But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.

Jeremiah 29:1-14 (excerpt)

You and your family are rounded up by the crack of the whip. As the blood drips from your arms and back staining your rough cotton shirt, a wail escapes your wife’s mouth as she is stripped and kicked down. A silent tear rolls from your daughter’s eyes and your son looks on with bewilderment. All that you know disappears slowly on the horizon as you walk forward with metal cuffs cutting your ankles, threatening to expose the bone buried underneath. Without choice, without voice, without time to look back, the Promised Land becomes a distant memory and your next foreseeable years will be spent in exile, in Babylon. Life in the land of provision and promise can feel no further away to you than now.

Yet a directive from the God you worship comes—Resume life as normal. Build homes and live. Work the land and provide for your family. Marry, have children, multiply and have dominion as I give. Also listen to those who proclaim my truth. But as well, seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. Your home of captivity becomes not only the location in which your God wants to increase your number and bless you. It becomes the place for which you must pray, the new home in which its wellbeing determines your wellbeing. Though bound by its people, God resides in your midst, granting joy and freedom at his whim, not according to logic or even seeming reality. Reminds you of the song once sung…

Somebody told me of the joy they had

Somebody told me that in sorrow they could be glad

Then they told me they were bound but now set free

I never thought it could be till it happened to me

And you realize, in a place where you are taught to hate your captors, instead your God teaches you to live in joy and freedom beyond how they could ever imagine.

Jennifer L. Aycock is a freelance writer for McCormick Theological Seminary and a student at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Illinois.

Consider how many are my foes,

and with what violent hatred they hate me.

O guard my life, and deliver me;

do not let me be put to shame, for I take refuge in you.

May integrity and uprightness preserve me,

for I wait for you.

- Psalm 25:20-21 (excerpt)

Being called as a minister of God is a treacherous thing. We are not intent on winning friends and influencing people, but nor are we seeking to make enemies. We come instead with words of hope and life that have given us joy without measure, which at times sear the wandering soul and its want of boundary-less roaming. Our proclamation of and commitment to a God that administers both judgment and mercy confounds our human sensibilities; and congregations, communities, and corporations sometimes shudder at the reverberating sound of voices calling in the wilderness, “Prepare the way for the Lord!”

Ministers of the gospel know the all too grim realities of living without shelter, without an arbor under which to find respite from the storm. Their reputations matter little to their foes and their wellbeing even less. In the throws of mounting obstacles, a strong moral compass sustains their livelihood and their ministries. Yet, morality alone cannot provide the instruction, faithfulness, honor, and protection found in the presence of the Living God. This God invites us into the terrifyingly holy place of his Presence.

Presence in which he instructs those who fear him. Presence in which the faithfulness of friendship may be found. Presence in which deliverance is granted and shame holds no power. Presence in which we are justified and redeemed. Presence in which there remain no terrors of darkness or death of day. Presence in which protection, honor, and salvation are granted.

It is in this Holy Presence alone that we find satisfaction when all presses around us, threatening and condemning, betraying and abandoning. In this Presence, the life of the suffering faithful find shelter.

Prayer

Our God, we run to you, asking for protection. We are weary. We are beaten down. Our souls and bodies need Your hand to teach us and remind us that we are Yours alone. Come, Lord Jesus, and remind us that we are not abandoned.

Jennifer L. Aycock is a freelance writer for McCormick Theological Seminary.

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Romans 8:1-11 (excerpt)

As humans we stand often stand condemned in two ways. We choose to live a life of excess, one in which we seek our own pleasure and happiness above all else. We purchase all the material items we desire. Ignore the plight of the poor and downtrodden. Pursue our physical pleasure without giving thought to emotions and others. Lead addictive and destructive lifestyles, dependent on substances or unhealthy relationships. We seek our way first and all else can follow. We are a sinful people. But we also may choose to live a life of bondage, one in which we construct safe walls and fast rules so that we know for certain the ledge upon which we must walk and teeter precariously…in order that we ensure the good life and one in which our goodness matters most. From this ledge, we gaze condemningly at others if they have not or do not choose to abide by our laws. Perhaps our pleasure does not matter as much as we shuffle along, but our self-righteousness permits us, we think, to set the bar for others. With our laws, we have chosen the higher way and should we see others around us deviate, we may be compelled to make their stumbling known.

In either case, we choose. We place our minds on pleasure which leads to a life of consumption, abuse, excess, and ungodliness. Or on rules and protecting ourselves and condemning others which leads to a life of unforgiving legalism. Both of these catch us in death. In neither sin nor the law will we find life. And, neither one of the options are exactly what God intends for us. Instead, God places Christ before us and the Spirit in us and says, “Off you go! Be free in the righteousness I have worked out for you. You are free from the bondage of pleasure-seeking and from the bondage of your own good works, neither of which will work out all the well for you in the end.” Rather than continuing to limp along on our terms, God has accomplished for us life through the death of Christ. Ironic. And he gives us freedom in his resurrection. Victory.

Go then, be free, brother and sisters, looking not for the next moment wherein you can be instantly satisfied or a time when you can knowingly point your finger at the lapses of another. Be free in what Christ has done for you and in you. Choose today to set your mind on that which gives life to you and others. The alternative is far darker than we can imagine.

Prayer

Our God, I confess today my propensity to either live in sin or point and judge. I ask today for your Spirit to fill me so that I may be a source of life and light. Remind me that I do not stand before you condemned but redeemed because of the resurrection and the Spirit’s work.

Jennifer L. Aycock is a freelance writer for McCormick Theological Seminary. She is currently completing her M.Div. at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Illinois.

For thus says the Lord: Do not enter the house of mourning, or go to lament, or bemoan them; for I have taken away my peace from this people, says the Lord, my steadfast love and mercy.

- Jeremiah 16:1-13 (excerpt)

Paul instructs the Thessalonian church, “But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.”

God’s judgment upon Judah and Israel did not permit them access to the peace and hope, which Paul describes as permitting mourning. In fact, God’s instruction through Jeremiah prevented God’s people from mourning. He told them that when their young die, do not lament them, do not bury them, do not mourn for them. Do nothing that may resemble having sadness. However, God’s denial of lament in their midst was not the punishment. Rather, his removal of peace in order to lament properly served as judgment.

Scripture does not teach, Do not lament, as if the Christian life is an easy, happy-go-lucky ride without death and loss. No, rather, Scripture describes the access into relationship we may have with the God who gives hope and peace in the midst of severe and penetrating loss.

Prayer

We pray for courage to lament in the hope and peace that our cries will last but for a night. We pray that we will not turn from sorrow nor ignore pain, but remind us to wait expectantly for the joy you will give. We entrust those we have loved who are no longer with us into your hands, knowing that you have them, love them, and one day, we will be privileged to rejoin them. Spirit, instruct my heart in how to lament well and deeply and to look for your hope and peace to emerge.

Jennifer L. Aycock is a freelance writer for McCormick Theological Seminary and a student at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Illinois.

O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger,

or discipline me in your wrath.

Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing;

O Lord, heal me, for my bones are shaking with terror.

My soul also is struck with terror,

while you, O Lord—how long?

Psalm 6 (excerpt)

His body writhed in pain as he thrashed upon his tear-soaked bed. Death hung over him as if imminent, pressing its dark claws down over his mind, his dreams, his soul, his very lust for life. Within him, his skeleton rattled its desperate cry, “Heal me!” His room’s walls shook with the plea as Yahweh’s searing judgment threatened to prolong his hours of anguish.

Yet, he remembers. David recalls. He awaits deliverance because of one sure fact that emerges in the midst of a feverish night, losing memory of all else—The Lord is steadfast in love. The Lord will attend to his prayers, to his desperation, to his ailing body, and to his threatened livelihood.

Thus will I cry out! Because of your steadfast love. And thus will you save me! Because of your steadfast love. I have no escape but to plead. I have no way out but to lament. I may not escape pain, run from tears, turn away my enemies…apart from the steadfast love of the Lord.

We are more comfortable avoiding pain. And we are prone to avoid calling out in our hour of need. For our want of security and maintenance of pride prevent them, respectively. Yet the way of the cross dashes them both upon the inescapable reality of God’s unfailing, unending love as we permit our side to be pierced as the spear pierced Christ. He wrestled in anguish as David wrestled in anguish. And he called out in despair as David called out in despair. Yet, the darkness of that hour was broken by the light of Love. Love that is eternal. Love that saves. Love that liberates. Love that remembers and keeps its covenant. Love that does not abandon. Love that shows kindness and mercy. Steadfast love.

Prayer

Our God, we confess that we often reject or attempt to escape the hardships and pain which would return us into Your loving arms. Make us as David, as Christ, and teach us to cry out to You in our dark nights of soul, body, and mind. Take us into and through the shadow of the cross that we may emerge re-oriented by Your unfailing love. Amen.

Jennifer L. Aycock is a freelance writer for McCormick Theological Seminary and a student at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Illinois.

They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. The people quarreled with Moses, and said, ‘Give us water to drink.’ Moses said to them, ‘Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?’ But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, ‘Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?’ So Moses cried out to the Lord, ‘What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.’

- Exodus 17:1-7 (excerpt)

For forty years after their trek out of Egypt, the Lord God provided raining bread, that is, flakes that fell from the sky to be gathered as Israel’s source of nourishment. Their grumblings…bad attitude…had come before him and prompted his hand of provision to extend. But then they find themselves thirsty, parched in the wilderness for the slightest drop of liquid relief. Rather than simply ask God for provision, which he demonstrated he would and could do, they decide to quarrel with God. They test God. And Moses is the conduit of all of their heated words.

“Why did you even rescue us from Egypt? At least there we had food. At least there we had water. Why did you take us out of that place? Our children and our animals are dying. We are sick of this! Oh, why didn’t we just die there with every other one of our brothers and sisters?!”

It’s amazing how truth gets distorted when you’re pitching a fit. Yes, Israel, at the hand of your oppressors, you were well-nourished. Sure. At the hand of your taskmasters, you never went thirsty. Okay. And how could I forget, at the hand of Pharaoh who chased down all of your sons to the death, the safety and protection your livestock and children were his first policy priority. You’re right.

What great thing has God done for you that you have chosen to forget to legitimate your bad attitude? What lie are you using to throw a tantrum in God’s face when instead you could simply ask? What need do you desperately have that his grace is sufficient to provide?

Jennifer L. Aycock is a freelance writer for McCormick Theological Seminary and a student at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Illinois.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not sent his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

John 3:16-21 (excerpt)

After the Great Schism of 1054, the Orthodox Church found its mission statement in this verse—“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…” Torn asunder by bitter theological debates over changes to the Nicene Creed, excommunicated by Pope Leo IX’s ambassador, and simultaneously no longer recognizing the Roman Church, the Eastern Orthodox Church turned to hope for unity in their midst. Perhaps God’s love would be their starting place—the place from which they would seek unity as a church. The place from which they would bring God’s presence in them to bear out on the world. The place from which their own lives and practices would include rather than exclude. The place that would stand open at all hours as an entryway into redemption.

We toss around “God is love” often as a kind of euphemistic catch all that makes us feel good and we hope makes others feel better too. However, we have two images—both from history—that give us a much more penetrating understanding. First—the Orthodox Church trying to determine themselves and their participation in God’s work according to the standard of God’s love in the midst of politics and theological sparring. God’s love was not their panacea but rather the forgiving and self-denying way in which to walk through great pain to hopeful witness. Secondly—a parent giving up their treasure, their Son, for a terribly sordid world, a world in which their image the Church would seek to divide and conquer before it learned the necessity that to suffer is to live. Church history. Christ history. Cross history. Inviting us to enter into God’s love that cost something because in the end, you, the Church, and the world were worth it.

Jennifer L. Aycock is a freelance writer for McCormick Theological Seminary and a student at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Illinois.