"Load the women and children into the bus, and head north. The department store is going out of business!"

Change trampolines our lives, and when it does, G.o.d sends someone special to stabilize us. On the eve of his death, Jesus gave his followers this promise: "When the Father sends the Advocate as my representative-that is, the Holy Spirit-he will teach you everything and will remind you of everything I have told you. I am leaving you with a gift-peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don't be troubled or afraid" ( John 14:2627 NLT).

As a departing teacher might introduce the cla.s.sroom to her replacement, so Jesus introduces us to the Holy Spirit. And what a ringing endors.e.m.e.nt he gives. Jesus calls the Holy Spirit his "representative." The Spirit comes in the name of Christ, with equal authority and identical power. Earlier in the evening Jesus had said, "I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor to be with you forever" ( John 14:16 NIV).

"Another Counselor." Both words shimmer. The Greek language enjoys two distinct words for another. One means "totally different," and the second translates "another just like the first one." When Jesus promises "another Counselor," he uses word number two, promising "another just like the first one."

The distinction is instructive. Let's say you are reading a book as you ride on a bus. Someone takes the seat next to yours, interrupts your reading, and inquires about the book. You tell him, "Max Lucado wrote it. Here, take it. I can get another."

When you say, "I can get another," do you mean "another" in the sense of "any other" book? A crime novel, cookbook, or a romance paperback? Of course not. Being a person of exquisite taste, you mean a book that is identical to the one you so kindly gave away. If you had been speaking Greek, you would have used the term John used in recording Jesus' promise: allos-"another one just like the first one."

And who is the first one? Jesus himself. Hence, the a.s.surance Jesus gives to the disciples is this: "I am going away. You are entering a new season, a different chapter. Much will be different, but one thing remains constant: my presence. You will enjoy the presence of 'another Counselor.' "

Counselor means "friend" (MSG), "helper" (nkjv), "intercessor, advocate, strengthener, standby" (AMP). All descriptors attempt to portray the beautiful meaning of parakletos, a compound of two Greek words. Para means "alongside of " (think of "parallel" or "paradox"). Kletos means "to be called out, designated, a.s.signed, or appointed." The Holy Spirit is designated to come alongside you. He is the presence of Jesus with and in the followers of Jesus.

Can you see how the disciples needed this encouragement? It's Thursday night before the crucifixion. By Friday's sunrise they will abandon Jesus. The breakfast hour will find them hiding in corners and crevices. At 9 a.m. Roman soldiers will nail Christ to a cross. By this time tomorrow he will be dead and buried. Their world is about to be flipped on its head. And Jesus wants them to know: they'll never face the future without his help.

Nor will you. You have a travel companion.

You have a Pat McGrath. Pat is my biking buddy. A few years ago I took up road biking as a hobby and exercise. I bought the helmet, gloves, and thin-wheeled bike. I clipped my shoes in the pedals and almost died on the first ride. Hills are Everestish for the old and overweight. I literally had to walk my bike home.

Pat heard of my interest and offered to ride with me. Pat prefers biking to breathing. To him, biking is breathing. If he didn't have a job and five kids, the Tour de France might have known one more American. He has pistons for legs and a locomotive engine for a heart. When I complained about the steep roads and stiff winds, he made this offer: "No problem. You can ride on my wheel."

To ride on a biker's wheel is to draft on him. When Pat and I pedal into a stiff wind, I pull in behind him as close as I dare. My front wheel is within a foot of his rear one. He vanguards into the breeze, leaving me a cone of calm in which to ride. And when we bike up stiff hills? I'm a bit embarra.s.sed to admit this, but Pat has been known to place a hand on my back and push me up the incline.

Couldn't you use such a friend? You have one. When you place your faith in Christ, Christ places his Spirit before, behind, and within you. Not a strange spirit, but the same Spirit: the parakletos. Everything Jesus did for his followers, his Spirit does for you. Jesus taught; the Spirit teaches. Jesus healed; the Spirit heals. Jesus comforted; his Spirit comforts. As Jesus sends you into new seasons, he sends his Counselor to go with you.

G.o.d treats you the way one mother treated her young son, Timmy. She didn't like the thought of Timmy walking to his first-grade cla.s.s unaccompanied. But he was too grown-up to be seen with his mother. "Besides," he explained, "I can walk with a friend." So she did her best to stay calm, quoting the Twenty-third Psalm to him every morning: "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life . . . "

One day she came up with an idea. She asked a neighbor to follow Timmy to school in the mornings, staying at a distance, lest he notice her. The neighbor was happy to oblige. She took her toddler on morning walks anyway.

After several days Timmy's little friend noticed the lady and the child.

"Do you know who that woman is who follows us to school?"

"Sure," Timmy answered. "That's Shirley Goodnest and her daughter Marcy."

"Who?"

"My mom reads about them every day in the Twenty-third Psalm. She says, 'Shirley Goodnest and Marcy shall follow me all the days of my life.' Guess I'll have to get used to them."

You will too. G.o.d never sends you out alone. Are you on the eve of change? Do you find yourself looking into a new chapter? Is the foliage of your world showing signs of a new season? Heaven's message for you is clear: when everything else changes, G.o.d's presence never does. You journey in the company of the Holy Spirit, who "will teach you everything and will remind you of everything I have told you" ( John 14:26 NLT).

So make friends with whatever's next.

Embrace it. Accept it. Don't resist it. Change is not only a part of life; change is a necessary part of G.o.d's strategy. To use us to change the world, he alters our a.s.signments. Gideon: from farmer to general; Mary: from peasant girl to the mother of Christ; Paul: from local rabbi to world evangelist. G.o.d transitioned Joseph from a baby brother to an Egyptian prince. He changed David from a shepherd to a king. Peter wanted to fish the Sea of Galilee. G.o.d called him to lead the first church. G.o.d makes rea.s.signments.

But, someone might ask, what about the tragic changes G.o.d permits? Some seasons make no sense. Who can find a place in life's puzzle for the deformity of a child or the enormity of an earthquake's devastation? When a company discontinues a position or a parent is deployed . . . do such moments serve a purpose?

They do if we see them from an eternal perspective. What makes no sense in this life will make perfect sense in the next. I have proof: you in the womb.

I know you don't remember this prenatal season, so let me remind you what happened during it. Every gestation day equipped you for your earthly life. Your bones solidified, your eyes developed, the umbilical cord transported nutrients into your growing frame . . . for what reason? So you might remain enwombed? Quite the contrary. Womb time equipped you for earth time, suited you up for your postpartum existence.

Some prenatal features went unused before birth. You grew a nose but didn't breathe. Eyes developed, but could you see? Your tongue, toenails, and crop of hair served no function in your mother's belly. But aren't you glad you have them now?

Certain chapters in this life seem so unnecessary, like nostrils on the preborn. Suffering. Loneliness. Disease. Holocausts. Martyrdom. Monsoons. If we a.s.sume this world exists just for pregrave happiness, these atrocities disqualify it from doing so. But what if this earth is the womb? Might these challenges, severe as they may be, serve to prepare us, equip us for the world to come? As Paul wrote, "These little troubles are getting us ready for an eternal glory that will make all our troubles seem like nothing" (2 Cor. 4:17 CEV).

Eternal glory. I'd like a large cup, please. "One ventisized serving of endless joy in the presence of G.o.d. Go heavy on the wonder, and cut all the heartache." Go ahead and request it. The Barista is still brewing. For all you know, it could be the next cup you drink.

CHAPTER 12.

The Shadow

of a Doubt

"Why are you frightened?" ho asked. "Why are your hearts filled with doubt?"

LUKE 24:38 NLT Fear That G.o.d Is Not Real Woody Allen can't sleep at night. He is a restless soul. Fears keep the moviemaker, in his seventies, awake. To look at him, you'd think otherwise, what with his timid demeanor and gentle smile. He could pa.s.s as everyone's ideal uncle, polite and affable. His hair seems to be the only ruffled part about him. Yet beneath the surface, anacondas of fear nibble away.

The void overwhelms him. A strident atheist, Allen views life as a "meaningless little flicker." No G.o.d, no purpose, no life after this life, and, consequently, no life in this one. "I can't really come up with a good argument to choose life over death," he admits, "except that I'm too scared. . . . The trains all go to the same place. They all go to the dump."

So he makes films to stay distracted. For decades he's churned them out at the relentless pace of one a year. "I need to be focused on something so I don't see the big picture."1 I suppose someone exists who can't fathom Woody Allen's fears. There must be in G.o.d's great world a soul who has never doubted G.o.d's existence or questioned his goodness. But that soul is not writing this book.

My Woody Allen moments tend to surface, of all times, on Sunday mornings. I awake early, long before the family stirs, the sunrise flickers, or the paper plops on the driveway. Let the rest of the world sleep in. I don't. Sunday's my big day, the day I stand before a congregation of people who are willing to swap thirty minutes of their time for some conviction and hope.

Most weeks I have ample to go around. But occasionally I don't. (Does it bother you to know this?) Sometimes in the dawn-tinted, prepulpit hours, the seeming absurdity of what I believe hits me. I can remember one Easter in particular. As I reviewed my sermon by the light of a lamp, the resurrection message felt mythic, more closely resembling an urban legend than the gospel truth. Angels perched on cemetery rocks; burial clothing needed, then not; soldiers scared stiff; a was-dead, now-walking Jesus. I half expected the Mad Hatter or the seven dwarfs to pop out of a hole at the turn of a page. A bit of a stretch, don't you think?

Sometimes I do. And when I do, I relate to Woody Allen's uneasiness: the fear that G.o.d isn't. The fear that "why?" has no answer. The fear of a pathless life. The fear that the status quo is as good as it gets and that anyone who believes otherwise probably invested in Juneau, Alaska, beachfront property. The chilling, quiet, horrifying shadows of aloneness in a valley that emerges from and leads into a fog-covered curve.

The valley of the shadow of doubt.

Perhaps you know its gray terrain? In it the Bible reads like Aesop's fables; prayers bounce back like cavern echoes; moral boundaries are mapped in pencil; believers are alternately pitied or envied; someone is deluded. But who?

To one degree or another we all venture into the valley. At one point or another we all need a plan to escape it. May I share mine? Those Sunday morning sessions of second-guessing dissipate quickly these days thanks to a small masterpiece, a wellspring of faith bubbling in the final pages of Luke's gospel. The physician-turned-historian dedicated his last chapter to answering one question: how does Christ respond when we doubt him?

He takes us to the Upper Room in Jerusalem. It's Sunday morning following Friday's crucifixion. Jesus' followers had gathered, not to change the world, but to escape it; not as gospel raconteurs, but as scared rabbits. They'd buried their hopes with the carpenter's corpse. You'd have found more courage in a chicken coop and backbone in a jellyfish. Fearless faith? Not here. Search the bearded faces of these men for a glint of resolve, a hint of courage-you'll come up empty.

One look at the bright faces of the females, however, and your heart will leap with theirs. According to Luke they exploded into the room like the sunrise, announcing a Jesus-sighting.

[The women] rushed back from the tomb to tell his eleven disciples-and everyone else-what had happened. It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and several other women who told the apostles what had happened. But the story sounded like nonsense to the men, so they didn't believe it. (Luke 24:911 NLT) Periodic doubters of Christ, take note and take heart. The charter followers of Christ had doubts too. But Christ refused to leave them alone with their questions. He, as it turned out, was anything but dead and buried. When he spotted two of the disciples trudging toward a village called Emmaus, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him. He asked them, "What are you discussing together as you walk along?" They stood still, their faces downcast. (vv. 1517 NIV) For this a.s.signment angels wouldn't do, an emissary wouldn't suffice, an army of heaven's best soldiers wouldn't be sent. Jesus himself came to the rescue.

And how did he bolster the disciples' faith? A thousand and one tools awaited his bidding. He had marked Friday's crucifixion with an earthquake and a solar eclipse. Matthew's gospel reveals that "saints who had fallen asleep were raised; and coming out of the graves after His resurrection, they went into the holy city and appeared to many" (27:5253). Christ could have summoned a few of them to chat with the Emmaus disciples. Or he could have toured them through the empty tomb. For that matter he could have made the rocks speak or a fig tree dance a jig. But Christ did none of these things. What did he do? "Jesus took them through the writings of Moses and all the prophets, explaining from all the Scriptures the things concerning himself " (Luke 24:27 NLT).

Well, what do you know. Christ conducted a Bible cla.s.s. He led the Emmaus-bound duo through an Old Testament survey course, from the writings of Moses (Genesis though Deuteronomy) into the messages of Isaiah, Amos, and the others. He turned the Emmaus trail into a biblical timeline, pausing to describe . . . the Red Sea rumbling? Jericho tumbling? King David stumbling? Of special import to Jesus was what the "Scriptures said about himself." His face watermarks more Old Testament stories than you might imagine. Jesus is Noah, saving humanity from disaster; Abraham, the father of a new nation; Isaac, placed on the altar by his father; Joseph, sold for a bag of silver; Moses, calling slaves to freedom; Joshua, pointing out the promised land.

Jesus "took them through the writings of Moses and all the prophets." Can you imagine Christ quoting Old Testament scripture? Did Isaiah 53 sound this way: "I was wounded and crushed for your sins. I was beaten that you might have peace" (v. 5)? Or Isaiah 28: "I am placing a foundation stone in Jerusalem. It is firm, a tested and precious cornerstone that is safe to build on" (v. 16)? Did he pause and give the Emmaus students a wink, saying, "I'm the stone Isaiah described"? We don't know his words, but we know their impact. The two disciples felt "our hearts burning within us while he talked" (Luke 24:32 NIV).

By now the trio had crossed northwesterly out of the rocky hills into a scented, gardened valley of olive groves and luscious fruit trees. Jerusalem's grief and bloodshed lay to their backs, forgotten in the conversation. The seven-mile hike felt more like a half-hour stroll. All too quickly fled the moments; the disciples wanted to hear more. "By this time they were nearing Emmaus and the end of their journey. Jesus acted as if he were going on, but they begged him, 'Stay the night with us.' . . . As they sat down to eat, he took the bread and blessed it. Then he broke it and gave it to them. Suddenly, their eyes were opened, and they recognized him. And at that moment he disappeared!" (vv. 2831 NLT).

Jesus taught the Word and broke the bread, and then like a mist on a July morning, he was gone. The Emmaus men weren't far behind. The pair dropped the broken loaf, grabbed their broken dreams, raced back to Jerusalem, and burst in on the apostles. They blurted out their discovery, only to be interrupted and upstaged by Jesus himself.

And just as they were telling about it, Jesus himself was suddenly standing there among them. "Peace be with you," he said. But the whole group was startled and frightened, thinking they were seeing a ghost!

"Why are you frightened?" he asked. "Why are your hearts filled with doubt?"

(Don't hurry past Christ's causal connection between fright and doubt. Unanswered qualms make for quivering disciples. No wonder Christ makes our hesitations his highest concern.) "Look at my hands. Look at my feet. You can see that it's really me. Touch me and make sure that I am not a ghost, because ghosts don't have bodies, as you see that I do." As he spoke, he showed them his hands and his feet.

Still they stood there in disbelief, filled with joy and wonder. Then he asked them, "Do you have anything here to eat?" They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he ate it as they watched.

Then he said, "When I was with you before, I told you that everything written about me in the law of Moses and the prophets and in the Psalms must be fulfilled." Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures. (vv. 3645 NLT) The disciples didn't know whether to kneel and worship or to turn tail and run. Someone decided the moment was too good to be true and called Jesus a ghost. Christ could have taken offense. After all, he'd pa.s.sed through h.e.l.l itself to save them, and they couldn't differentiate between him and Casper's cousin? But ever patient, as he is with doubters, Jesus extended first one hand, then the other. Then an invitation: "Touch me." He asked for food, and between bites of broiled fish, Jesus initiated his second Bible lesson of the day. " 'Everything I told you while I was with you comes to this: All the things written about me in the Law of Moses, in the Prophets, and in the Psalms have to be fulfilled.' He went on to open their understanding of the Word of G.o.d, showing them how to read their Bibles this way" (Luke 24:4445 MSG).

We're detecting a pattern, aren't we?

Jesus spots tw .... o fellows lumbering toward Emmaus, each looking as if he had just buried a best friend. Christ either catches up or beams down to them . . . we don't know. He raises the topic of the garden of Eden and the book of Genesis. Next thing you know, a meal is eaten, their hearts are warmed, and their eyes are open.

Jesus pays a visit to the cowardly lions of the Upper Room. Not a Superman-in-the-sky flyover, mind you. But a face-to-face, put-your-hand-on-my-wound visit. A meal is served, the Bible is taught, the disciples find courage, and we find two practical answers to the critical question, what would Christ have us do with our doubts?

His answer? Touch my body and ponder my story.

We still can, you know. We can still touch the body of Christ. We'd love to touch his physical wounds and feel the flesh of the Nazarene. Yet when we brush up against the church, we do just that. "The church is his body; it is made full and complete by Christ, who fills all things everywhere with himself " (Eph. 1:23 NLT).

Questions can make hermits out of us, driving us into hiding. Yet the cave has no answers. Christ distributes courage through community; he dissipates doubts through fellowship. He never deposits all knowledge in one person but distributes pieces of the jigsaw puzzle to many. When you interlock your understanding with mine, and we share our discoveries . . . When we mix, mingle, confess, and pray, Christ speaks.

The adhesiveness of the disciples instructs us. They stuck together. Even with ransacked hopes, they cl.u.s.tered in conversant community. They kept "going over all these things that had happened" (Luke 24:14 MSG). Isn't this a picture of the church-sharing notes, exchanging ideas, mulling over possibilities, lifting spirits? And as they did, Jesus showed up to teach them, proving "when two or three of you are together because of me, you can be sure that I'll be there" (Matt. 18:20 MSG).

And when he speaks, he shares his story. G.o.d's go-to therapy for doubters is his own Word. "Before you trust, you have to listen. But unless Christ's Word is preached, there's nothing to listen to" (Rom. 10:17 MSG). So listen to it.

Jack did.

We began with the story of one atheist. Can we conclude with the account of another? Jack summarized the first half of his life with an incident that happened in his teenage years. He arrived at Oxford University in Oxford, England, antic.i.p.ating his first glimpse of the "fabled cl.u.s.ter of spires and towers." Yet as he walked, he saw no sign of the great campuses. Only when he turned around did he realize he was actually walking away from the schools, headed in the wrong direction. More than thirty years later he wrote, "I did not see to what extent this little adventure was an allegory of my whole life."

He was a militant nonbeliever, devout in his resolve that G.o.d did not exist, for no G.o.d could stand for such a disaster as we call human existence. He summed up his worldview with a verse from Lucretius: Had G.o.d designed the world, it would not be

A world so frail and faulty as we see.

Dismissing G.o.d, he turned his attention to academics, excelling in each field he studied. In short order the dons of Oxford took him in as a respected peer, and he began to teach and write. Yet not far beneath the surface, his doubts were taking their toll. He described his mental state with words like abject terrorism, misery, and hopelessness. He was angry and pessimistic, caught in a whirl of contradictions. "I maintained G.o.d did not exist. I was also angry with G.o.d for not existing." Jack would have agreed with Woody Allen's a.s.sessment of life: that all trains go to the same place . . . to the dump. He likely would have pa.s.sed his days chugging toward the darkness, except for two factors.

A few of his close friends, also Oxford dons, rejected their materialistic view and became G.o.d-followers and Jesus-seekers. He first thought their conversion was nonsense and felt no fear of being "taken in." Then he met other faculty whom he admired, highly regarded teachers such as J. R. R. Tolkien and H. V. V. Dyson. Both men were devout believers and urged Jack to do something he'd, surprisingly, never done. Read the Bible. So he did.

As he read the New Testament, he was struck by its chief figure: Jesus Christ. Jack had dismissed Jesus as a Hebrew philosopher, a great moral teacher. But as he read, Jack began to wrestle with the claims this person made: calling himself G.o.d and offering to forgive people of their sins. Jesus was, Jack concluded, either deluded, deceptive, or the very one he claimed to be, the Son of G.o.d.

On the evening of September 19, 1931, Jack and his two colleagues, Tolkien and Dyson, enjoyed a long walk through the beech trees and pathways of the Oxford campus-an Emmaus walk, of sorts. For, as they strolled, they rehashed the claims of Christ and the meaning of life. They talked late into the night. Jack, C. S. "Jack" Lewis, would later recall a rush of wind that caused the first leaves to fall-a sudden breeze, which possibly came to symbolize for him the Holy Spirit. Soon after that night Lewis became a believer. He "began to know what life really is and what would have been lost by missing it." The change revolutionized his world and, consequently, the worlds of millions of readers.2 What caused C. S. Lewis, a gifted, brilliant, hard-core atheist, to follow Christ? Simple. He came in touch with Christ's body, his followers, and in tune with his story, the Scriptures.

Could it be this simple? Could the chasm between doubt and faith be spanned with Scripture and fellowship? Find out for yourself. Next time the shadows come, immerse yourself in the ancient stories of Moses, the prayers of David, the testimonies of the Gospels, and the epistles of Paul. Join with other seekers, and make daily walks to Emmaus. And if a kind stranger joins you on the road with wise teaching . . . consider inviting him over for dinner.

CHAPTER 13.

What If Things

Get Worse?

You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed.

MATTHEW 24:6 NIV Fear of Global Calamity I could do without the pharmaceutical warnings. I understand their purpose, mind you. Medical manufacturers must caution against every potential tragedy so that when we take their pill and grow a third arm or turn green, we can't sue them. I get that. Still, there is something about the merger of happy faces with voice-over advisories of paralysis that just doesn't work.

Let's hope this practice of total disclosure doesn't spill over into the delivery room. It might. After all, about-to-be-born babies need to know what they are getting into. Prebirth warnings could likely become standard maternity-ward procedure. Can you imagine the scene? A lawyer stands at a woman's bedside. She's panting Lamaze breaths between contractions. He's reading the fine print of a contract in the direction of her belly.

Welcome to the postumbilical cord world. Be advised, however, that human life has been known, in most cases, to result in death. Some individuals have reported experiences with lethal viruses, chemical agents, and/or bloodthirsty terrorists. Birth can also result in fatal encounters with tsunamis, inebriated pilots, road rage, famine, nuclear disaster, and/or PMS. Side effects of living include super viruses, heart disease, and final exams. Human life is not recommended for anyone who cannot share a planet with evil despots or survive a flight on airplane food.

Life is a dangerous endeavor. We pa.s.s our days in the shadows of ominous realities. The power to annihilate humanity has, it seems, been placed in the hands of people who are happy to do so. Discussions of global attack prompted one small boy to beg, "Please, Mother, can't we go some place where there isn't any sky?"1 If the global temperature rises a few more degrees . . . if cla.s.sified information falls into sinister hands . . . if the wrong person pushes the wrong red b.u.t.ton . . . What if things only get worse?

Christ tells us that they will. He predicts spiritual bailouts, ecological turmoil, and worldwide persecution. Yet in the midst of it all, he contends bravery is still an option.