A ‘Man’ After God’s Heart

What’s in a name? Take Andrew for example. The word means “man.” That’s it. There’s no larger metaphor attached to it. It’s as if his parents took a look at the boy child and suddenly were at a loss as to what to call him. So they took the easy way out — “He’ll be a man so we’ll call him Man.” It’s not so unusual. My uncle once taught a class in a small Maryland town that included students officially named “Boy Jacobs” and “Female Wilson.”

Andrew is a fairly simple designation as Bible names go. Page through the Scriptures and we find Israel, meaning “Prince with God,” Peter, “a stone,” and John, “Yahweh is gracious” to name a few. Also, there’s Ichabod — “glory has departed” and Lo-ruhamah — “no mercy.” Those are big and significant connotations.

Andrew? It’s a name that doesn’t seem to carry so much weight, and maybe that’s a good thing. When we study the details about the man — the Apostle — who carried this name, we get to know someone whose life was one of simple and direct obedience.

Andrew was a man all right, a man after God’s heart.

Beholder of the Lamb

We learn most about Andrew from the gospel of John. He, like James and John, the men Jesus called the sons of thunder, was a follower of John the Baptist.

One day John pointed out Jesus clearly — “Behold the Lamb of God!” (See John 1:36.) That was enough for Andrew, who was with John, the Apostle and writer of this gospel. The two of them chased down Jesus.

“What do you want?” Christ asked them. “Rabbi, where do you live?” They asked. “Come and see,” the Lord said, and so Andrew and John came and saw. They spent a day with Jesus, as He began to gather His group of student-leaders, the men who walk and talk with Him and later turn the world upside down as witnesses of His resurrection and carriers of the Gospel of salvation.

Andrew couldn’t keep these developments to himself. He ran to tell his brother, Simon, a name which means “listen” by the way.

“We have found the Messiah,” Andrew told him.

How did Simon take this news from his little brother? Being an older brother myself, I am thinking Simon was likely a bit wary of Andrew’s fascination with and forays into the Baptist’s community. This man dressed in leather and camel’s hair, subsisted on a diet of locusts and wild honey, and lived down by the river Jordan. He preached loud and long about repentance, of the need to turn to God. He declared a Kingdom was to come and spoke of the King who stood among the people.

John the Baptist was notable for a lot of the wrong reasons. Still, common people — soldiers and shepherds and fishermen like Andrew, John and Simon — heard him gladly and took heed of the message.

[bctt tweet=”Simon listened and followed Andrew to Jesus.” username=”ggwo”]

For whatever reason, on this day, Simon took his brother’s words seriously. Simon listened and followed Andrew to Jesus — “And when Jesus beheld him, He said, ‘You are Simon the son of John: you shall be called Peter, which is by interpretation, a stone” (see John 1:42).

Peter, as we know, grew into one of central figures in the early Church movement. He was the powerful, Spirit-filled preacher at Pentecost (see Acts 2); his shadow healed those it fell upon; he obediently and boldly entered into the house of the Gentile Cornelius and sparked the Gospel movement to all nations.

None of this happened, however, without the man Andrew. Bringing people to Jesus characterized his life. It was Andrew who brought the lad with two loaves and five fish to the Lord, and so thousands were fed (see John 6). A couple of Greeks said to the Apostle Philip, “Sir, we would see Jesus.” Philip went to Andrew who said, “Let’s go and tell Jesus.”

“And Jesus answered them, saying, The hour is come, that the Son of man should be glorified” (John 12:23).

A man with a simple name simply followed the Lord. It makes such a difference.

Ordinary People with Extraordinary Faith

Through the ages, there are hundreds of stories like this one. They involve ordinary people who are extraordinary in the faith.

Mr. Kimball, a Sunday School teacher in Boston, was determined to pray for an 18-year-old boot salesman named Dwight L. Moody. He spoke to Moody of the love of Christ with what Kimball called a “very weak plea.” It was enough to change this salesman and set him on course to be one of the greatest evangelists of his era.

Charles Spurgeon spoke of how he was unhappy, despondent, and despairing at the age of 15. “I dreamed of hell,” Spurgeon said. He did this until one snowy day he ducked into the back of Primitive Methodist Chapel. A raw but real lay preacher taught from Isaiah 45:22 — “Look unto me, and be saved, all the ends of the earth; for I am God, and there is none else.” Then, this rough and rugged man pointed to the teen-ager Spurgeon and shouted, “Look! Look, young man! Look now!”

It was enough. Spurgeon believed on the Lord and skipped home that day feeling clean as the fresh snow all about him. It was a beginning for the man who was to become known as the Prince of Preachers whose sermons were heard and read by thousands in London and beyond.

See, the Andrews of the Lord are everywhere, and their faith makes an eternal difference.

May we all choose to be like this “man” Andrew. May we behold the Lamb of God and follow after Him. And may we make it our mission to tell others how to find and follow Him.

Strong Joy, Merry Hearts and Mad Mirth

“Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is heaviness” (Proverbs 14:13)

Mockery has become so manic, and the parodies so predictable.  From time to time, there’s ferocity that breaks into mean-spiritedness behind all the funny.

There is jesting.

There is joking.

There is the jab, jab, jab and the poke, poke, poke of those who refuse to see the seriousness of our situations.

Potty-mouthed pundits promote a mindset that calls everyone to the cesspool. Overly obscene observations are celebrated for their shock value. Make a scene so that you can be seen, this is the spirit of the age. Spotlight the spectacle – it’s a kind of continuous vaudeville, only this one fills its stages with vaunts and vanities and vexations.

It is fiendish, faddish, and fainting. And, it fails and those who are part of it know this and always have.

Motown’s Smokey Robinson and the Miracles once sang about the “Tears of a Clown.”  There’s a certain and real sadness that is at the center of all of these shenanigans.

This is comic relief that offers no real relief. It is like Shakespeare’s Mercutio, the bawdy character who yuks it up throughout “Romeo and Juliet” until he is killed off,  so the tragedy can proceed to its bitter climax.

Yes, the laughs do end — especially the nervous, anxious variety.

What’s hiding behind the fabric of foolery? What’s hidden by the curtains of comedic callousness? I sense a real desperation of spirit, an emptiness that threatens to swallow their worlds.

Something’s very wrong, but few want to face it honestly. With every tawdry skit, a bit of nakedness is flashed. With taunts and tickles, personality after personality tap-dances around the chasm that’s yawning within them. And people chuckle along with the program.

Whistling in the graveyard is what it is. Things right, true, honest, and pure have fallen dead in the street. The curses and calamities of the hour go ignored.

Laugh it up. Paint those you disagree with as fools and wind up being fooled all the more. When the laughter stops, others gin up the anger, stomp and shout, and amplify messages that are no messages at all.

But hearts remain sorrowful. Mirth melts down into bitterness. The weight of reality staggers and brings low.

Times like these are nothing new. Who will tell what God can do? It only takes one to step into the disaster and bring about a revival.

It takes one like Nehemiah, a man with a nice job and comfortable surroundings as the cupbearer of an ancient king. This man became grieved that Jerusalem had become desolate, an open city with fallen walls.

Nehemiah sought leave from the king and he got it. He headed home and led an intense and efficient building project. After 52 days, Jerusalem was walled again. Led by Nehemiah, the citizens dedicated themselves to a renewal of their city and its purpose. It happened by the power of God communicated through the vision of one man.

When the work was finished, the people of Jerusalem gathered to hear the Word of God. Ezra took to the pulpit and carefully read and explained the Scriptures. The words cut to the hearts of the hearers. Soon, the people wept, the city was full of the sounds of sorrow.

Exactly what God and the preacher wanted, right? Wrong. Notice, Ezra’s response to this outburst; in essence, he told them, “Cut it out, and rejoice.”

“ This day is holy unto the Lord your God; mourn not, nor weep. … Go your way, eat the fat, drink the sweet and send portions unto them for whom nothing is prepared:  for this day is holy unto our Lord:  neither be ye sorry; for the joy of the Lord is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:9-10).

Wow! Ezra commanded the people to party. This might come as something of a surprise to those who think the way of Christianity involves gloomily grumping along through days on the path to glory. The Bible is full of feasting and festivity. The finality of the Lord’s ultimate victory will include a Marriage Supper (see Revelation 19).

“Merry hearts” bring health, while broken spirits produce dry bones (see Proverbs 17:22). Our senses of humor are gifts from God to us. He made us for His joy to be manifest in us.

Crude comics and jesters provide only short-term respites. Their light fare provides nothing that brings true healing and, worst of all, they hinder the work of real repentance and reconciliation.

What’s really needed today are people full of the joy of the Lord. Who has this? Those who understand that there are days to come when the presence of God will fill every corner of Creation, they look for a time when Light will last and laughter will be pure, powerful, and real.