My notes from Traveling Light by Max Lucado.
I'm only five feet from an eagle. His wings are spread, and his talons are lifted above the branch. White feathers cap his head, and black eyes peer at me from both sides of a golden beak. He is so close I could touch him. So near I could stroke him. With only a lean and stretch of my right arm, I could cover the eagle's crown with my hand.
But I don't. I don't reach. Why not? Am I afraid?
Hardly. He hasn't budged in two years. When I first set him on the shelf, I admired him. Man-made eagles are nice for a while, but you can quickly get used to them.
David is concerned that you and I don't make the same mistake with God. His pen has scarcely touched papyrus, and he's urging us to avoid gods of our own making. With his very first words in the psalm, David sets out to deliver us from the burden of a lesser deity.
One might argue that he seeks to do nothing else. For though he will speak of green pastures, his thesis is not rest. He will describe death's somber valley, but his poem is not an ode to dying. He will tell of the Lord's forever house,but his theme is not heaven. Why did David write the Twenty-third Psalm?
To build our trust in God...to remind us who he is.
In this psalm David devotes one hundred and fifteen words to explaining the first two: "The Lord." In the arena of unnecessary luggage, the psalmist begins with the weightiest: the refashioned god. One who looks nice but does little. God is . . .
A genie in a bottle. Convenient. Congenial. Need a parking place, date, field goal made or missed? All you do is rub the bottle and poof--it's yours. And what's even better, this god goes back into the bottle after he's done.
A sweet grandpa. So soft-hearted. So wise. So kind. But very, very, very old. Grandpas are great when they are awake, but they tend to doze off when you need them.
A busy dad. Leaves on Monday, returns on Saturdays. Lots of road trips and business meetings. He'll show up on Sunday, however, so clean up and look spiritual. On Monday, be yourself again. He'll never know.
Ever held these views of God? If so, you know the problem they cause. A busy dad doesn't have time for your questions. A kind grandpa is too weak to carry your load. And if you god is a genie in a bottle, then you are greater than he is. He comes and goes at your command.
A god who looks nice but does little.
Reminds me of a briefcase I own. Though I'd like to fault the salesman, I can't. The purchase was my decision. But he certainly made it easy. I didn't need a new satchel. The one I had was fine. Scarred and scratched, but the bag was fine. The paint was worn off the zippers, and the edges were scuffed, but the bag was fine.
Oh, but this new one, to use the words of the college-age boy in the leather store, was "really fine". Loaded with features: copper covers on the corners, smooth leather from Spain, and, most of all, an Italian name near the handle. The salesman gave his line and handed me the bag, and I bought them both.
I left the store with a briefcase that I have used maybe twice. What was I thinking? It carries so little. My old bag had no copper covered corners, but it had a belly like a beluga. This new one reminds me of a high-fashioned model: slim, stiff, and tight-zipped. A book and a newspaper, and this Italian satchel is "fullisimo."
The bag looks nice, but it does nothing.
Is that the kind of God you want? Is that the kind of God we have?
David's answer is a resounding no. "You want to know who God really is?" he asks. "Then read this," And he writes the name Yahweh.
"Yehweh" is my shepherd."
Though foreign to us, the name was rich to David. So rich, in fact, that David chose Yehweh over El Shaddai (God Almightly), El Elyon (God Most High), and El Olam (God the Everlasting). These and many other titles for God were at David's disposal. But when he considered all the options, David chose Yehweh.
Why Yahweh? Because Yahweh is God's name. You can call me preacher or writer or half-baked golfer--these are accurate descriptions, but these aren't my names. I might call you dad, mom, doctor or student, and those terms may describe you, but they aren't your name. If you want to call me by my name, say Max. If I call you by your name, I say it. And if you want to call God by his name, say Yahweh.
God has told us his name.
Moses was the first to learn it. Seven centuries prior to David, the eighty-year old shepherd was tending sheep when the bush began to blaze and his life began to change. Moses was told to return to Egypt and rescue the enslaved Hebrews. He raised more excuses than a kid at bedtime, but God trumped each one. Finally Moses asked.
God would later remind Moses: "I am Yahweh. To Abraham and Isaac and Jacob I appeared as El Shaddai; I did not make myself known to them by my name Yehweh" (Exodus 6:2-3).
The Israelites considered the name too holy to be spoken by human lips. Whenever they needed to say Yahweh the substituted the word Adonai, which means "Lord." If the name needed to be written, the scribes would take a bath before they wrote it and destroyed the pen afterward."
God never gives a definition of the word Yahweh, and Moses never requests one. Many scholars wish he had, for the study of the name has raised some healthy discussions.
The name I AM sounds strikingly close to the Hebrew verb to be--havah. It's quite possibly a combination of the present tense form (I am) and the causative tense (I cause to be). Yahweh, then, seems to mean "I AM" and "I cause." God is the "One who is" and the "One who causes."
Why is that important? Because we need a big God. And if God is the "One who is," then he is an unchanging God.
Think about it. Do you know anyone who goes around saying, "I am"? Neither do I. When we say, "I am," we always add another word. "I am happy," "I am sad," "I am strong," "I am Max." God, however, starkly states, "I AM" and adds nothing else.
"You are what?" we want to ask. "I AM," he replies. God needs no needs no descriptive word because he never changes. God is what he is. He is what he has always been. His immutability motivated the psalmist to declare, "But thou are the same" (Psalm. 102:27). The writer is saying, "You are the One who is. You never change." Yahweh is an unchanging God.
He is also an uncaused God.
Though he creates, God was never created. Though he makes, he was never made. Though he causes, he never caused. Henced the psalmist's proclamation: "Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God" (Psalm 90:2).
God is Yahweh--an unchanging God, an uncaused God, and an ungoverned God.
You and I are governed. The weather determines what we wear. The terrain tells us how to travel. Gravity dictates our speed, and health determines our strength. We may challenge these forces and alter them slightly, but we never remove them.
God--our Shepherd--doesn't check the weather; he makes it. He doesn't defy gravity; he created it. He isn't affected by health; he has no body: Jesus said, "God is spirit: (John 4:24) Since he has no body, he has no limitations--equally active in Cambodia as he is in Connecticut. "Where can I go to get away from your Spirit?" asked David. "Where can I run from you? If I go up to the heavens, you are there. If I lie down in the grave, you are there" (Psalm 139:7-8)
Unchanging. Uncaused. Ungoverned. These are only a fraction of God's qualities, but aren't they enough to give you a glimpse of your Father? Don't we need this kind of shepherd? Don't we need an unchanging shepherd?
When Lloyd Douglas, author of The Robe and other novels, attended college, he lived in a boardinghouse. A retired, wheelchair-bound music professor resided on the first floor. Each morning Douglas would stick his head in the door of the teacher's apartment and ask the same question, "Well, what's the good news?" The old man would pick up his tuning fork, tap it on the side of the wheelchair, and say "That's middle C! It was middle C yesterday; it will be middle C tomorrow; it will be middle C a thousand years from now. The tenor upstairs sings flat. The piano across the hall is out of tune, but my friend, that is middle C."
You and I need middle C. Haven't you had enough change in your life? Relationships change. Health change. The weather changes. But the Yahweh who ruled the earth last night is the same Yahweh who rules it today. Same convictions. Same plan. Same mood. Same love. He never changes. You can no more alter God than a pebble can alter the rhythm of the Pacific. Yahweh is our middle C. A still point in a turning world. Don't we need a still point? Don't we need an unchanging shepherd?
We equally need an uncaused shepherd. No one breathed life into Yahweh. No one sired him. No one gave birth to him. No one caused him. No act brought him forth.
And since no act brought him forth, no act can take him out. Doesn he fear earthquakes? Does he tremble at a tornado? Hardly. Yahweh sleeps through storms and calms the winds with his words. Cancer does not trouble him, and cemeteries do not disturb him. He was here before they came. He'll be there after they are gone. He is uncaused.
And he is ungoverned. Counselors can comfort you in the storm, but you need a God who can still the storm. Friends can hold your hand at your deathbed, but you need a Yahweh who has defeated the grave. Philosophers can debate the meaning of life, but you need a Lord who can declare the meaning of life.
You need a Yahweh.
You don't need what Dorothy found. Remember her discovery in the Wonderful Wizard of Oz? She and her trio followed the yellow-brick road only to discover that the wizard was a wimp! Nothing but smoke and mirrors and tin-drum thunder. Is that the kind of god you need?
You don't need to carry the burden of a lesser god . . . a god on a shelf, a god in a box, or a god in a bottle. No, you need a God who can place 100 billions stars in our galaxy and 100 billion galaxies in the universe. You need a God who can shape two fists of flesh into 75 to 100 billion nerve cells, each with as many as 10,000 connections to other nerve cells, placed into a skull, and call it a brain.
And you need a God who, while no mind-numbingly mighty, can come in the soft of the night and touch you with the tenderness of an April snow.
You need a Yahweh.
And according to David, you have one. He is your shepherd.
I'm only five feet from an eagle. His wings are spread, and his talons are lifted above the branch. White feathers cap his head, and black eyes peer at me from both sides of a golden beak. He is so close I could touch him. So near I could stroke him. With only a lean and stretch of my right arm, I could cover the eagle's crown with my hand.
But I don't. I don't reach. Why not? Am I afraid?
Hardly. He hasn't budged in two years. When I first set him on the shelf, I admired him. Man-made eagles are nice for a while, but you can quickly get used to them.
David is concerned that you and I don't make the same mistake with God. His pen has scarcely touched papyrus, and he's urging us to avoid gods of our own making. With his very first words in the psalm, David sets out to deliver us from the burden of a lesser deity.
One might argue that he seeks to do nothing else. For though he will speak of green pastures, his thesis is not rest. He will describe death's somber valley, but his poem is not an ode to dying. He will tell of the Lord's forever house,but his theme is not heaven. Why did David write the Twenty-third Psalm?
To build our trust in God...to remind us who he is.
In this psalm David devotes one hundred and fifteen words to explaining the first two: "The Lord." In the arena of unnecessary luggage, the psalmist begins with the weightiest: the refashioned god. One who looks nice but does little. God is . . .
A genie in a bottle. Convenient. Congenial. Need a parking place, date, field goal made or missed? All you do is rub the bottle and poof--it's yours. And what's even better, this god goes back into the bottle after he's done.
A sweet grandpa. So soft-hearted. So wise. So kind. But very, very, very old. Grandpas are great when they are awake, but they tend to doze off when you need them.
A busy dad. Leaves on Monday, returns on Saturdays. Lots of road trips and business meetings. He'll show up on Sunday, however, so clean up and look spiritual. On Monday, be yourself again. He'll never know.
Ever held these views of God? If so, you know the problem they cause. A busy dad doesn't have time for your questions. A kind grandpa is too weak to carry your load. And if you god is a genie in a bottle, then you are greater than he is. He comes and goes at your command.
A god who looks nice but does little.
Reminds me of a briefcase I own. Though I'd like to fault the salesman, I can't. The purchase was my decision. But he certainly made it easy. I didn't need a new satchel. The one I had was fine. Scarred and scratched, but the bag was fine. The paint was worn off the zippers, and the edges were scuffed, but the bag was fine.
Oh, but this new one, to use the words of the college-age boy in the leather store, was "really fine". Loaded with features: copper covers on the corners, smooth leather from Spain, and, most of all, an Italian name near the handle. The salesman gave his line and handed me the bag, and I bought them both.
I left the store with a briefcase that I have used maybe twice. What was I thinking? It carries so little. My old bag had no copper covered corners, but it had a belly like a beluga. This new one reminds me of a high-fashioned model: slim, stiff, and tight-zipped. A book and a newspaper, and this Italian satchel is "fullisimo."
The bag looks nice, but it does nothing.
Is that the kind of God you want? Is that the kind of God we have?
David's answer is a resounding no. "You want to know who God really is?" he asks. "Then read this," And he writes the name Yahweh.
"Yehweh" is my shepherd."
Though foreign to us, the name was rich to David. So rich, in fact, that David chose Yehweh over El Shaddai (God Almightly), El Elyon (God Most High), and El Olam (God the Everlasting). These and many other titles for God were at David's disposal. But when he considered all the options, David chose Yehweh.
Why Yahweh? Because Yahweh is God's name. You can call me preacher or writer or half-baked golfer--these are accurate descriptions, but these aren't my names. I might call you dad, mom, doctor or student, and those terms may describe you, but they aren't your name. If you want to call me by my name, say Max. If I call you by your name, I say it. And if you want to call God by his name, say Yahweh.
God has told us his name.
Moses was the first to learn it. Seven centuries prior to David, the eighty-year old shepherd was tending sheep when the bush began to blaze and his life began to change. Moses was told to return to Egypt and rescue the enslaved Hebrews. He raised more excuses than a kid at bedtime, but God trumped each one. Finally Moses asked.
"When I go to the Israelites, I will say to them, " The God of your fathers sent me to you. What if the people say, 'What is his name?' What should I tell them?"
Then God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM. When you go to the people of Israel, tell them 'I AM sent me to you'" (Exodus 3:13-14)
Then God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM. When you go to the people of Israel, tell them 'I AM sent me to you'" (Exodus 3:13-14)
God would later remind Moses: "I am Yahweh. To Abraham and Isaac and Jacob I appeared as El Shaddai; I did not make myself known to them by my name Yehweh" (Exodus 6:2-3).
The Israelites considered the name too holy to be spoken by human lips. Whenever they needed to say Yahweh the substituted the word Adonai, which means "Lord." If the name needed to be written, the scribes would take a bath before they wrote it and destroyed the pen afterward."
God never gives a definition of the word Yahweh, and Moses never requests one. Many scholars wish he had, for the study of the name has raised some healthy discussions.
The name I AM sounds strikingly close to the Hebrew verb to be--havah. It's quite possibly a combination of the present tense form (I am) and the causative tense (I cause to be). Yahweh, then, seems to mean "I AM" and "I cause." God is the "One who is" and the "One who causes."
Why is that important? Because we need a big God. And if God is the "One who is," then he is an unchanging God.
Think about it. Do you know anyone who goes around saying, "I am"? Neither do I. When we say, "I am," we always add another word. "I am happy," "I am sad," "I am strong," "I am Max." God, however, starkly states, "I AM" and adds nothing else.
"You are what?" we want to ask. "I AM," he replies. God needs no needs no descriptive word because he never changes. God is what he is. He is what he has always been. His immutability motivated the psalmist to declare, "But thou are the same" (Psalm. 102:27). The writer is saying, "You are the One who is. You never change." Yahweh is an unchanging God.
He is also an uncaused God.
Though he creates, God was never created. Though he makes, he was never made. Though he causes, he never caused. Henced the psalmist's proclamation: "Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God" (Psalm 90:2).
God is Yahweh--an unchanging God, an uncaused God, and an ungoverned God.
You and I are governed. The weather determines what we wear. The terrain tells us how to travel. Gravity dictates our speed, and health determines our strength. We may challenge these forces and alter them slightly, but we never remove them.
God--our Shepherd--doesn't check the weather; he makes it. He doesn't defy gravity; he created it. He isn't affected by health; he has no body: Jesus said, "God is spirit: (John 4:24) Since he has no body, he has no limitations--equally active in Cambodia as he is in Connecticut. "Where can I go to get away from your Spirit?" asked David. "Where can I run from you? If I go up to the heavens, you are there. If I lie down in the grave, you are there" (Psalm 139:7-8)
Unchanging. Uncaused. Ungoverned. These are only a fraction of God's qualities, but aren't they enough to give you a glimpse of your Father? Don't we need this kind of shepherd? Don't we need an unchanging shepherd?
When Lloyd Douglas, author of The Robe and other novels, attended college, he lived in a boardinghouse. A retired, wheelchair-bound music professor resided on the first floor. Each morning Douglas would stick his head in the door of the teacher's apartment and ask the same question, "Well, what's the good news?" The old man would pick up his tuning fork, tap it on the side of the wheelchair, and say "That's middle C! It was middle C yesterday; it will be middle C tomorrow; it will be middle C a thousand years from now. The tenor upstairs sings flat. The piano across the hall is out of tune, but my friend, that is middle C."
You and I need middle C. Haven't you had enough change in your life? Relationships change. Health change. The weather changes. But the Yahweh who ruled the earth last night is the same Yahweh who rules it today. Same convictions. Same plan. Same mood. Same love. He never changes. You can no more alter God than a pebble can alter the rhythm of the Pacific. Yahweh is our middle C. A still point in a turning world. Don't we need a still point? Don't we need an unchanging shepherd?
We equally need an uncaused shepherd. No one breathed life into Yahweh. No one sired him. No one gave birth to him. No one caused him. No act brought him forth.
And since no act brought him forth, no act can take him out. Doesn he fear earthquakes? Does he tremble at a tornado? Hardly. Yahweh sleeps through storms and calms the winds with his words. Cancer does not trouble him, and cemeteries do not disturb him. He was here before they came. He'll be there after they are gone. He is uncaused.
And he is ungoverned. Counselors can comfort you in the storm, but you need a God who can still the storm. Friends can hold your hand at your deathbed, but you need a Yahweh who has defeated the grave. Philosophers can debate the meaning of life, but you need a Lord who can declare the meaning of life.
You need a Yahweh.
You don't need what Dorothy found. Remember her discovery in the Wonderful Wizard of Oz? She and her trio followed the yellow-brick road only to discover that the wizard was a wimp! Nothing but smoke and mirrors and tin-drum thunder. Is that the kind of god you need?
You don't need to carry the burden of a lesser god . . . a god on a shelf, a god in a box, or a god in a bottle. No, you need a God who can place 100 billions stars in our galaxy and 100 billion galaxies in the universe. You need a God who can shape two fists of flesh into 75 to 100 billion nerve cells, each with as many as 10,000 connections to other nerve cells, placed into a skull, and call it a brain.
And you need a God who, while no mind-numbingly mighty, can come in the soft of the night and touch you with the tenderness of an April snow.
You need a Yahweh.
And according to David, you have one. He is your shepherd.
