On the Anvil - Max Lucado [14]
The immensity of the question is staggering. I would imagine that Peter’s answer did not come without some hesitation. Shuffling of feet. Anxious silence. How absurd that this man should be the Son of God. No trumpets. No purple robes. No armies. Yet there was that glint of determination in his eye and that edge of certainty in his message.
Peter’s response sliced the silence. “I believe that you are . . . the Son of God.”
Many have looked at Jesus, but few have seen him. Many have seen his shadow, his people, his story. But only a handful have seen Jesus. Only a few have looked through the fog of religiosity and found him. Only a few have dared to stand eye-to-eye and heart-to-heart with Jesus and say, “I believe that you are the Son of God.”
What do you see when you consider Jesus of Nazareth? What do you believe about his claims?
What does your life say about what you believe?
If you haven’t had an encounter with Jesus like this one lately, do you think you have given him a prominent place in your life?
24: A Good Heart, But . . .
(Scene—Sunday a.m. assembly; silent prayer)
Max: God, I want to do great things.
God: You do?
Max: You bet! I want to teach millions! I want to fill the Rose Bowl! I want all of the world to know your saving power! I dream of the day—
God: That’s great, Max. In fact, I can use you today after church.
Max: Super! How about some radio and TV work or . . . or . . . or an engagement to speak to Congress?
God: Well, that’s not exactly what I had in mind. See that fellow sitting next to you?
Max: Yes.
God: He needs a ride home.
Max (quietly): What?
God: He needs a ride home. And while you’re at it, one of the older ladies sitting near you is worried about getting a refrigerator moved. Why don’t you drop by this afternoon and—
Max (pleading): But, God, what about the world?
God (smiling): Think about it.
Have you ever wanted to do something great for God?
Are you willing to obey him in small ways?
What opportunities for serving God are yours today?
25: The Hiker
In the barren prairie, the hiker huddles down. The cold northerly sweeps over him, stinging his face and numbing his fingers. The whistle of the wind is deafening. The hiker hugs his knees to his chest, yearning for warmth.
He doesn’t move. The sky is orange with dirt. His teeth are grainy, his eyes sooty. He thinks of quitting. Going home. Home to the mountains.
“Ahh. The mountains.” The spirit that moved him in the mountains seems so far away. For a moment his mind wanders back to his homeland. Green country. Mountain trails. Fresh water. Hikers hiking on well-marked trails. No surprises, few fears, rich companionship.
One day, while on a brisk hike, he had stopped to look out from the mountains across the neighboring desert. He felt strangely pulled to the sweeping barrenness that lay before him. The next day he paused again. And the next, and the next. “Shouldn’t someone go there? Shouldn’t someone try to take life to the desert?” Slowly the flicker in his heart became a flame.
Many agreed that someone should go, but no one volunteered.
Uncharted land, fearful storms, loneliness.
But the hiker, spurred by the enthusiasm of others, determined to go. After careful preparation, he set out alone. With the cheers of his friends behind him, he descended the grassy highlands and entered the desolate wilderness.
The first few days his steps were springy and his eye was keen. He yearned to do his part to bring life to the desert. Then came the heat. The scorpions. The monotony. The snakes. Slowly, the fire diminished. And now . . . the storm. The endless roar of the wind. The relentless, cursed cold.
“I don’t know how much more I can take.” Weary and beaten, the hiker considers going back. “At least I got this far.” Knees tucked under him, head bowed, almost touching the ground. “Will it ever stop?”
Grimly he laughs at the irony of the situation. “Some hiker. Too tired to go on, yet too ashamed