Adventist Review Podcasts

“I’m sorry for the tears,” he says with obvious embarrassment. “It’s just that I miss her so much.” He shields his eyes like the toddler he was 60 years ago, perhaps again imagining he can’t been seen behind his hands.

We have it as a social rule that anything so personal as tears must stay discreetly out of sight. Others feel uncomfortable, we think, imagining that even those who know us well expect us to be dry-eyed in the face of loss.

But tears and all that causes them are proof of life—of being fully human, blessed—yes blessed—with deep capacity to care, to feel, to love, to cherish. Our losses are no less a part of us than all our victories. Those who truly love us never struggle when we weep.

The shortest verse in all the Bible—“Jesus wept” (Jn 11:35)—gives us the longest view of who He is. “This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do” (Heb 4:15). The prophet called Him a “man of sorrows, and acquainted with our grief” (Isa 53:3). He doesn’t only preach from mountaintops. He sits with those who grieve; holds those who weep; heals those who hurt.

Grace is for all moments—good and bad, happy and sad, celebrating or grieving. “I am with you always,” Jesus says, “even to the end of the world” (Matt 28:20).

Accept the company of One who never was afraid of tears. And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

We mean well when we offer theories of God’s grace. We say things like, “Grace is the application of the unlimited merits of Jesus to the unmeritorious lives of sinners.”

 

And then we actually wonder why millions of people don’t “get it.” Someone has reminded us that “good doctrine is only a description of a good relationship with God.” And it’s that relationship—that unwearied friendship between the Father and each of His children—that we need to keep talking about. Whether we are prodigal or homebound, there’s just “one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all” (Eph 4:6).

 

When angry words give way to kind silences, we hear grace. When vengeful plans yield to awkward reconciliations, we see grace. When broken, bitter people are day-by-day becoming healed and healing people, we live grace. When dread and guilt give way to joy and liberation, we feel grace.

 

Everything changes when grace arrives. The grace of God is more real, more solid, more substantial than our fear, or pain, or hate. There’s nothing abstract about it.

 

Put your whole weight on believing. And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,

Which is my sin, though it were done before?

 

Four hundred years ago, the poet John Donne wondered aloud whether God would actually forgive the wild, foolish choices he had made in his life.

 

In the last four days, at least half the people in the world have silently wondered the same thing. Can God—will God—actually erase the record of our anger, lust, and dishonesty? Or will those choices always drag behind us as painful reminders of our foolishness?

 

God’s promise for those who turn to Him is clear and categorical: “I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more” (Jer 31:34). The Father knows that we have doubts about His goodness, and so the Bible tells us, “If we confess our sins to God, He can always be trusted to forgive us and take our sins away” (I John 1:9). And just in case we need a visual reminder of His promise to repair our brokenness, we hear: “As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us” (Psa 103:12).

 

There’s nothing more dependable than God’s promise to forgive your past. Trust His promise: experience His freedom.

 

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

On some bright Tuesday when we’re feeling poised, benevolent and calm, we set our minds to finally forgive the one whose wrong we can’t forget. “It’s all an act of will,” we say—and so we try to unremember their insulting words; the money borrowed that never was returned; the way they turned their backs to be with finer friends.

 

And like all good intentions, it lasts an hour or two or even ten—until the insult twists again, or we are snubbed, or mocked, or cleaning up for them. Our righteous anger burns like bile, for now we have fresh evidence of malice.

 

The wellspring of forgiveness is the heart from which it starts. “Forgive one another, just as God forgave you because of what Christ has done” (Eph 4:32), the Scripture urges. We can’t forgive until we know—again—how much the Father has forgiven us—for all the insults to His grace; for how we misused gifts He gave; for when we turned our backs on Christ.

 

Only forgiven folk forgive. The grace we give is grace we have received: we make none by ourselves. “For by grace you have been saved through faith; and this is not your own doing, it is the gift of God” (Eph 2:8).

 

So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

We sift the ash of burnt-out days, and wonder why our faith seems hesitant, half-formed, not ready for the fray.

 

Where was our patience when the boss was overbearing? What happened to our pledge of gentleness when someone threw a verbal brick? Why didn’t self-control rise up and save us from temptation?

 

We want our virtues quickly: why can’t they grow like cultures in a Petri dish? But God’s Word teaches us that all good things need rain and sun; dark and day; bud and flower and long development.

 

“The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control” (Gal 5:22-23).

 

The finest fruit takes time to grow: there are no hothouse virtues. Our thinking and our living both mature as we accept the Spirit’s promptings in each day. Tomorrow will be sweeter than today. Our growth in grace will come in God’s good time.

 

“He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Phil 1:6).

 

So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

It isn’t difficult to disappoint.

 

Expectations crowd around us. We’re reminded by sly colleagues of why we didn’t get the job; why our résumé is lacking; why no one trusts us with the ball. We rarely measure up to super-charged young climbers on the ladder of success, or those who spend long afternoons perfecting three-point shots.

 

Our mere mortality gets glares from those whose motto is Olympic: Faster; Higher; Stronger. Only winners need apply.

 

And often, on our poorer days, we wrongly think that God is disappointed with us too. In our imaginations, He stands for all who ever called us slow, or slack, or sinful.

 

In this, we always read Him wrong, for He has made His deep affection clear: “God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, no longer counting people’s sins against them” (2 Cor 5:19). “God showed His love to us. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom 5:8).

 

We can’t hear these words too often. Grace never disappoints; does not withdraw; does not let go. Even when we get it wrong, we are the ones God always loves.

 

So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

When every tire we ride is losing air and going flat . . . When there are miles to go in this day’s marathon but never knees enough to make the finish line . . . We wonder why our race is all about endurance, and little about joy.

 

Ahead of us—some far ahead—are all the ones with bright and shiny faith—so sleek, so well-equipped, so sure. And we imagine this is how they always race because of gifts not given us. They breathe the air of heaven, so it seems, while we go panting in this smog of trouble and dejection.

 

But there is one who traveled all our roads, who knows the drama of flat tires, and remembers His own Heartbreak Hill. “This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for He faced all of the same testings we do, yet He did not sin” (Heb 4:15). And He is still content to travel at our pace. He knows that weariness and doubts don’t ever mean we are disqualified.

 

For “the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favor to the skillful” (Eccl 9:11).

 

Grace travels with us when we ride, or run, or walk, or crawl. There is no stretch of road on which we ever are alone.

 

So stay with grace. -Bill Knott

When our last star has flickered out;

When our last square of daylight

Has been canceled by the rolling of a stone

That crushes everything our hope had built,

We grieve like those deceived.

We huddle with our frightened peers,

And wonder just how long a man must walk

To get back to his fishing boat,

Or why Emmaus seems so far.

 

Embarrassed, tortured not with nails but doubts,

We sabbath with no rest, our minds a fright house

Of unscripted dreads.

If we could wake the dead, we would—

Call life back to the silent lips, the pale hands—

As we had watched Him do.

But there is grief, and there is fear,

The burnt-out moons of this dark night.

 

And yet, beneath the hill, behind the stone,

Life stirs in answer to a Father’s call.

And He who made the rock

Some laborer had shaped to close His tomb

Steps out, reclothes Himself with His abundant life

And strides forth like the sun at noon.

 

This day is more than we had dared to dream,

But everything we need.

Dawn does not break: it builds with rays unstoppable

Until all shadows disappear.

He has risen. Grace still rises. We will rise. -Bill Knott

There is no life without its wounds.

 

We spend our decades battling others, trading insults, feeling used by those more powerful or proud. First our knees and then our hearts get scraped by this tough, bruising sport of life. When we aren’t fighting to defend ourselves, we’re putting bandages on wounds that no one else can see.

 

The scars, the tight-lipped bitterness, teach all the worst of lessons: that no one can be fully trusted; that evil lurks behind each smile. We watch the grim parade of former heroes now reduced to injured, hurting souls like us.

 

But there is one whose wounds bring healing to us all. In all our broken, lacerated past, just one man drained the bitter cup, felt sorrow rip His heart apart—and still, somehow, remained the joyous, hopeful Saviour He was meant to be. Beaten, cursed, condemned and killed, Jesus never lost the love He lived.

 

“He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5).

 

His story doesn’t end with pain, for He broke through our woundedness one cool, spring,

life-affirming dawn. The morning—ours; the healing—ours; His resurrection—what’s in store for us.

 

Choose healing now. And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Can you change your everafter by the good things you do now?

 

Millions all around the world believe it. Tens of billions--dollars, euros, rubles, yuan—are given every year by those who earnestly believe their gifts improve their odds of getting into heaven.

 

Massive projects are begun; hospitals are long-endowed; homeless veterans at the corner get twenty dollar bills. Other light their hopeful candles, fast twice a week, and even cause their bodies pain in hopes the Father will relent.

 

Since everything must have a price, where do we buy our everafter tickets?

 

But heaven never was endowed, nor can we own a single brick on streets bright-paved with gold. “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God— not the result of works, so that no one may boast” (Eph 2:8).

 

Our only claim on heaven is the Father’s great affection for us. You’ve heard the line so many times: this time hear it clearly. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him may not perish but may have eternal life” (John 3:16).

 

In God’s wise and gracious plan, kindness flows from those who have received His gift, not as a way to earn it. Accept God’s gift before you give your own.

 

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott