions. “What stands out to you in John’s description of what He saw and heard?” I could think of only one thing. It wasn’t the lampstands or the golden stars that danced across His palm, nor was it the two-edged sword or the flaming eyes. It was His feet. “Burnished bronze, refined in a furnace.” Something that is burnished has been polished until it shines, or in this case, refined by fire until it carried a sheen found through no other means. His feet, standing amid the splendor and majesty…His feet that knew not just the courts of heavens but the fires of earth.

To be honest, when I think of Jesus’ feet I don’t usually think of burnished bronze. I think of dirt and blood and sandal straps too holy to be unloosed by the best of human hands. I think of roads filled with travelers, journeys up mountainsides and maybe even the floors of fishing boats.

My mind travels through stories recorded for us in scripture of those holy, yet human feet; sick were laid at them, former-lepers fell in gratitude at them, redeemed women washed the dirt from them with their tears. People followed where their walked, sat at them to learn and even joined them atop the waters of the Sea of Galilee. They stood in a manger, in the homes of sinners, in His Father’s house and in the courts of earthly governments. They walked into gardens, up mountains, from city to city, even to the tomb of their friend. These feet that once were cradled by a mother, that were once pierced through by a soldier, that knew the feel of both womb and tomb; these feet that traveled the decent of heaven to earth and back again. These were the feet that stood out to me in John’s vision.

I know those feet. I’ve laid myself before them a thousand time, resting my head upon them in prayer. I’ve wrapped myself around them, rained my tears upon them, broken open my alabaster box at them to pour out my worship. I’ve followed them through the veil and to the throne, walked beside them into the broken caverns within me and known the healing that comes as they’ve led me out. They’ve joined me in my floods and in my fires, stood beside me in the valleys and in the heights, waited with me when I had no strength to move.

I found His feet before I found His face; for me it was the entrance point to relationship when I did not yet know how to receive love. These holy feet that humbled themselves to meet me in the dirt, pierced through so that my gaze could learn to look up in wonder at the One who drew near.

I know those feet. And when I look upon John’s vision, I can’t help but think that even if the rest of heaven is unimaginable in beauty and purity, shocking in width and wonder to we who wait on this side of eternity, the feet of our Lord will be familiar to us.

For those feet stood with us in the furnace. Those heavenly feet of burnished bronze.

Fault and chastisement

I have spent my entire adult life battling health issues. Literally less than 2 months after my 18th birthday I got a diagnosis that seemed to determine the course of everything that followed; and when a doctor associated it with Celiac’s Disease (an autoimmune disorder that I believe was triggered in me after the death of my little brother when I was very young), I took the blame for the catastrophe that was my body. At every bump and pit along my health journey, I have looked backwards continually at my 18-year-old self and said, “It's your own fault.”

When my body fell apart at the failure of my thyroid, it was my own fault. When I lost my ability to speak after complications with surgery, it was my own fault. When I had to work extra hard for the smallest step forward or when my body fell 10 steps back, it was my own fault. When my body couldn't recover after giving birth...when I miscarried my babies...couldn't regulate my blood pressure...my fault, my fault, my fault. For years and years, I have owned my body's weakness and failures as the consequence of my ignorant teenage choices to not stay off gluten. "It's your own fault," my internal drill sergeant reminds me, "suck it up and accept your consequences. You gave up your chance at health when you were young, so stop complaining. You didn't respect it while you had it, you don't deserve it back. Stand up and keep moving forward."

In some weird way, this acceptance of blame has sort of wrangled my emotions as I have rollercoastered through the ups and downs, reminding me to keep standing instead of rolling over and giving up. It has forced me to find my contentment outside of my circumstances.

And that’s not all bad.

But it’s also not good. Yesterday my drill sergeant’s voice started to bother me, some part of me that the last 24 years hasn't hardened, some part that hasn’t been snuffed out by my body's failures suddenly stood up and pushed back.

“I don’t think that's true,” this unusual spark of resistance called out over the familiar wrestle to quench my sadness. "I don't think it’s my fault."

I tried. I tried to get better. I did everything I knew how to for years and years. I have worked hard for my wellbeing (physically, mentally, spiritually, and relationally), and while I have laid hold of much holistic healing, my physical body still languishes in the dirt. I’ve learned how to rewire my brain toward it over the years; I’ve found moments I have actively felt compassion for it, I’ve intentionally reconnected to it (overriding a trauma response of disassociating) in spite of the emotional turmoil I endure by allowing myself to remain in it, I’ve actively painted it with dignity and value and reminded myself of its goodness by design. And every time I think I’ve got to be done, that the bottom of this gangrenous wound has to be uncovered, I keep finding more.

So today I have been processing my internal resistance. I’ve considered the little voice that stood in the face of the commander and said, “It’s not my fault.”

What is the truth?

The truth is that I have never looked at another sick or suffering person and thought, “It’s your own fault. Suck it up.” I’ve never bypassed compassion and commanded someone to get in line under their responsibility for their own weakness. Why would I judge myself with such harshness when I have never thought so harshly about another?

The truth is that there is much in my life that has affected my body that I have not chosen.

The truth is that association and causation are not the same thing. I don’t know why my thyroid failed me when I was 18-years-old.

The truth is that even if I had messed up everything in my life in regards to my health, I still deserve the basic human compassion that shelters the path of suffering.

“What is the truth?” I asked the Lord.

And He said to me, “Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with His wounds we are healed.” [Isaiah 53:4–5]

The word “chastisement” set itself on me, its definition laying out the reality of this lie’s root. To chastise means to censure severely, inflicting punishment on (as by whipping). A censure is a judgment involving condemnation. For 24 years I have carried the condemnation of my broken body; the sentence of a life in the dust has whipped me into line every time I have bucked beneath it. It has pressed upon my shoulders with such weight that I’ve given it permission to remain because I have owned it as a righteous judgment against me.

But He said to me, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” [Romans 8:1]

Break every chain, Lord. No more lies.

He has borne my grief and sorrow, He has been pierced and crushed and chastised and wounded for my peace and for my healing.

“It’s not my fault,” I said over and over again today. Practicing the truth so that the next time the lie falls from my mouth I can crush it before it lands. May the whip that has fallen so many times be absorbed by the One who lent me His body so that I can walk free.

The eager rose bush

I went out to look in my flower bed this afternoon, and found myself standing in front of my rose bush. I bought it this Spring at ALDI, a bare twig maybe 10” tall for $7 figuring that even if it flopped, it was worth the $7 risk because…what if it didn’t? And there in my flower bed stood the former twig. While it still had only 2 branches, it was now 3 1/2’ tall, boasting three 4” roses and 2 more in lesser states of bloom. It stretched itself toward the sky, straight upright, confident that it was capable of great beauty, and it opened up its blossoms into sweet aromatic pedals of many shades of pink, unaware that a single branch was not suppose to stand so tall nor hold so many roses.

Its two overflowing branches made me laugh as I thought, “I want the confidence of this rose bush.”

This rose bush apparently had not been informed that it had fallen into my uninformed hands; it was unhindered by its time of pruning, its season of waiting to find its garden, its time of not yet being planted in the right soil. In spite of its dormancy and its apparent dying, it was eager to flourish without hinderance the moment it touched the earth.

It seemed to call out to me, “Why wouldn’t I go all out? This is what I was made for!”

It didn’t know I would stand and admire its blooms, but it knew its blooms would hold all the beauty embedded in them by its Maker. It seemed to have the glorious understanding that to bud and to blossom and to burst into full bloom in the light of the sun was what it was made for….and so it threw its branches out into the open air and simply lived to the fullness of its potential for its age and stage of growth.

I want to be like the rose bush.

I was talking to the Lord this morning about my desire to learn how to dream by faith. I've learned in my 43 years that while I am a dreamer by nature—one who dreams big for the people in my life—I am crippled in my ability to dream for myself. Maybe it’s the remnants of disappointments of the past, or the lingering effects of being pressed down…maybe it’s the leftover shades of fear not yet washed from my nature… wherever it comes from, I find myself wishing to confront my limp.

While it is true that I sometimes do big (for me), uncomfortable things; I mostly just do them in obedience, expectation doesn’t usually have a seat at the table. I invite people to a Bible study without the expectation that anyone would come. I publish a book without the expectation that anyone would buy it. I write a blog without the expectation that anyone would read it. I share a testimony without the expectation that anyone would believe it. I sing a song without the expectation anyone (but my dad) would want to listen to my voice. And maybe it's not so bad a thing to be surprised from time to time if someone shows up or stops to listen or finds themself blessed, but I do think it is a strange position to be in to repeatedly reach out my hand assuming I will probably find only empty air and to have genuine peace at having reached out anyway.

I look around me and watch people in my life planning and dreaming with joyful expectancy; they start businesses, prayer movements and ministries that utilize their gifting and turn the fire that burns in their heart into a productive blaze. They sit behind tables filled with their creative endeavors and believe that someone would want one for their own. They walk into rooms and open their mouths with the expectation that someone will consider what comes out of them and choose to take part. And I watch them…marveling at what, to me, seems like magnificent boldness. Dreams and expectancy of possibility combining to gift the human soul.

Are you one of those people? A person who takes leaps of faith and builds with wild expectation? How did you become like the rose bush? Teach me your ways.

Judgment like a flood

Last night I had a dream about a flood that was coming. When I woke up from it, I got up for a minute, and when I did, I noticed that the lights suddenly went on in the main flood of the house. I went downstairs to see who was awake and found my son curled up with a blanket on the couch in a fully-lit main floor because he had a scary dream.

“What was the dream about, Son?”

“It was about a flood.”

I was suddenly wide awake. So we sat on the couch and I listened to his dream. It was a simple dream; he’d been playing with his sisters when his dad got a weather report that a flood was coming. So everyone needed to go upstairs, and when the flood came, the water went up to the top stair, but it didn’t touch any of us.

We prayed and I tucked him into my bed next to his daddy while I returned to the couch to seek the Lord. I did not remember my dream as vividly as I usually do when I receive dreams from the Lord, but when the Lord confirms your dream through your son, you pay attention.

Here is what I remember from the dream followed by the warning the Lord brought to light in the face of it:

I was visiting a city where I did not live, I was with my husband and a close friend. While we were there, a warning went out that a flood was coming, and we were trying to get to a specific place in the city to be safe. The people we were with (who lived there) seemed to be our work colleagues and it was clear that they didn’t really like us much, but didn’t dislike us enough to want anything bad to happen to us. Most of the people around us seemed to know there was a flood coming and were a bit harrowed from the bad weather they’d encountered in the recent past. There were some who were just going about their business as usual.

We were trying to get across town from where we were, and the scene I remember at the end of the dream was a place of decision. We were in the apartment complex of the people we knew because we had helped them get home; it was a building with open halls connecting the rooms like you’d find in the south or a coastal town. They were trying to get to their rooms, and the halls were filled with long, orderly lines of people doing the same. They finally said to us with a hint of worry and reluctant kindness, “The flood is almost here, I don’t know if you will be able to get back, you can stay in our room.” When we said we couldn’t do that, they offered to at least watch our stuff for us so that we didn’t have to worry about carrying anything across town.

So we handed them our bags (and anything in our purses that might weigh us down). I specifically remember asking my husband and friend if I needed my lanyard with my wallet and keys and decided that I didn’t, and I hung it around the neck of the person who was offering me help. We turned to leave and they turned to go into their rooms. As I walked past the stone supporting wall of the apartment building on my way down the stairs—the opposite direction of the people going up higher—I reached out my hand and touched it saying, “I cover you in the blood of Jesus.”

As we were strategizing about how to get where we needed with nothing but the clothes on our backs, the air around us was abuzz with hurry and worry because of the impending flood, but even with the knowledge of what was coming, not all people were preparing for it.

That is what I remember from my dream.

As I prayed and asked the Lord to reveal to me what He wanted me to know through these two dreams, He made the following things clear to me:

First, judgment is coming to the USA. This dream was not pointing to the final judgments of the book of Revelation, but instead a much nearer judgment of a righteous God on a wicked nation. There is only one way to walk through this judgment, and it is as the Israelites stood secure in their homes in Goshen through the plagues on Egypt in Exodus 7–12, and that is to be under the blood of Jesus.

Second, there is purpose behind this judgment that is not merely punishment (although we absolutely deserve only that); this judgment is to bring about repentance because God’s heart for humanity is and has always been to save them and unite them in Himself (Ephesians 1:10).

As I wrote out this dream and talked to the Lord about it, I kept bumping into the word “harrow” and “harrowed,” so I looked up its meaning. A harrow is a tool used to cultivate, it breaks up and smooths out soil for planting. And to feel harrowed means to feel plundered and tormented.

The judgment that is coming will be as if the harrow of God sweeps across the nation and it will do one of two things to any heart not secure under the atoning blood of Jesus: It will either soften your heart so that it turns to His in repentance (this is His deepest desire), or it will leave you feeling plundered because what is good will be stripped away from you (God is the source of all that is good, in the rejection of Him, you will lose whatever is of His goodness that He has graciously allowed you to hold in your hands).

I do not know what stands before us, but there will be judgment like a flood (the flood in this dream stood for judgment); cover yourself in the Redeemer’s blood. He has already finished the work of salvation for us to take part in…there is no other way to endure what is coming without Him. Repent. Pray (for yourself, your family, everyone you know and love, your city, our nation). Receive mercy. Find refuge in the God who has loved you from the beginning.

A prayer of surrender

Some seasons for me are messier than others; lately I've been bringing all the pieces of my heart in all their complexity and just pouring them onto the altar...and this has been my accompanying prayer of surrender: "Burn up what You will, Lord. Purify whatever remains after Your holy fire falls. And plant whatever You wish to grow in me."

And so in this season where I cannot sort, I can still be sanctified because the Lord always receives the sacrifices we make in surrender, even if they aren't pretty. 

 

Psalm 5:3 TPT "At each and every sunrise You will hear my voice as I prepare my sacrifice of prayer to You. Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on the altar and wait for Your fire to fall upon my heart."

The expanse of His bending

"He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap." Psalm 113:7

 

The Lord was ministering to me with Psalm 113:7 yesterday, and this morning as I sat down with Him, I looked into the rest of the Psalm and I am undone.

Psalm 113 speaks to the Lord being HIGH ABOVE ALL nations; China, Russia, the USA, Germany, Mexico, Brazil, Israel, Egypt, Monaco, Nigeria…every nation with every earthly leader and every ounce of earthly government, prestige and military might. It says that not only are these beneath Him, but they are FAR beneath Him. And while the glory of the earth and its nations may seem impressive (Olympians, natural wonders, scientific and technological advances, etc.), His glory—the sum of His being—dwarfs not only all the earth has to offer but also the heavens. And from this declaration of the immense wonder, worth and power of God, the Psalmist rightly declares His holiness, “Who is like the Lord our God…?” No one. He is set apart in every way; holy, holy, holy the right declaration as He is beheld.

Then the second half of the Psalm moves my heart is wondrous ways. Because then, this God who dwarfs the nations with His glory, presence, position and scope of vision reaches down through the distance of His exaltation and sets His hands into the dust to touch the ones with nothing to glory in; He puts those holy hands into the ashes of burned up lives and circumstance and picks up the ones who need; and with the humble of the world in His grasp, He covers them with honor. And then, He turns His eyes to the woman without, the lonely with the pain of unfulfilled longings, and He moves her to joy.

“Who is like the Lord our God…?” Our God who does not overlook the individual lives on whom death has left its mark. Our God who did not come to save nations—for nations are but a drop in a bucket to Him—but to save the people who fill those nations—marked with His image and the recipients of His affections. Who is like the Lord our God? Worthy of praise for all of time and yet concerned with the weak and lowly who have known only broken pieces and with the woman whose beating heart is cast down.

I don’t know if where you sit today is a place of authority at a table of honor or a pile of ashes from the life you’ve burned with your own sin. I don’t know if you hold in your hands everything you ever wanted or if your soul cries out from the bathroom floor in your longing for what you lack. But I do know this, the Lord our God is both mighty and meek. He is above the heights we could ever lift our eyes to and beneath the depths we could ever fall. He is worthy and yet willing, holy and yet love itself. Rest in His hands, it is there that joy will find you.

And do not miss the expanse of His bending, for the expanse is the door to understanding His praise.

Redeemed blessing

I am preparing to teach on Ruth 4 in Children’s Church on Sunday; it’s a chapter about Boaz redeeming Ruth. Last week I taught about how Boaz is intended to help us understand our Redeemer Jesus, so we considered the Redeemer’s heart. This week we will consider how and why He redeems. And because the book of Ruth is all about redemption, I found in the middle of this chapter a blessing that just strikes me in the best sort of way.

Look at this blessing in verses 11–12, “May the Lord make the woman, who is coming into your house, like Rachel and Leah, who together built up the house of Israel. May you act worthily in Ephrathah and be renowned in Bethlehem, and may your house be like the house of Perez, whom Tamar bore to Judah, because of the offspring that the Lord will give you by this young woman.”

I’ve read this blessing before and thought, “What strange women to draw blessing from.” Do you know the lives of Rachel, Leah and Tamar? Rachel and Leah were sold by their father to be wives to the same man; the pain of this sin against them on their lives is displayed in Genesis 29–30. Their relationships were fraught with toxic competition, striving for love, barrenness…reading those chapters makes me cry every time. But here in this blessing, it says, “Rachel and Leah, who together built up the house of Israel.” Redemption…under the blessing of the Lord, their lives brought forth the people of God. And then there’s Tamar, you can read about her in Genesis 38; lies, failures, sins by and against, a twisted pursuit of a son. And yet here it says, “May your house be like the house of Perez, whom Tamar bore to Judah, because of the offspring that the Lord will give you by this young woman.” Redemption…under the blessing of the Lord, the Messiah came forth through the house of Perez.

And today as I am considering and praying over the story, I head myself tell the Lord, “I am grateful that you did not build the lineage of Jesus on polished stones, but instead on stones that were hewn.” I struggle to relate to shiny, polished things…but hewn things…hewn things I can run my fingers across and understand the grooves of their forming. Forged from mountains and valleys, redeemed from fire and flood, purposefully shaped for stability.

Our Redeemer is good.

Missing you on the eve of Spring

For the Return of my Friend
©4/26/24 Hannah McLean

My face turns toward the Spring breeze
lungs breathe deep
and I am filled.
The sights and sounds and smells that surround me
pour out their promises in the way only nature may.
And in this air, I cannot help but hope.

Time is ever changing things,
this I know,
the tiny nose that once wrinkled up a baby face
now sets among features matured into a different beauty.

Soft found hard.
The trials of life have a way of shaping things,
like the persistent rushing river through the grand canyon
forging in its passing a thing of extravagant wonder.

And yet,
many water cannot change all things
for my love persists;
unable to be washed away by current
unwilling to be pulled away by wind and gale
ever beating as the heartbeat at the core of life itself.

Hope rides upon the fresh air
as things once dead beneath the cold of winter
emerge in victorious shades of living color.
If ever it was time, why not now?

I open up my doors
I throw wide my windows
and cast my voice and heart into the earthen air.
My longing for you to come stretches across the space
between us;
may it find its way to you
nudging your heart to turn my way
spreading out a bridge worth walking.

I will be here,
this you must know,
listening for the sound of your footsteps
across the freshly plowed earth.

mercy in the burial

John 19:38–40 “After these things Joseph of Arimathea, who was a disciple of Jesus, but secretly for fear of the Jews, asked Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus, and Pilate gave him permission. So he came and took away his body. Nicodemus also, who earlier had come to Jesus by night, came bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds in weight. So they took the body of Jesus and bound it in linen cloths with the spices, as is the burial custom of the Jews.”

Matthew 27:59–60 “And Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen shroud and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had cut in the rock. And he rolled a great stone to the entrance of the tomb and went away.”

when holy God bent down and
stepped inside the flesh of man
He came upon the womb of a poor woman
His fanfare heavenly heralds
heard only by the least of these
dirt of stable cave and manger
strips of linen swaddling Him safe and warm
tended to by His mother’s hands
her adoring eyes looking upon Him
her mother heart bound to His with what had been
the purest of human love

when holy God bent lower and
stepped out of the flesh of man
He left upon the cross of crucifixion
His fanfare the taunts and curses of fallen man
heard from the hidden rooms of scheming to the highest public courts
flogging scourge and splintered cross
victory disguised in loss

at close of work
last breath breathed
last holy words but a mere echo in the minds of those who remained
last spectator of the spectacle of crucifixion homeward bound
last of the taunts of dying men dead with Him

the mangled body of Messiah
punctured the silence
“who will tend to the flesh of the Son of Man?”

and the least of his followers
stepped through the fear of man
brushed past the praise of man
and set their hands upon the broken body of their Messiah
His bloody wounds stained their garments
as they tended as a loved one would their own
strips of linen bound around Him once more
costly spices laid once more at His feet

i know the honor of preparing the dead for burial
is no small thing
a last moment to honor the one you loved
to allow the rawness of the loss to unleash the tears that only come
in the quiet

confronted with what was
and what will no longer be
how these men must have grieved as they were at last near
their lifeless Savior
as they touched His blood shed for them
smelled the reality of His ruin

did their tears fall upon His wounds
mingle with the spices
drip across the linens that soon hid
the cursed flesh from their view?

did they lament their failures to follow well
their bondage to men
their lost opportunity to be by His side
their silence in the face of unjust judgements?

did they wonder why they were allowed to do
what the faithful women standing nearby could not?

but isn’t that just like the Lord
to honor the lowest with such a great honor?
while these men may have been the greatest in the kingdoms of man
they were the failures in the Kingdom of God
the ones who followed Jesus in the shadows
the ones whose flesh crushed out their spiritual flourishing
the ones who, to this point, had counted shame they may feel from man
a more costly thing than shame they carried from sin
but they were still His own
and He received their sacrifices

He chose them to tend to His body
He chose joseph to lay Him down in his own tomb
because He took joseph’s death
and when He would rise on the third day
joseph would feel the reality that He also gave him life
He chose nicodemus to bring Him myrrh
because he could bury in the tomb with Him the wisdom of man
that he would walk away from the stone
a wise man
to teach the jews with the wisdom of God

Zechariah 12:10 “And I will pour out on the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem a spirit of grace and pleas for mercy, so that, when they look on Me, on Him whom they have pierced, they shall mourn for Him, as one mourns for an only child, and weep bitterly over Him, as one weeps over a firstborn.”

such is mercy

when we look on Him whom we have pierced
every moment following changes
and some of us need a closer look
some must look into the face of the child in the manger
and some must feel the finality of covering His face with a cloth
that we may know the purest of heavenly love

The Fear of the Lord

Psalm 111:10 "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; all those who practice it have a good understanding. His praise endures forever! 

I taught in children’s church this Sunday, and my meditation and study in preparation for this lesson was SO FRUITFUL that I am going to share it with you.

Every time I approach the passage that I am going to teach, I ask the Lord, “What do You want me to tell the kids?” There are so many lessons to be gleaned from every passage that I need to allow Him to direct me. This past week, I was preparing to teach Joshua 2 where Rahab hides the spies from Israel and then ties a scarlet cord in her window so she will be spared when Jericho falls by the Lord’s hand. I read and reread the passage, waiting for most of the week until finally He said, “Teach them about the fear of the Lord.”

I don’t know if you’ve ever read Joshua 2 specifically looking for what it teaches about the fear of the Lord (I sure hadn't)…but whoa. What a wonderful story to help bring to the surface what the fear of the Lord is and what it looks like lived out. So I am going to share the gist of my lesson for children’s church if you are interested in learning more about the fear of the Lord as it was displayed through the life of Rahab. Go read Joshua 2 before you keep reading (it’s only 24 verses, so it won’t take long).

Scripture says multiple times that “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom…” The word nerd in me requires us to define three of the words in that sentence:

YIR’â: Fear of God, reverence (to regard AND treat with deep respect)

BEGINNING: The point in time or space when something starts

WISDOM: Knowledge and understanding that give you the ability to make good judgements

Wisdom isn’t just knowing things, it is being able to take what you know and use that knowledge to live your life the right way. So consider that: Without the fear of the Lord, we have missed the BEGINNING of how to use what we know to live our life in the goodness that God intends.

THE FEAR OF THE LORD FOLLOWS THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF WHO GOD IS. In Rahab’s statement to the men in verses 8–12, she uses the name Jehovah four times; Jehovah is the formal name of the one true God. I was looking back through scripture, and while I certainly didn’t look on every page, I couldn’t find places where gentiles who weren’t believers used the name Jehovah. Rahab was acknowledging that the God of Israel was the true God. The others in her city were offered the same opportunity to fear God as Rahab was; she describes how they had watched Israel for 40 years—they saw God bring them out of Egypt, through the red sea, conquer kings—and the others in her city were terrified of Israel…but they did not acknowledge or revere Israel's God. But Rahab did, and she called Him by His name.

THE FEAR OF THE LORD DRAWS US TO GOD. Fear as we often think of it tends to send us fleeing and hiding, but the fear of the Lord has a different affect. When Rahah saw who God was, she drew near. She came close and tended to His people and spoke with the hopes that her voice would reach His ears.

THE FEAR OF THE LORD MELTS THE HEART IN BOTH HEALTHY FEAR AND HUMILITY. What happens when something melts? A hard thing becomes soft and movable. Rahab knew the God of Israel had the right to judge her; He had the right to give her city into the hands of His people. Her pride melted away in the face of the Lord, and she, with great humility asked for mercy. You can see her humility here in her plea in verses 12–13; she didn’t even ask for them to spare HER because of her kindness to them (she knew what she deserved), instead she asked them to save her family. All of Rahab’s pride was gone, she recognized that God could rightfully judge her and she humbled herself before Him.

THE FEAR OF THE LORD LEADS TO OBEDIENCE. Rahab obeyed. The men of Israel told her that she should tie a scarlet cord in her window to be spared Jericho’s plight and she did it…right away. They were barely out of sight and the scarlet cord was already being secured in the window. A heart that fears the Lord will look to Him with the posture that says, “I will do whatever You ask.” Rahab didn’t ask why a scarlet cord mattered, she didn’t ask when they would come back, she didn’t wait and see if she should bother doing what they said…she simply obeyed and put her hope in the God she had acknowledged as true. She would have done anything required of her. Her decisions showed that she had faith, and she is mentioned in Hebrews 11, a chapter known for presenting us with heroes of the faith. It says, “By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had given a friendly welcome to the spies.” Her obedience by faith, and the actions she took because of it, saved both her life and the lives of her family.

Here is the thing: When you fear God, it will change the way you live your life…it is impossible to fear God and keep living however you want because NOONE is more respectable and exalted than Jehovah. Because He is who He says He is, when we acknowledge Him, it will effect everything about us. The fear of the Lord is one of the biggest things missing from the American Church. This deficit allows us to remain apathetic, half-hearted, lukewarm, and polluted. If we really believe the Bible is true and that the God of the Bible is who He says He is, there is a clear path we will find ourselves on…and Rahab the prostitute shows us what that looks like.

Books

I published some books on Amazon if you are interested:

to touch the Father

 the wrestle
©4-4-2024 hannah mclean

He is Jehovah-Rapha, the God who heals
we come to Him again and again
when the broken world breaks us
when the wounded world wounds us
when the fallen nature seeks to fell us  

“be who You say You are,” we plead

and sometimes in our seeking of healing,
the Lord reaches out and touches our body
or our soul
and we are well in a moment

but often times the healing is slow
we must squirm out from under our bondage
feel the pain of the washing of punctured flesh
our deliverance requiring time
the wait warranting a wrestle

and our hearts cry out, “Why?!”

this morning as i looked into the face of the raising sun
and pondered why the wrestle
the Spirit pressed on me
“it is in the wrestle that we get to touch the Father.”

healing in a moment feels the touch of God
but healing through a wrestle
finds the hands clinging to the Father’s arms
beating against the Father’s chest
winding around the Father’s feet

the wrestle is where we draw near:
near enough to feel
the breath of God upon our face;
near enough to feel with our fingers
the finished work of Jesus;
near enough to know not just the Father’s touch
but what it feels like to be with Him

with every reaching hand
and clinging grasp
we learn both the strength
and the gentleness
of the Almighty’s hands and heart

do not despise the wrestle
the wrestle is where we touch the Father

"He loved them to the end."

John 13:1–6 "Now before the Feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that His hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end. During supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, to betray Him, Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into His hands, and that He had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside His outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around His waist. Then He poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around Him."

 

“He loved them to the end.”

He knew who He had chosen;
He knew the zeal of Peter,
the rolls of thunder in the sons of Zebedee,
the doubt in the mind of Thomas.
He knew the schemes that had made Matthew rich,
and how the sun glinted off the dagger of Simon.
He knew the eyes that slept while He prayed,
the feet that would scatter in the days ahead,
the lives that would be lost while living out His commission.

And He knew the one who would kiss His face
as He was bound amid the green of Gethsemane.

It was with knowledge of the soft and of the hard,
with the certainty of His enduring, pursuing love,
that Jesus used His final hours
to descend yet again
placing Himself beneath the feet of those who followed Him.

The hands into which the Father had given all things
tied a towel around His waist
and cradled the dirty feet of those He knew and loved;
desiring they would be clean
more than the deity of His own hands.

The One with the right to cast down
bent down
for the sake of love.

He loved them to the end;
the ones with their hearts given over to Him
and the one who opposed Him to death.
His love was not deterred by the hatred of man;
instead, it made provision for the devoted to live
and for the hateful to turn.

Rising from the floor on which He knelt,
His voice flowed into the room made quiet by what had been received.
It rolled across the hearts of those made clean
filling their senses with His holy, holy, holy call,
“Love as I have loved you.”

From Zar to Citizen of Heaven

The Lord woke me up with a dream this week. In this dream I was registering patients at a hospital when a friend I knew from high school walked in with a woman who was having terrible chest pain. I picked up her registration form and my friend looked relieved because she knew I could help. I brought the woman back to my desk; she was uncomfortable and a bit nervous, but overall bright in her attitude and demeanor, confident that she had come to the right place for the help she needed. As I sat her down, I opened up the registration program for the first time (I had worked registration during college, so they didn’t bother training me in, just assumed I could pick it back up). As I got things going, I looked at my paper and noticed on the name line, she had simply written the word “Zar.” During our discussion, she told me that was the name she was called, and because she wasn’t ever called by her given name, she struggled to remember what her legal name was. After some digging, I managed to draw her first and last name out of her, and chose to register her as her legal name with Zar as the middle name.

I first tried to find a medical record that had been previously opened to build from, but she was nervous to give her social security number out loud with people around, so I let her type it in. Finding no record on file, I started a new one and was met with utter random confusion. As I tried to find the places to enter the information, I had to navigate through videos, games, flashing screens—every sort of entertainment was crammed into the program. I frantically tried to find the input areas to give the information needed to create a chart for the dying woman sitting in front of me, but my efforts were slowed and frustrated by the avalanche of unnecessary and distracting visuals.

When I finally made it to the end of the chart, utterly frustrated and overwhelmed, I hit print only to discover that autocorrect had changed the spelling of the legal name. I went out to check on the patient in the lobby, where she was waiting anxiously to be seen, and I desperately tried to figure out how to get her chart to the nurse so they knew she was ready even though I knew everything would have to be restickered because of the error in the legal name (although “Zar,” which I put in the middle name input slot had printed clearly). With my laptop beside her in the lobby, I desperately tried to find the screen with the name input to change it, realized in the fray I had never even found the insurance page and tried to get that information and seek out where input it…pages and pages of animated chaos hiding everything from me. My friend kept looking at me in confusion of why I wasn’t helping. All the while, Zar sat in front of me crying from her pain, dying in the waiting room of the hospital that was suppose to help her simply because they had chosen a registration program—the program that admits you to enter in for help—that was overrun by entertainment.

And in my desperate groveling for what to do, how to get her seen, how to navigate the impossible admission program, I woke up.

And when I woke up and thought about this dream, I cried out to God. Our culture is one of entertainment: It demands instant gratification and won’t venture forward without it; it laments boredom and simplicity (the very things that allow for the cultivating of curious and creative minds); it despises reality, wisdom and practicality (the things that allow for us to build lives well lived); it sucks away our time on meaningless things (social media, gaming, movies and shows); it takes our concentration and focus and availability to do the work God created us for. I did inventory of my own distractions, repenting for myself and the American Church.

I also looked up the woman’s name: Zar. The Hebrew word "Zar" means “alien, foreign, outside.”

This is the meaning of the dream and the exhortation to the body of Christ:
The hospital here is the body of Christ. People are dying outside of Jesus; desperate for help and for the Gospel. But we at the doorway, the ones meant to bring the Gospel to the lost and dying world so that they may know redemption and salvation, are failing. We are overridden with entertainment: flashy facades, video games, movies, TV, sports, activities, our own comforts, social media, anything fun. But people are dying! The lost are waiting to be found, the sick are waiting for the healing touch of Jesus, the broken are waiting to know the One who can put them back together, the confused are waiting for the clarity of Truth, the bound are waiting for their deliverer…and we who are suppose to reach out with the hands and feet of Jesus and draw them in are failing them.

Our heart for the lost must be GREATER THAN our desire for the flesh to be entertained.

Here is the passage the Lord gave me for this dream, please pause and consider:

Ephesians 2:13,17–20 “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ…And He came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit."