“Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Luke 12:32-34
Dear Lord Jesus, I’ve got friends who’ve inherited millions, and others who’ve inherited the wind. I’ve seen families deeply stressed, preparing for the reading of a will, and then permanently divided over the execution of the same will. I’ve seen windfall profits turned into landfill waste in a matter of months. I’ve seen dads and moms drink away enough money in a couple of years that could’ve built two orphanages in Haiti, AND educated their kids and grandkids for a couple of decades. A broken lot we are, indeed.
In this season of Lent, how we… how I need to hear and heed your voice, Lord Jesus… when it’s still and small, and when it’s loud and large. You’re always speaking, but I’m not always listening. But when my inner ears are tuned to your beckoning voice, you invariably address the matters of the heart…
The selfish fears which enslave me and the generous freedom to which you’re calling me… My temporary nonsense and your eternal inheritance for me in the gospel… My paltry sense of treasure and the Father’s immeasurable pleasure in giving me the kingdom.
There’s all kinds of wear and tear, and thieves and moths that diminish and destroy the temporal things on which I set heart and upon which I build my hope. But nothing… absolutely nothing threatens your kingdom of redemption… your dominion of peace… your reign of restoration.
And to think that you, the King of glory, became my sin that I might reign with you forever in the new heaven and new earth… Jesus, give me grace to live as a man who’s going to inherit your kingdom, not simply as a man who’s going to kick my bucket. So very Amen, I pray, in your sane-making name.