Read it. Live it. Share it. Tag it.
"Honoring God in the Morning"
|And Moses did so: as the LORD commanded him, so did he. And the children of Israel spake unto Moses, saying, Behold, we die, we perish, we all perish. Whosoever cometh any thing near unto the tabernacle of the LORD shall die: shall we be consumed with dying?|
|God’s Word is very dangerous. Why? Because Hebrews 4:12 says it is living and powerful, sharper than any two-edged sword. No wonder, then, that we feel cut up. The Word divides the soul and the spirit - my intellect and emotions from my true self that will live forever. It divides my joints and marrow, an act that, if done physically, would immobilize and kill me. It divides the thoughts and intents of my heart, as it gets to the center of any given matter.|
No wonder when I hear or read the Word, I can feel pierced and poked, sliced and diced. That’s what the Word does, not only to those who hear it, but to those who speak it . . .
Mistakenly thinking Jeremiah was coming down on them, the people captured him and threw him into a pit. “That’s it,” Jeremiah said. “I quit. I’m tired of the pit. Enough is enough. I will speak no more in the name of the Lord” . . . until the Word was like fire in his bones and he couldn’t keep quiet (see Jeremiah 20:9).
We’ve all felt that way. When you share the Word, you can be convicted by the very things you share. Because the Word is a two-edged sword, it cuts both ways. Yes, it comforts, inspires, and delights. But because it’s a two-edged sword, it also pierces and penetrates, prods and provokes.
“Shall we be consumed in dying?” the children of Israel asked.
The answer is “Yes.”
Jesus said, “If any man come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, die daily, and follow Me” (see Luke 9:23).
“I die daily,” said Paul (1 Corinthians 15:31).
The flesh must die before the Spirit can live. And because my flesh seems to reawaken every day, like Paul, I must die daily.
The only way I know to deal with the flesh is with the sword of the Spirit. That’s why I need to allow the Word to kill my flesh day after day. And as it does, like the resurrected Jesus, I find I am able to walk through walls and locked doors (John 20:26).
“My son won’t talk to me,” a father sighs.
“My daughter has shut me out,” a mother cries.
“My wife has locked the door,” says a weary husband.
“He’s built a wall,” says the devastated wife.
I suggest that when I allow my flesh to be sliced and diced by the piercing and poking of the Word every day, although it’s painful in some ways, humbling and difficult in others, the end result is that I have entry into places I would never have had otherwise. High walls, locked doors, and pulled shades begin to open as my critical, cynical, and harsh nature softens, giving me access into places that were previously closed.
I’m convinced it’s our own flesh that keeps us out of places we long to enter. There’s no Resurrection without death. There’s no Easter Sunday without Good Friday. There’s no way to enter in without first being broken down. It's a process that must happen daily and continually. And the way it happens is through the Word of God very simply, very powerfully, and very definitely.