Month: September 2022

If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him!” Luke 11:13

In this verse, our Lord Jesus gives us a rock-solid foundation for our hope, so that we will trust God to give us the Holy Spirit. That foundation is the goodness of God. And to help us understand the goodness of God, he compares God to us, evil and fallen human beings.

Jesus called his disciples evil. There’s no getting around that fact. And we are no better than they were. Do you see the evil that exists in your heart? Or do you go around thinking of yourself as a good person, someone who deserves something, deserves to be happy and healthy, and successful?

But don’t fall into the trap of thinking that admitting your own wickedness is itself a virtue to be commended, making you somehow less evil for the admission. No, even our confessions of sin are wicked, self-serving, and half-hearted.

There is none righteous, no, not one; there is none who understands; there is none who seeks after God. they have all turned aside; they have together become unprofitable; there is none who does good, no, not one. Romans 3:10-12

If you still see yourself as a good person, you will never trust in God, because you will never see just how beautiful God is in his goodness. The diamond shines most gloriously when it is placed on a black cloth. The goodness of God is most glorious in contrast with our sin.

And yet, though we are wicked, fallen creatures, we can still do things that seem good. We can work productively and give to others. We can serve those in need and give good things to our children. Though our natures have been twisted and marred by sin and rebellion against our creator, there lingers in us a remnant of the good image of God, which he gave to us.

When my child comes up to me and asks me for food, I give it gladly. I want him to eat and be healthy because I love my him. Just because we are sinful, it doesn’t mean we can’t create good outcomes in this world. It only means all the good things we do fall short and ultimately fail to measure up to God’s standard of goodness.

Because of this, we fail in our attempts to love others. We love yes, but imperfectly. We serve others, but not always in the most useful ways, and often for our own glory. We give good things to our children, but we also give bad things to them in turn.

The ironic and tragic thing is that when we look at ourselves, we often refuse to see the failures and instead dwell on the good. We think we know best. We think we have high moral standards that make us capable of discerning what is good and what is not. We pronounce judgements on others for doing what is wrong in our eyes, and we complain against God when he allows evil to befall us. “How could a good God give us these evil days?” We spit bitterly at the sky.

We don’t even know what good means.

And this seems to be the point. If we, in our sinful condition, still manage to produce some level of goodness toward others (Jesus uses children as an example here), how much more will God?

God who is all good, and righteous, and holy. God who is life and love and truth. There is no evil in him. Everything he does is good. He alone is able to define what good is, in fact. And he is so good, that when he gives a gift, it isn’t just any old gift. When God gives a gift, it is the best one there is. God never settles on mediocre when it comes to giving. He is fully generous and abundant in grace.

He gives us himself.

In this verse, specifically, Jesus says that he gives his Holy Spirit.

What? You mean he doesn’t give me more money? He doesn’t give me a new job, or relief from pain, or a relationship to ease my loneliness. I’m not saying he doesn’t give those things. He does give them often (though not always)!

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. James 1:17

But all of those earthly gifts pale in comparison to the gift of his Holy Spirit. God himself, living in us, producing faith in us, teaching us how to love God, how to follow Jesus, filling us with real joy and real peace. Without him, all the other gifts mean nothing. And they are actually turned into problems in our lives. For God is so good, that when we foolishly get distracted by his lesser gifts, thinking that they are better than God himself, he allows those little things we love to rot away right in front of us.

He doesn’t remove the things we love out of hate or vindictiveness. No, he is simply helping us turn back to him again and see that he really is the worthiest object of our love and desire.

Do you want to know how you can receive this gift from God? Jesus said it. Simply ask. Ask like a child asks for a sandwich. Believe in God. See yourself in all your evil, helpless, sinful ways, so that you can see just how good God is. When you see God’s goodness, you will trust Him to give you what you really need, what he promises to give. Ask and you will receive his Holy Spirit.

But you will never ask God to give you himself, unless you see God as wonderful, good, generous, and beautiful. And you will never see him that way as long as you are distracted by your own false greatness.

His name was Abdullah. He walked briskly, head forward and back slightly bent, down the dumpster ridden alley behind a row of apartments. He wore the same old, tan jacket he always wore. There was a satchel hanging from his right side, the strap draped over his left shoulder which did not come higher that the lips of the dumpster bins he passed by. As he walked, his left hand swung in a determined manner. He knew where he was going, and how long it would take to get there.

His right hand didn’t swing at all, for it lay protectively over the satchel.

The crumbling asphalt of the alley crunched under his feet.

I had just heaved the overflowing trash bag from the kitchen into one of the dumpsters near my apartment. When I turned to go back inside, I saw Abdullah coming down the alley from the east. I wasn’t surprised to see him. He always came down my alley around the same time every evening. I never knew why, or where he was going. I assumed he was homeless. I’d seen him elsewhere around the city. He was always walking, always wearing the same thing. He always carried the satchel with him.

Normally, I would wave and then go about my business. This time, however, something (or someone) stopped me.

I waited there by the dumpster and pretended to admire the sunset. I didn’t need to pretend for long. It was a jewel. Big, ripe clouds hung heavily in a pale blue sky. Streaks of orange and pink decorated the background.

The crunches of his feet grew louder, and I turned and smiled.

I hadn’t seen his face up close for a while. It had gotten older, more wrinkled. The white hair that still grew from the sides of his head had gotten thinner.

He gave me a gapped but friendly grin in return.

I said ‘hi’ and something about the beautiful sunset. He never stopped walking, but nodded and chuckled. Then he spoke. He had a voice like a rusty motor, all grinding gears and metal, but it still got the job done.

“Finally starting to cool down.” He said, continuing on his way.

I laughed and started to walk back. “What is your name?” I asked, in passing.

The crunches stopped. He turned to look me in the eye, a surprised smile brightening his face. “Abdullah! And yourself?”

“I’m Michael.”

“Ah! A common name! A pleasure to meet you.”

We exchanged farewells. He turned and walked back down the alley.

I walked up the steps to my apartment somewhat stunned. There in the dirty alley, amid the crowded cars and trash bins, I’d seen an artistic masterpiece. Abdullah was made. He was crafted by God to be totally unique, original, different from anyone else on earth. He had his own story, his own treasures, and his own pain.

And he was real. He wasn’t wearing a mask, or trying to impress anyone, or asking for handouts. He was walking, with head down and feet steady, and hand guarding his satchel. And he’d looked me in the eye and shared a piece of himself with me.

His name was Abdullah.