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Borrowing a Post from Big Buts …

I’m borrowing today’s reflection from my Big Buts of the Bible site because its message belongs here, too. At the heart of our journey toward hope and healing is the question of who God is—and Hebrews reminds us that God has answered that question most clearly in Jesus. When life hurts, when our thoughts become heavy, when shame whispers or hope feels distant, we don’t have to wonder what God is like. We can look at Jesus. That same conviction lies at the heart of Sanctuary Devotional: turning toward God’s Word each day and discovering there the presence, grace, and hope we need to keep going.

God Has Spoken

“In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son…”
—Hebrews 1:1–2

Sometimes the first few words tell you almost everything you need to know.

Hebrews begins with two: “God spoke.”

No lengthy argument for His existence. No philosophical warm-up. The writer simply begins with God—and with the remarkable assertion that the God who made us has chosen to communicate with us.

And apparently, God has never been particularly limited in His choice of communication methods.

He spoke to Moses from a burning bush. He spoke to Elijah in a gentle whisper. Isaiah received a breathtaking vision of heaven. Hosea’s painful family life became part of his prophetic message. Amos was once shown a basket of ripe fruit.

Seriously. A basket of fruit.

God spoke through prophets, poetry, history, visions, dreams, proverbs, confrontations, object lessons and ordinary human lives. The Old Testament is filled with the voices of people through whom God revealed something of Himself.

Hebrews honors all of that. And then comes the but.

But Now…

“In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son.”

There’s the pivot. Something changed.

It isn’t that everything God had said before was somehow wrong or inadequate. Quite the opposite. Hebrews is saturated with the Old Testament—the writer continually reaches backward to show how everything was pointing forward.

But now the One to whom it was all pointing has arrived.

Jesus didn’t simply bring another message from God. Jesus is God’s message to us.

The prophets could tell us what God had revealed to them. Jesus could show us what God is like.

Want to know how God responds to hurting people? Watch Jesus.

Want to know whether God notices people everybody else overlooks? Watch Jesus.

Want to know what God thinks about hypocrisy, injustice, mercy, forgiveness, sin, grace, brokenness, compassion? Watch Jesus.

Want to know how far God’s love is willing to go to bring His wandering children home? Watch Jesus walk toward the cross.

God has spoken.

Look at the Son

Just in case we are tempted to think of Jesus as merely another prophet–perhaps the greatest in a long line of impressive spiritual teachers–the writer of Hebrews gives us an astonishing description of exactly who the Son is.

Hebrews says: Look at Jesus and you are seeing the radiance of God’s glory.

The word radiance is particularly beautiful. Think of light streaming from its source. You know the light because its radiance reaches you.

Or consider the phrase “exact representation.” The ancient image is something like the impression left by a stamp or seal. Jesus doesn’t provide us with a rough sketch of God or a blurry approximation. He shows us what God is like.

Which means the Jesus we encounter in the Gospels—the Jesus who touched lepers, welcomed children, ate with sinners, confronted religious hypocrisy, wept beside a tomb, restored failures and noticed forgotten people—is not somehow the kinder, gentler member of the Trinity.

He is revealing the Father.

And He Holds It All Together

There’s another phrase in these opening verses that I find especially comforting: “sustaining all things by his powerful word.”

Not sustainedSustaining.

The idea isn’t of Jesus passively propping up creation like some cosmic version of Atlas carrying the world on His shoulders. It describes His continuing activity. Elsewhere Paul says of Christ, “in him all things hold together.”

All things. That includes galaxies we cannot comprehend and particles too small for us to see. History itself unfolds beneath His sovereign care.

I don’t know about you, but some days my little corner of “all things” doesn’t feel particularly held together. Our lives can unravel surprisingly quickly.

Relationships fracture. Bodies fail. Plans collapse. People disappoint us. We disappoint ourselves. Something we thought certain suddenly isn’t. Sometimes we’re simply exhausted from trying to keep everything from coming apart.

Hebrews quietly points us toward Jesus and says: He’s still sustaining. The One holding creation together is the same One who knows your name.

God has spoken. And His clearest Word isn’t a bush, a vision, a booming voice from heaven, or even a basket of fruit.

It’s Jesus.

When we’re unsure what God is like, we can look at Jesus. When shame tells us to hide, we can look at Jesus. When life feels as though it’s coming apart, we can look at the One who sustains all things.

When we wonder whether our sin has put us beyond God’s reach, we can look at the One who provided purification for it Himself.

God has spoken. And what He has said to us in Jesus sounds remarkably like hope.

Writers Write

Where Do Your Words Come From?

What inspires creative thoughts and ideas in your writing?

For me, poetic metaphors fuel my thinking.

Music has always been a great source of those metaphors. My favorite songs are those with poetic beauty in their lyrics; my favorite songwriters, those who can turn a phrase that lasts long after the beat stops. Lyrical lines you can picture, relate to, believe, identify with—and travel with.

I’ll give you a couple of examples.

One of my favorite songwriters is Ken Block of the band Sister Hazel. (All the band members are excellent, in my opinion—a band of poets!) In a song Ken co-wrote with his father, Al, called Out There, we find the phrase:

“Take me to sunrise from indigo.”

The song itself is a heart’s cry, a longing for companionship—for someone to share life’s journey with, to walk alongside.

But the metaphor is the beauty for me. Indigo represents the deepest, darkest, coldest part of the night or storm; sunrise represents dawn, renewed light, renewed hope, a brand-new day.

How does this inspire my writing?

I write for people who hurt. People who know all too well the indigo. People who long for sunrise.

That metaphor inspires me to prayerfully consider those I write for, to relate to them from my own nights of indigo and my own longings for new light and hope. And somewhere in that thinking, I begin discovering other expressions and other ways of conveying those things for us all.

A second example comes from the Elevation Worship song Same God, written by Chris Brown, Brandon Lake, Pat Barrett, and Steven Furtick. The song expresses dependence on divine strength to face personal, modern-day battles. Verse after verse recalls an instance in the life of a biblical figure where God showed up, “calling on the God of” Jacob, Moses, and others.

In the second verse, where “the God of David” is called upon, we find this phrase:

“I may not face Goliath, but I’ve got my own giants.”

For whatever reason, that phrase struck me deep.

I often feel as though I’m whining—and, indeed, much of the time I probably am—because my “needs” and my “suffering” pale in comparison to those of so many around me. Certainly, I’m not facing the hardships these biblical greats faced.

But that line reminds me: I rely upon the same God. And He hears me and loves me just the same.

That idea impacts my writing. In fact, just recently I wrote a piece on Numbers 13, where Caleb and the spies return to report on the Promised Land. The spies reported back in fear, essentially, There are giants there! We’d better not go!

But that’s not what Caleb saw. And that’s not what he concluded.

(Of course, I knew it could become a Big Buts post the moment I heard it.)

More specifically, it became a Pivot Post. And here’s the pivot:

Faith doesn’t deny the size of what stands before us. It remembers the size of the One who stands with us. God’s got this giant before you.

And that’s how inspiration often works for me.

A songwriter turns a phrase. A metaphor catches my attention. Something in it connects with something I’ve experienced, something I believe, or someone I’m thinking about. I carry it around awhile. Turn it over. Look at it from different directions.

Eventually, something else comes out.

For writers, inspiration comes from as many different places and sources as there are different writers.

So, what inspires you? What provides grist for your mill? (Another metaphor a man named Richard Griffin used often … that stuck.)

Pay attention to those things. They may be where your next words are waiting.