The Applause of Heaven - Max Lucado [1]
It is because Max Lucado loves his Lord that he turns from the muddlesome and thumbworn language so common in the church. To Lucado, Jesus is no ordinary noun to be theologized into dullness. Rather, all holy relationships are glorious, and only the best, most creative English is worthy. So he weaves anew the Shroud of Turin, leaving us no doubt that this splendid cloth has touched the body of our Lord and has been forever marked by the imprimatur of Lucado's reverence. Where no ordinary words will serve, here's how he bids us know the Christ:
"Sacred delight derives from stubborn joy," he exults.
"If you have time to read this chapter, you probably don't need to," he calls to those who think they're too busy for the spiritual disciplines.
On and on his wisdom flows: "Show a man his failures without Jesus, and the result will be found in the roadside gutter. Give a man religion without reminding him of his filth, and the result will be arrogance in a three-piece suit."
He counsels the arrogant that facing Christ is like entering the church of the nativity: "The door is so low, you can't go in standing up."
He rebukes the bitter: "Hatred is the rabid dog that turns on its owner.... The very word grudge starts with ... GRRR ... a growl!"
This book introduces the Beatitudes, which introduce the Sermon on the Mount. The Beatitudes fly at us, but in the simple metaphors of ordinary life. So you'll meet Christ even as you meet the Exxon Valdez that dark March night in 1989, when she spilled her crude venom on Bligh Reef in Alaska. The Christ of communion will come to you as you meet Gayaney Petroysan, an Armenian four years old who begged her mother's blood to live. And any number of great Bible heroes come and go in this book to make real the introduction to Jesus' great Sermon on the Mount.
Max and I are friends. I may have overpressed him to be my friend, and I will admit the friendship was originally my idea. But, I confess, I wanted to know Christ as Max does. I wanted to feel the April wind that breathed upon the cross, as he does. I wanted to fall like Thomas before Christ and cry, "My Lord and my God!" as he does. I needed Max to give me lessons on obedience and spiritual need.
Read this book in a quiet place and you may feel a wounded hand fall lightly on your shoulder. Be not afraid of the nearness you will feel to Christ, but go on and walk his paragraphs. Then you will know by experience that Lucado travels the high country of the Galilee of the heart.
CALVIN MILLER
BEFORE YOU BEGIN
This book was almost as difficult to title as it was to write. We went through list after list of options. Dozens of titles were suggested and dozens were discarded. Carol Bartley, Dave Moberg, the late Kip Jordon, and others at Word Publishing spent hours searching for the appropriate phrase that would describe the heart of the book.
In my mind, the scales were tipped in favor of The Applause of Heaven when my editor, Carol, read part of the manuscript to some of the Word executives. She read a portion of the book that describes our final journey into the city of God. She read some thoughts I wrote about God's hunger to have his children home, about how he longs to welcome us and may even applaud when we enter the gates.
After Carol read this section, she noticed one of the men was brushing away a tear. He explained his emotion by saying, "It's hard for me to imagine God applauding for me."
Can you relate?
I can. Certain things about God are easy to imagine. I can imagine him creating the world and suspending the stars. I can envision him as almighty, all-powerful, and in control. I can fathom a God who knows me, who made me, and I can even fathom a God who hears me. But a God who is in love with me? A God who is crazy for me? A God who cheers for me?
But that