John 17:13 “I am coming to you now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them.”

If you read through chapters 13 to 17 of John’s gospel, you will see that Jesus understood the thief that threatened to rob his disciples of their joy. It wasn’t external stresses and disappointments. In the context of the last supper, the disciples were grieving because Jesus kept talking about the fact that he was going away. He was returning to his Father. He didn’t go into detail about how horrible the next day was going to be for him, at least not here, but he made it clear that his time with the disciples–visibly, at least–was just about over.

But the problem had less to do with Jesus’ absence, more to do with the disciples’ ignorance and lack of faith. They didn’t understand how necessary his sufferings and death were for their salvation. They couldn’t appreciate the advantage of having him ruling the universe from his Father’s side in heaven. They couldn’t process the many promises he made to them this same evening. All they knew was that very soon Jesus would be gone, and this replaced their joy with grief.

The disciples’ joy was stolen by the thought of losing Jesus. We lose ours by removing him ourselves. Again, the blame has less to do with our external situation, more to do with misplaced priorities and lack of faith. This theft of our joy turns out to be an inside job. No one and nothing from the outside takes Jesus or his promises away from us. We replace them ourselves. There are thousands of ways of perpetrating this heist all through the year. But the culprit remains the same: Hearts that failed to value Jesus properly, that let down their guard, and ended up giving his place to someone or something else.

Stop thief! It doesn’t have to be this way! The truth remains: Jesus gives us reason for joy! “I am coming to you now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them.”

Remember that the things Jesus was saying at this very moment were words of a prayer. He was praying on behalf of his disciples. “I’ll keep you in my prayers” so easily becomes nothing more than a sentiment with you and me–the same thing as saying, “I feel sorry for you,” with no real prayer to follow. Jesus recognized the joy-thief in the disciples lives at this moment. He recognized the danger it could be for their faith. And he prayed for them. He prayed that they might have the full measure of his joy.

That’s not the last prayer he has said on behalf of his people. He prays for you every day. Actually, he never stops praying for you, even for a moment. John says in his first letter, “If anybody does sin, we have one who speaks to the Father in our defense–Jesus Christ, the Righteous One” (1 John 2:1). Do you still sin? I know that I do, every day. But Jesus doesn’t hold those sins against us. He is constantly praying for us, reminding his Father of the sacrifice he made to take those sins away.

The things Jesus said so that the disciples might have the full measure of his joy aren’t limited to this prayer, however. During these hours at the last supper and on the way to Gethsemane he gave them words and promises specifically aimed at replacing their grief with joy. He promises to prepare a place in heaven for them; to come back to take them to be with him; that so long as they remain in Jesus’ words, Jesus and his Father will make their home inside of them; that after he goes, he will give them whatever they ask in his name; that he will send the Holy Spirit to be with them and comfort them and give them peace. He promises them that after a little while they will understand all of this, and their grief will turn to joy.

These promises are still our common property. Hold them close, and keep the joy-thief away.

Luke 1:76 “And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High; for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him, to give his people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins.”

When actress Sally Field received her second Oscar in 1984 for her work in the movie Places in the Heart, she told the audience it led her to the conclusion, “You like me. You really like me!” Forgiveness leads us to an even dearer conclusion with God: “You love me. You really love me.” Forgiveness provides the true foundation for our faith in God.

There were many kinds of salvation people hoped that Jesus would bring. Most of their ideas are still spooking around. Perhaps more than any other misplaced hope, Jews of Jesus’ day hoped that he was the Messiah coming to be a political Savior. He would make their nation great and free again. Attempts to mix Jesus and politics in our time are still common. They still lead to questionable results at best. He didn’t come to be that kind of Savior.

After he fed the 5000, some people saw him as their economic Savior. They even tried to make him king by force. His many miracles of healing led others to crown him their health-care Savior. But while they embraced him as a doctor for their bodies, they were lukewarm to the idea of making him the physician of their souls.

If you preach Jesus this way today–the Savior of your finances or your health– you can build a religious empire, complete with your own television show and best-selling books. But you will have something less, not more, than Jesus came to bring.

All of these things are a “salvation” of sorts. They involve rescue from a kind of danger–political, economic, or health threats. They involve a rescue to safety of the same sort. But none of this involves the salvation Jesus came to bring.

What people really need is “knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins.” What does it take to draw a sinner back to God again? Sin makes us afraid of him, like Adam and Eve were after the fall. They hid from God in the Garden of Eden, because a just God punishes sin. Anyone who says he loves God, but doesn’t believe in the forgiveness of sins, is either a liar or an idolater. He may be a liar, because you can’t, you won’t love the God who is going to punish all your sins. You are terrified of him. Or he is an idolater who has created a make-believe god, one who doesn’t take sin so seriously as it really is.

Only those who know the God who forgives sin can love and trust God, because only they know he has already punished every sin in the death of Jesus Christ. Forgiveness rescues us from the danger of God’s judgment. Forgiveness makes it safe to come close to him, confident he no longer has anything against us. The “knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins” is the foundation for our faith–it enables and empowers us to be near God once again.

Luke 1:76 “And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High; for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him, to give his people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins.”

Why do people resist going to the doctor when they don’t feel well? Why do they tolerate the pain as it grows worse, hoping that it is going to go away? The excuse might be, “The doctor is expensive.” Perhaps. More often the real reason is this: They fear the diagnosis, that something is seriously wrong with them. And because they fear the diagnosis, they fear the cure as well.

It is similar with forgiveness. People fear the diagnosis for which forgiveness is the cure. If I have to be forgiven, that means something is wrong with me. I have actually known people who became angry when they were told, “I forgive you.” “You forgive me? You are saying that I am the one at fault, that I have done something wrong? How dare you judge me that way!” “Don’t judge me,” is a very, very popular sentiment. To receive forgiveness is to agree with the judge, to accept his judgment. I am humbled, maybe even feel humiliated, when I have to admit that I have failed, and there is something wrong with me that needs to be forgiven.

Forgiveness can be hard to accept for another reason. With God, it doesn’t come cheap. God is still a just God, and someone had to pay the price. In the book of Hebrews we read, “Without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness” (Hebrews 9:22). God impressed this on his Old Testament people with all the blood that was spilled in the animal sacrifices that took place in the temple. John the Baptist was the first to make the connection between Jesus and those sacrifices: “Look, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” Jesus’ blood, shed at the cross, paid the price God’s justice demanded for our sins.

We would feel better about ourselves if we could offer a milder solution of our own. But this is the true way of salvation. Zechariah says in this passage that his son John would “give his people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins.” Forgiveness does not mean that God excuses our sin. He never says, “That’s okay,” because it isn’t. It is hurtful. It is deadly. Real forgiveness fully recognizes this. And yet, God does not hold our sins against us anyway.

Forgiveness is not merely a kind sentiment on God’s part. It’s not that he lets his affection for us get the better of him and overrule his good sense. He is not an overly indulgent parent coddling his naughty child. Forgiveness is based on a historical event, and it results in God’s decisive action. The historical event, as we just mentioned, is the crucifixion of God’s own Son Jesus Christ.

As a result, God has taken decisive action with our sins. He forgives them all. In the Old Testament he gave his people beautiful pictures of forgiveness. He inspired David to write, “As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.” He sent Micah to preach, “You will tread our sins underfoot and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea.” He spoke through the prophet Isaiah, “I am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.” When even God can no longer remember our sins, we truly have a reason to be happy.

In the New Testament we have the greater beauty of Jesus speaking a word of forgiveness so freely, so liberally, it almost seems too good to be true. To a paralytic who didn’t ask for it he says, “Son, be of good cheer. Your sins are forgiven.” To the woman with the bad-girl reputation (well-earned it seems), crying over his feet at the house of Simon the Pharisee he promises, “Your sins are forgiven.” About the soldiers, fastening his arms and legs to the cross, driving nails through them, doing so with no apology, he prays, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” Even in our lowest, wickedest moments he has left us the promise, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

It makes no more sense to resist forgiveness than to reject the doctor’s medicine. It is the one cure our sin-sick souls truly need.

Daniel 9:18 “We do not make requests of you because we are righteous, but because of your great mercy.”

Not all the help we receive means we mean a lot to the helper. I had trouble installing new software on my computer awhile back, so I contacted customer support. After a few emails back and forth, a nice man named Jonah was able to pinpoint my problem. He got me up and running. He was a big help, and I greatly appreciate it, but I don’t think he’s going to start sending me Christmas and birthday cards now, or showing up at important family celebrations. I don’t mean anything to him. I was just case number 01551537, and that’s all I expected.

I once visited someone in the hospital who was struggling with great pain. One of the nurses in particular was gifted at helping this patient get relief. When my friend thanked the nurse for caring so much, the nurse made a rather startling confession. “I don’t care about you or your pain. I care about my job. That’s the reason why I work so hard at this.”

Sometimes we help because we care so deeply about someone, but not always. Sometimes our mercy, if you can call it that, comes because we have been made to feel guilty. So it comes with a grudge. If we can advertise the help we give a little, like the Pharisees in Jesus’ day whom Jesus accused of making a public spectacle of their charitable gifts (complete with a Jewish version of the mariachi band playing in the background), we might like what it does for our pride. Maybe, like my software support friend, it’s just our job. At times, it may be nothing more than a matter of necessity: the stalled car ahead is blocking the road, and you aren’t going to get through until someone pushes it off to the side, so you get out to help.

Sometimes we might suspect even God’s help comes for less than sympathetic reasons. Does he assist because he has created these great cosmic principles by which everything is supposed to work, and he doesn’t want to break his own rules? Is the help I get today nothing more than a piece in a puzzle that all fits into some far grander scheme, and it is just my good fortune that my need fit into that plan? Many religions have gods who work mostly out of self-interest. Eastern religions don’t even have personal gods, just an impersonal “force” of some sort, and how can an impersonal force care about me at all?

But “mercy” means more than God’s help. And mercy is what Daniel pleads. Mercy means that when God looks at our misery he is genuinely moved by what he sees. He is filled with compassion. Crying children stir something inside of us that makes us want to help, to relieve their suffering, even if the children are complete strangers. It’s a matter of the heart as much as it is the hands.

We see God’s mercy so often in Jesus’ ministry. He came to preach to a people who were spiritually starving, whose souls were being fed the spiritual equivalent of sawdust–no grace, just rules. Matthew tells us that when Jesus saw these crowds, “he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” When he later feeds the 5000, he had originally intended to get away for a little vacation. But a large crowd tracks him down, and when Jesus sees them he has compassion on them and heals their sick, and teaches them, and feeds them. When Jesus goes to comfort his friends Mary and Martha at the death of their brother Lazarus, and he sees them crying, he is so moved by their grief that he starts to cry himself. Then, of course, he follows with the mercy of bringing Lazarus back to life.

Do you see what this means for you and me? Because Jesus is full of mercy, we have more than God’s help. We have a place in his heart. Our misery genuinely moves him, and it moves him to help. Even when help seems a long time in coming, and our prayers don’t seem to be answered, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Sometimes God’s mercies involve things that pain him to see us suffer, but the pain is necessary to help and save us. He lets it continue until we are safe. Ultimately, mercy led him to give his life to rescue us from our own sins against him. Those sins are the root of our misery.

His relationship with us is never a cold, impersonal, professional relationship. Mercy means that we have a place in his heart.

Romans 3:21 “But now a righteousness from God, apart from law, has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets testify.”

            In order to appreciate “a righteousness from God,” we need to realize it is something we lack. What I am about to say is intended to keep you and me from saying the really foolish thing people say that keeps us from seeing our need for righteousness. That is the statement, “I am a good person.” If all we mean by this is, “I am not a habitual criminal,” then perhaps we can let it pass. But you know that even the family and friends of convicted criminals are inclined to say, “But he is really a good person.” I once knew a woman whose husband had multiple affairs and finally divorced her for no other reason than he was tired of her. Still, she insisted, “But he is still a good person.” Our contemporary culture is so uncomfortable with the truth about us, that even in the most obvious cases, we find it difficult to say, “He is not a good person. In fact, he is bad.”

            What does Jesus have to say about all this? You may remember the rich young man who came to Jesus to learn what he had to do to inherit eternal life. The first words out of his mouth were, “Good teacher…” And Jesus couldn’t let his greeting pass. “Why do you call me good? Jesus answered. No one is good–except God alone” (Luke 18:19). No one is good, except God alone. Jesus wasn’t denying that Jesus was good. But he wanted the man to think some more about the person to whom he was talking, and he was already starting to confront some of the false ideas this man had about the man’s own goodness.

            This isn’t said to drive us into depression. It is meant to help us confront the truth. It helps us get past our rationalizations about our own behavior. We can become very comfortable thinking that we are good because, in our opinion, we are mostly good. We are mostly pure and chaste. We are mostly generous. We are mostly obedient. We are mostly content. We are mostly free of anxiety and worry. We think we are “mostly good.” But that isn’t the same thing as righteous. I believe that I have developed a reputation for patience. Ask my wife, however, how patient I am in the middle of a home improvement project that isn’t going right. So it turns out I am “mostly patient.” And that isn’t the same thing as being good.

            Even if we were to shape up 100 percent today (something that no one ever does), we would still have a sinful past keeping us from being righteous–100 percent in conformity with God’s law. Righteousness would still be something we lack. Since we can’t become righteous ourselves, Jesus comes to bring it as God’s gift. This brings us to the righteousness Paul means, “a righteousness from God, apart from law.”

            Jesus brings us righteousness from God. The gift wasn’t a repair project, as though our bodies and souls had a few bad parts that needed to be replaced, and then we would work properly. He didn’t tweak our spiritual diet and exercise to improve our performance, like athletes in training. Nothing but a full replacement was going to do if we were going to be righteous.

             So that’s what Jesus did. He gave us a full identity swap. He became us so that we could be him. He traded our sinful past for his life of perfect love and obedience. On God’s books, if the Lord were now to do a background check on us based on his own records, the article on your life story or mine reads like the story of a man born in Bethlehem over 2000 years ago. He was raised in Galilee. He traveled Israel as a courageous preacher and teacher, a friend of the poor and the outcast, and a worker of miracles of mercy. There simply isn’t any fault to be found here.

            That sinful past we traded to him, together with our sinful present and our sinful future, eventually landed Jesus in man’s court, where he was condemned as a criminal, and in God’s court, where he was condemned as every sinner who ever lived. From the cross, Jesus life-blood flowed across God’s record book of our sins, erasing every entry as it went, leaving behind nothing but pages fresh with the story of his own love. Now our life’s story, from beginning to end, reads like perfect conformity to God’s law.

            This righteousness isn’t a gift Jesus found somewhere, purchased one for us, boxed it up, gave it to us, and then stood back while he watched us open it. In giving us righteousness, Jesus is giving us his very self. He is our substitute in life and in death. His righteousness is legitimate. His righteousness works. He is “a good person,” and now in God’s eyes, so are we.

Psalm 103:2,5 “Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits–who…heals all your diseases…who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”

            David wasn’t a TV evangelist making outlandish promises about miraculous healing. He wasn’t denying the real value of doctors, nurses, and medicine. But David knew that all people, even God’s people, experience plenty of pain and suffering in their lives. And David knew that, whatever other help we might get, our pain and suffering goes away only when the Lord touches our remedies with his blessing.

            Maybe we are inclined to question David’s assertion, “who heals all your diseases.” At this very moment I could point to three or four irritating imperfections in my own health that linger on and on. And yet, I got up this morning with enough strength to go to work. The day will come when the diseases finally appear to win, and all my strength is gone. Then God will bring me to the final fulfillment of this promise: “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.”

            Until that day, it is true that now the Lord “satisfies your desires with good things.” Some of us have more, and some of us have less. But all of us have our daily bread. If we take serious stock of our lives, and look closely into the details of what we have and experience, the good far outweighs the bad in practically every case—even in a year marred by worldwide pandemic, widespread unemployment, horrific police brutality, political division, and destructive riots. The Lord has given us life and sustenance. It’s one of many reasons we have for praising him today.

            I send my parents birthday cards each year. I don’t usually send them gifts. Like so many people who have reached retirement, there is little I can give him. They made a good living. They have a good retirement. They have collected “stuff” throughout their adult lives. They seem to have everything. What do you get for such people? The main thing I can do is show my appreciation. I can give him them time and attention. I can thank them.

            In the words of Psalm 103, David urges us to praise the Lord for the kind of God he was and is. There is little else we can give him. He doesn’t depend on the stuff we might bring him. He already has everything. In every way he continues to provide for me and my family.

Though he will put our gifts to use to build his church and care for the souls of others, the main thing we can do is show our appreciation. We can give him our time and attention. Let’s praise him for all his benefits.

Psalm 103:2,4 “Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits–who forgives all your sins…who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion.”

The Lord forgives all your sins and mine. The Bible, you may know, has many different words for sin. In English, too, we can speak about iniquities, and trespasses, and transgressions. The word David uses to describe sin here thinks of it as twisting or bending something.

When I was a little boy, my dad would let me play with some of the scrap wood and simple tools in his workshop. He also had some tools that I wasn’t supposed to find. I once wanted to pull a nail out of a board, but I couldn’t get the claw of the hammer under the head of the nail. I looked around and I found a set of wood chisels he kept hidden away. I pounded the tip of one of those chisels under the nail head, and pried the nail up and out. But in the process I dented and bent the edge of that chisel and pretty much ruined it. My father was not pleased.

Many kinds of sins do the same thing to the good tools God has given us for life in this world. It is good to celebrate and feast like we do at holidays, birthdays, or anniversaries. But you know that not every day can be a feast. Too much of a good thing becomes a sin that bends and twists God’s gift of food so that it doesn’t do what it’s supposed to anymore.

Relationships are another beautiful gift from God, a tool he uses to care for our hearts and our lives in so many different ways. But when we use guilt trips, threats, lies, or pouting to manipulate those relationships for our own purposes, we bend and twist God’s good gift so that it doesn’t work right anymore. It might even become unusable. Our Father is not pleased.

Still, he “forgives all your sins.” Although we connect one sin to another in an unbroken chain that stretches across the length of our lives from birth to death, the Lord forgives them all. It’s not that he is unaware of them. He never approves of them. He simply refuses to hold them against us. No link in that chain of sin is so big, or so long, that he is forced to say, “Now this is just too much. Now you have gone too far.”

A few verses later David gives us a beautiful description of this forgiveness that needs no commentary. It just needs to be heard. “He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us” (Psalm 103:9-12).

What makes the benefits of God’s grace even more amazing is the price that makes forgiveness possible. “He redeems your life from the pit,” David says. The word “redeem” always means that a price is being paid. But just look at who is doing the paying! God himself paid to make sure that we get out of our graves someday. Old Testament believers were given some inkling of the price as day after day, year after year, thousands and even millions of animals died at the altar in God’s temple–all the dead sheep, and goats, and cattle, and doves!

But that was just a picture, and it was small compared to the real price when God became a man, and let himself to be nailed to a cross, where he slowly bled and suffocated and died to pay the price for our guilt. How dearly the Lord must love you to consider you so precious to him that he paid so much to forgive your sins and make you his very own! Having any trouble remembering why we have reason to praise the Lord? Don’t forget the benefits of his grace.

Psalm 103:1 “Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.”

Our praise serves ourselves far more than it will ever serve our Lord. He doesn’t lack self-confidence and need us to pump him up so that he can feel good about himself. He isn’t plagued with all kinds of deep insecurities that make him shrivel up and withdraw if we don’t constantly praise him. He isn’t so stuck on himself that it makes him angry when we aren’t giving him compliments. He desires our praise, even commands it. But the Lord is never needy. Our praises give evidence that we properly understand his place and ours in this relationship.

The benefit of such praise is that it rehearses us in our relationship. There used to be a sign sitting on the counter in the kitchen where my children attended school. It read, “Please and Thank-you Are Still Magic Words.” We work to teach these words to our children, don’t we? Why? We want them to understand when they are asking for a favor, not demanding a right. Others are not their slaves. Our children depend on those who serve them to take care of them. “Please” says, “I am needy, and you are kind to take care of me.” “Thank you” says much the same thing, only after the fact. These words rehearse us in our true roles in the relationship between giver and receiver.

Praising and thanking God teaches us similar lessons. We are needy. I didn’t create myself. I can’t create myself. Ever wish to have a skill you don’t have, and no matter how hard you worked at it you never really managed to do it well? That’s one of the reasons I preach and teach, but I don’t play piano or organ on Sunday mornings. All the abilities I do have are gifts that God has given me. He has been kind. He has done me a favor.

Likewise, I didn’t redeem myself. I can’t redeem myself. I produce sins with no help at all, but it took Jesus to save me from them. He has done this needy soul a favor by giving his life to save me. Giving him our praise and thanks keeps us from forgetting it is so.

Do you know what happens when we stop giving thanks, and our praises fade and die? It doesn’t take long before we forget God’s role in every good thing we have. Our food, our money, and everything else we need appear to be the product of natural processes and our own natural skill and cleverness. What a dark and horrible faith that would be! All the burden to live, to eat, to survive would sit on our own weak shoulders, or worse yet, on the shoulders of other people who may or may not care about us at all! Wouldn’t that be a terrifying life?

What if something goes wrong with the environment, and there is no God promising that while the earth remains seedtime and harvest will never cease? What if something goes wrong with the economy, and there is no God promising to supply all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus? What if something goes wrong with the government and there is no Christ at God’s right hand ruling over all things for the good of his people? What if something goes wrong with my mind, my health, or my skills and there is no God promising, “Never will I leave you. Never will I forsake you”?

One of the benefits of our praise and thanks is that we are spared from that dark and horrible faith (or lack of it). It keeps us from forgetting all God’s benefits. It allows us to live each day in the joy of his grace.

2 Chronicles 26:3, 15-16 “Uzziah was sixteen years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem fifty-two years…His fame spread far and wide, for he was greatly helped until he became powerful. But after Uzziah became powerful, his pride led to his downfall.”

Uzziah had a great life, a great job, and he was good at it. As king, he strengthened his country’s defenses and beat their enemies when he went to war. He loved the land, so he dug wells, and promoted farming and livestock, and turned his country into an agricultural force.

As time passed, however, being the king was less of a calling for Uzziah, more of a way to stroke his ego. He used it to feed his sinful pride.

When sinful pride makes us full of ourselves, the problem never stops with sinful pride. Uzziah stopped being content with his calling. “He was unfaithful to the Lord his God, and entered the temple of the Lord to burn incense on the altar of incense. Azariah the priest with eighty other courageous priests of the Lord followed him in. They confronted him and said, ‘It is not right for you, Uzziah, to burn incense to the Lord. That is for the priests, the descendants of Aaron, who have been consecrated to burn incense. Leave the sanctuary, for you have been unfaithful; and you will not be honored by the Lord.’”

Not just anyone could serve as an Old Testament priest. You had to be a direct descendant of the very first high priest, Moses’ brother Aaron. Uzziah did not come from the right family or right tribe to be a priest. He was dabbling in things for which he had no calling.

As long as he had the skills, though, and he did it right, did it really matter? It mattered to the Lord. It still matters that we learn to be content with our callings.

I had a friend who wanted to be in politics. But you don’t just walk into the capitol and start attending sessions of Congress. You have to be elected. Today my friend works for an elected politician. It’s as close as he is going to come, it appears, and he can serve God faithfully if he is content with his calling.

The New Testament makes being male a qualification for certain church leadership positions. So Paul writes in 1 Corinthians chapter 14 and 1 Timothy chapters 2 and 3. We can question God’s wisdom in setting such limits. But God calls us to be content with our callings, even though that may mean limits on what we can do.

Somewhat ironically, since Jesus has come, God now claims us all as his priests. Our own bodies are the temples in which we serve. Peter writes, “You (you Christians, all of you) are a chosen people, a royal priesthood.” That’s not priests in the sense of professional clergy. But since Jesus is the Great High Priest for all time, and by his blood on the cross he has removed every sin that stood between us and God, we can bring our prayers and sacrifices to God directly. We offer our bodies to him as living sacrifices in thanksgiving for the gift of salvation. Our callings–father, mother, son, daughter, citizen, student, employer or employee–are the sacrifice of love that come from our spiritual priesthood. 

Uzziah wanted to try a different calling. Now God was going to give him one. But it wasn’t the calling for which he was looking. “Uzziah, who had a censor in his hand to burn incense, became angry. While he was raging at the priests in their presence before the incense altar in the Lord’s temple, leprosy broke out on his forehead…King Uzziah had leprosy until the day he died. He lived in a separate house–leprous, and excluded from the temple of the Lord. Jotham his son had charge of the palace and governed the people of the land.”

You know about leprosy. It was incurable. Lepers had to live apart from other people so that the disease would not spread. Leprosy meant that Uzziah could not serve as king anymore. His son Jotham took over the government. Leprosy made it very clear that Uzziah couldn’t be a priest. He couldn’t even go to the temple. He had to live by himself in his separate house. God had changed Uzziah’s calling. He lived the rest of his life as sick man, a patient, with his disease.

Was that nothing more than a punishment because Uzziah made God so mad? Actually, God struck Uzziah with leprosy because he loved him. If the Lord had let him continue with his pride, it would take him away from God. But we read about Uzziah the leper, “Uzziah rested with his fathers and was buried with them in a field for burial that belonged to the kings, for people said, ‘He had leprosy.’” Since he wasn’t actually buried next to the other kings, we don’t understand “he rested with his fathers” as a reference to a royal burial. His soul rested with his believing ancestors in heaven. In a strange twist, God used leprosy to help save Uzziah’s soul.

There are things about your callings that aren’t always fun. There are things about them that aren’t ever fun. The unpleasant parts of your calling probably aren’t as extreme as having leprosy. But they all serve to humble us. They expose our weaknesses. Sometimes they uncover our sin. They remind us that we must depend on God, and they drive us back to the cross where Jesus is always waiting with forgiveness and love.

What you and I need is rarely an escape to a different calling. What we need is to be content with our calling, because even when they humble us, God is using them to keep us close to him.