Those of us in the business of missions like to talk about exponential growth. The idea that whatever I’m helping lead will take off and expand beyond my dreams, or at least beyond my efforts, never quite fades.

But nothing I’ve ever seen compares to the explosion of growth the early church experienced shortly after the resurrection. The Holy Spirit arrived in a violent wind, then enabled the disciples to speak a whole mess of languages. They declared the wonders of God to every person present in their native tongue.

Peter preached a magnificent sermon, culminating with this charge: Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call.

The best part of this for me? The promise extending to all who are far off. Peter announced the world-wide intentions of this young body. The message spread to the furthest horizons.

I stand far off from the time and place and culture where Peter preached, and so this promise applies to me. And to you. And to all who fill our great big world.

That’s a solid message to enjoy, and to preach, as Easter approaches.

Acts 2 in reading the Bible cover to cover in 2022

Photo by Michał Mancewicz

The old woman paused in her happy dance to proclaim an odd and misplaced vow: I solemnly consecrate my silver to the Lord for my son to make an image overlaid with silver.

Her son just returned a fortune he stole from his mother, and like a truly child-absorbed parent, she blessed the thief. Then she sent the silver to a smith who formed an idol from the metal.

The problem with her vow? She first offered the silver to the Lord, then violated the very first commandment given by that same Lord, part of which reads: You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below. You shall not bow down to them or worship them.

Either she didn’t know the law of Moses, or she ignored it, or most likely a combo of both. In her cultural moment, adherence to commandments fell out of vogue. The author of Judges describes the era like this: At that time there was no king in Israel. People did whatever they felt like doing.

Sounds a lot like today. This woman plucked pretty feathers from various religious traditions to form something new. The idea that the Lord might appreciate her idol appears ludicrous, but in her mind it made perfect sense. She used the name of the Lord to bless her act of worship, even as she worshiped the devils.

I understand the temptation. I find parts of the Bible uncomfortable, and others hard to defend. Many run counter to the mantras of our cultural moment. But the moment I decide to unmoor myself from scripture, I begin to drift. It doesn’t take much drifting to find myself not just condoning—but blessing—ideas the Lord condemns.

Would I like to live in a world where people do whatever they feel like doing? For sure. But when I see the results of such practices, I understand the need to turn again to words from the Giver of Life for direction on the way I should live.

Judges 17 in reading the Bible cover to cover in 2022

Photo by Osman Rana

Today I read this line in Psalm 146—The Lord gives sight to the blind.

I started thinking of the wide varieties of blindness Jesus faced, and people who benefited from his touch:

Those blinded physically—Bartimaeus.

Those blinded by Jesus himself—Saul.

Those blinded by death—Lazarus.

Those blinded by wealth—Zacchaeus.

Those blinded by ethnicity—the Samaritan woman at the well.

Those blinded by power—Pilate.

Those blinded by grief—Jairus.

Those blinded by disease—the ten lepers.

Those blinded by worry—Martha.

Those blinded by the spiritual powers—the Gerasene demoniac.

Those blinded by hopelessness—the woman who bled for 12 years.

Those blinded by religiosity—Nicodemas.

Those blinded by education—teachers in the temple.

Finally, those blinded to the ways and knowledge of the Lord—me and you.

The Lord gives sight to the blind—again and again and again.

Psalm 146 in reading the Bible cover to cover in 2022

Photo by Krissana Porto

Do you think of someone at the apple of your eye? Or, do you know someone, perhaps a doting grandparent, who thought of you in that way? Someone who cherished you above all others?

The phrase originates in the Old Testament. David, in a prayer of distress, asked the Lord to keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings. The phrase first appeared in Deuteronomy 32:10, in a description of the Lord’s care for Israel, and David referred back to this picture of protection.

The use of apple in the phrase is an English addition. The original Hebrew means something like the little man of the eye, referring to the reflection of yourself in someone else’s pupil. This requires focus and attention on the part of the listener. You exist square in the middle of their eyes, no flitting around and no gazing in the distance.

Square in the middle of God’s eye. Sort of intimidating. On the other hand, living as the apple of God’s eye feels remarkable, ridiculous even. That’s the point David makes—God’s love for us is ridiculous—and we should appeal for more.

Bask in that for awhile.

Psalm 17 in reading the Bible cover to cover in 2022

Photo by Paolo Bendandi