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Our Glorious Purpose

An international friend with a deep spiritual hunger once asked me, “What do you think is the meaning of life? I’ve been asking people this question, and I want to know what you think.” I had an answer for her. “The Bible teaches us that we are here to glorify God. Our purpose is not about us at all; it’s about glorifying God who made us and loves us.” She paused for a moment and replied in a quieter, more pondering tone, “This is the first time I’ve heard this.”

Such insight was not mine, of course, rather I’d happened upon this defining scripture passage, hiding in plain view, a few years prior: “Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the ends of the earth — everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.”1 We are the only creatures lovingly forged in God’s image (our priceless worth) and we are created for His glory (our eternal purpose). Then what does this purpose — “to glorify God” — look like? It is the overflow of a heart liberated by His love and grace. We glorify God when we engage with Him in our prayers, praise him with our songs, and exalt Him in our testimonies. Moreover, God is glorified when His proactive love for us overflows through us in practical ways to others, or in other words, as we “present [our] bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is [our] spiritual worship.”2

Yet I think we also glorify God in ways unbeknownst to us. For when we are born of the Spirit through faith in the Son, all of Heaven erupts in praise to the glory of God. In the words of Jesus, “There is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”3 (Surely the powers of Hell seethe in defeat — another soul saved, another captive freed, another son finding his meaning, another daughter finding her purpose.) Then comes the ripple effect — glory bursting forth into more glory — for as we “let [our] light shine before others, they see [our] good works and give glory to [our] Father who is in heaven.”4 Some of this we see; much of this we don’t, not yet anyway. For now, rejoice in this: God has given us meaning and purpose, for which and through which we give Him glory.

“Therefore . . . whatever you do, do all things for the glory of God.”5

Father, we live and breathe for Your glory; there is no higher honor. May we embrace Your purpose for us, glorifying You in our words and deeds, the overflow of liberated hearts. In Christ we pray. Amen.

1 Isaiah 43:6-7 NIV, emphasis added
2 Romans 12:1 ESV
3 Luke 15:10 NIV
4 Matthew 5:16 NIV, emphasis added
5 1 Corinthians 10:31 NASB

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Our Forever Family Reunion

Something has been on my mind lately, and I’d like to process it here with you.

My father died suddenly 60 years ago; I was seven years old at the time. Over the next twenty years or so, I thought of Dad daily, albeit through the lens of loss, blurring over an ever-expanding distance in time. As the years ushered me through the various stages of life, there came a point when I thought of him less frequently, and then not much at all. This has suddenly changed.

My life here on Earth is much closer to its omega than its alpha, and as time rolls on, the crystallizing reality of reunion with my father eclipses the mere conceptual notion of it. The growing chasm of separation from him succumbs now to the closing gap unto reunion. Hope now fills a well I did not know was dry, and balm soothes a wound I scarcely knew lay open. Is there a Biblical basis for reuniting with those we knew then lost? I believe the Bible says, yes.

When at seven days the baby born extramaritally to David and Bathsheba died, the grieving king lamented the loss of the child, while also acknowledging their eventual reunion: “Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me.”1 When Peter, James and John witnessed Jesus’ transfiguration — His face shining brightly and His clothes dazzling whitely2 — Moses and Elijah joined Him there, each apparently identifiable and retaining his individuality long after his earthly demise. In his Genesis account, Moses records the passing of “the father of all who believe”3 this way: “Abraham breathed his last and died in a good old age, an old man and full of years, and was gathered to his people.”4 David’s obituary — “David rested with his ancestors and was buried”5 — adds the peaceful element of rest, a seeming cessation of strife. Both accounts paint the portrait of reunion.

Yet there is something greater here, a larger context, a higher vision. Paul glimpses the great day still to come: “The dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord.”6 We will be together with each other, and what a joyous reunion that will be. Greater still, we will aways be with the Lord. Together.

Reunion awaits. What higher hope could there be?

Father, thank You for those who have gone on before us into Your presence. May we, like them, place our full confidence in Your Son Jesus, that when the time comes, we will together reunite with the Lord. In Christ we pray. Amen.

1 2 Samuel 12:23 ESV
2 For ESV accounts of the transfiguration, see Matthew 17:1–8, Mark 9:2–8, and Luke 9:28–36.
3 Romans 4:11 ESV
4 Genesis 25:8 ESV, emphasis added
5 1 Kings 2:10 NIV
6 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17 ESV, emphasis added

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The Maturity of Childlike Trust

For several years, Howard and Kim and their two children joined other families on an annual short-term mission trip to Quinhagak, Alaska, a remote village 350 miles below the Arctic Circle and just a mile off the Bering Sea. Arriving their first year, the adults — about 18 of them — gathered in a school building to pray and strategize about how to interact with this Yupik indigenous people group. How do we connect? How do we relate? Yupik is their primary language, so how do we build relationships? At some point during their contemplation, the adults looked outside the windows at the dilapidated playground where the Yupik kids and their young guests from the lower 48 were “having the time of their lives,” truly bonding in the universal language of play. Kim recalls, “It was like God saying, ‘Just be like little kids. Humble yourself, just relate.’”

We tend to complicate things, don’t we? Relationships, foremost. Ultimately our openness comes down to this: Can I trust your character, and can I expose mine? The children of Quinhagak and their new friends showed what it means to live “Yes” and “Yes,” naturally connecting, relating, and building relationships. And wasting no time in the process! It recalls an incident when twelve gatekeeping disciples attempted to bar children from Jesus’ presence. “[Jesus] was indignant. He said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’”1 Isn’t this the kind of open relationship God desires to have with all of us — joyful, unhindered, belonging, receiving? There was amid these children no second-guessing of Jesus’ character, nor was there any holding back of their own, just eagerness and trust, delighting in Him who delights in us.

This is submission of self in confidence to Christ. This is the maturity of childlike trust. Then may we, too, “humble ourselves, and just relate.” With Jesus.

Epilogue. “And [Jesus] took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.”2 May He do the same with us, His children, today.

O Lord, You are compassionate and good, humble and kind, truthful and forgiving. Remind us each day of Your boundless love for us, that we would eagerly, openly and completely trust You with our very lives. In Christ we pray. Amen.

1 Mark 10:14-15 NIV
2 Mark 10:16 NIV