Tag: Mercy

  • Create In Me A Clean Heart

    Create In Me A Clean Heart

    Scripture: Psalm 51

    Yesterday we looked at one of the most uncomfortable moments in all of Scripture.

    Nathan stood before King David and uttered four unforgettable words:

    “Thou art the man.”

    David’s response was immediate.

    “I have sinned against the LORD.” (2 Samuel 12:13)

    For most of us, that’s where the story ends.

    But Scripture doesn’t leave us standing in the throne room with Nathan.

    It invites us into David’s prayer closet.

    Psalm 51 is that prayer.

    If 2 Samuel 12 records David’s confession…

    Psalm 51 reveals David’s heart.

    I’ve read Psalm 51 countless times over the years, and it has long been one of my favorite chapters in the Bible.

    But through the years I’ve discovered something.

    There are certain passages of Scripture that become more meaningful the longer you live.

    When I was younger, I admired David’s poetry.

    Today…

    I understand his tears.

    David doesn’t spend this Psalm trying to explain himself.

    He doesn’t minimize his sin.

    He doesn’t compare himself to someone worse.

    He doesn’t bargain with God.

    No… he simply throws himself entirely upon the mercy of God.

    The opening words set the tone for everything that follows.

    “Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness…”

    David doesn’t appeal to his past victories.

    He doesn’t remind God that he killed Goliath.

    He doesn’t mention the years he faithfully served as king.

    He simply pleads for mercy.

    That is where genuine repentance always begins.

    The more I read this Psalm, the more one truth stands out.

    David never asks God to change his circumstances.

    Instead…

    He asks God to change him.

    That may be the clearest evidence that his repentance was genuine.

    “Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity…”

    “Cleanse me from my sin.”

    “Purge me with hyssop…”

    “Create in me a clean heart…”

    “Renew a right spirit within me.”

    Notice the pattern.

    Wash me.

    Cleanse me.

    Purge me.

    Create in me.

    Renew me.

    Restore me.

    Those aren’t the prayers of a man trying to escape consequences.

    They’re the prayers of a man who longs to be different.

    David understood something that we sometimes forget.

    Forgiveness isn’t merely about removing guilt.

    It’s about restoring fellowship with God.

    In this chapter, there is one verse that has always stopped me in my tracks.

    “Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.” (Psalm 51:11)

    David had already lost peace.

    He had already lost joy.

    His family would experience heartbreaking consequences because of his choices.

    But above everything else…

    He feared losing the presence of God.

    That tells me David finally understood what mattered most.

    One word in particular has fascinated me for years.

    “Create in me a clean heart, O God…”

    David didn’t ask God to repair his heart.

    He didn’t ask Him to polish it.

    Or improve it.

    The Hebrew word translated “create” is the same word used in Genesis 1.

    It describes something only God can do.

    David wasn’t asking for self-improvement.

    He was asking for a new creation.

    Isn’t that the hope of the Gospel?

    God doesn’t simply make bad people a little better.

    He makes dead things live again.

    He gives new hearts.

    New spirits.

    New beginnings.

    As I’ve reflected on my own life over the past sixteen years, these words have taken on a depth they never had before.

    Not because I’ve learned more Hebrew.

    Not because I’ve become a better Bible student.

    But because I’ve experienced the painful reality of living with the consequences of my own failures.

    I’ve learned that repentance isn’t just feeling sorry for what I’ve done.

    It’s longing to become someone different through the grace of God.

    That’s why Psalm 51 continues to speak to me.

    David never asked God to erase the past.

    He asked Him to transform the man who would live tomorrow.

    There is a profound difference.

    Repentance isn’t trying to convince God we’re better than we are.

    It’s agreeing with God about who we really are…

    and trusting Him to make us new.

    That is the beauty of grace.

    Not that God overlooks our sin.

    But that He cleanses the sinner who comes to Him with a broken and contrite heart.

    Final Word

    David wasn’t remembered because he was the king who never failed.

    He was remembered because he was the king who knew where to go when he did.

    Every one of us will fail.

    Every one of us will need mercy.

    The question isn’t whether we’ll ever have our own Psalm 51 moment.

    The question is whether we’ll come to God with excuses…

    or with surrender.

    May our prayer never become,

    “Lord, protect my reputation.”

    May it always be,

    “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.”

    Because God specializes in doing what only He can do.

    He doesn’t merely forgive repentant hearts.

    He creates new ones.

  • Two Kings. Two Prophets. Two Hearts.

    Two Kings. Two Prophets. Two Hearts.

    Last weekend, Lisa and I had the opportunity to see David at Sight & Sound in Branson.

    The production was outstanding.

    Like most people, I expected to leave thinking about Goliath.

    Instead, I couldn’t stop thinking about Nathan.

    As I watched the prophet confront David over his sin with Bathsheba and Uriah, I found myself comparing that scene with another confrontation recorded in Scripture.

    Two kings.

    Two prophets.

    Two sins.

    Two completely different responses.

    King Saul was confronted by Samuel after sparing King Agag and keeping the best of the Amalekite livestock, despite God’s clear command to destroy everything.

    King David was confronted by Nathan after committing adultery with Bathsheba and arranging for Uriah to be killed in battle.

    Neither man sought out correction.

    God sent a prophet to them.

    Both men had sinned.

    Both men were confronted.

    But that’s where the similarities end.

    When Samuel confronted Saul, his first response wasn’t confession.

    It was self-defense.

    “I have obeyed…”

    “The people took of the spoil…”

    “It was to sacrifice unto the Lord…”

    Excuse followed excuse.

    Responsibility was shifted.

    Blame was shared.

    Even after finally saying, “I have sinned,” Saul immediately added another request:

    “Honor me now, I pray thee, before the elders of my people.”

    Even in repentance, he was still concerned about preserving his image.

    Then Nathan stood before David.

    He didn’t begin with an accusation.

    He told a story.

    A rich man stole the only lamb a poor man possessed.

    David was furious.

    “The man that hath done this thing shall surely die!”

    Then Nathan spoke four words that have echoed through history.

    “Thou art the man.”

    At that moment, David could have done exactly what Saul had done.

    He could have blamed Bathsheba.

    He could have blamed loneliness.

    He could have blamed the pressures of leadership.

    He could have blamed anyone but himself.

    Instead, David uttered one of the shortest—and most powerful—confessions in all of Scripture.

    “I have sinned against the LORD.”

    No excuses.

    No blame shifting.

    No attempts to justify himself.

    Just honest repentance.

    David’s sin was enormous.

    Adultery.

    Deception.

    Murder.

    None of it was minimized.

    The consequences were real, painful, and far-reaching.

    His family suffered.

    His kingdom suffered.

    David himself suffered.

    Repentance does not erase earthly consequences.

    But it does restore fellowship with God.

    I’ve often wondered why preachers spend far more time talking about David and Goliath than David and Nathan.

    Perhaps it’s because Goliath is easier.

    We all like sermons that ask,

    “What giant are you facing?”

    Nathan asks a far more uncomfortable question.

    “Where are you refusing God’s correction?”

    One sermon inspires us.

    The other examines us.

    One points to battles around us.

    The other exposes battles within us.

    As I reflected on the production afterward, another thought settled into my heart.

    The greatest difference between Saul and David wasn’t that one sinned and the other didn’t.

    Both failed.

    Both needed mercy.

    The difference was what happened after God confronted them.

    Saul defended himself.

    David humbled himself.

    One protected his reputation.

    The other surrendered his heart.

    I don’t believe God is looking for people who never fail.

    If He were, none of us would qualify.

    I believe He’s looking for people who remain teachable.

    People who are willing to hear hard truth.

    People who care more about holiness than appearance.

    People who, when confronted by the Spirit of God, are willing to say,

    “Lord… You’re right.”

    Because every one of us will eventually have a “Thou art the man” moment.

    The question isn’t whether correction will come.

    The question is what kind of heart it will find.

    Final Word

    David wasn’t called “a man after God’s own heart” because he never sinned.

    He was called that because when God exposed his sin, he didn’t harden his heart.

    He humbled it.

    The difference between Saul and David wasn’t the seriousness of their failures.

    It was the condition of their hearts after they were confronted.

    May we never become so concerned with protecting our reputation that we stop listening to God’s correction.

    Because the path to restoration doesn’t begin with defending ourselves.

    It begins with four simple words…

    “I have sinned, Lord.”

  • If My Story Can Save Someone Else’s

    If My Story Can Save Someone Else’s

    There comes a point in life when you stop worrying about what people will remember about you…

    And you start wondering what your life will point them toward.

    I’ve made decisions I wish I could take back.

    I’ve hurt people I loved.

    I’ve failed in ways that still grieve me.

    If I could rewrite those chapters, I would.

    But I can’t.

    And maybe that’s exactly where God’s grace becomes most visible.

    Because grace isn’t proven by the lives of people who never needed it.

    Grace is proven by what God does with people who did.

    The Apostle Paul never hid the fact that he persecuted the church.

    Peter never pretended he hadn’t denied Jesus.

    David never removed Psalm 51 from the Bible.

    Their failures weren’t recorded to glorify sin.

    They were preserved to magnify God’s mercy.

    I don’t tell parts of my story because I’m proud of them.

    I’m not.

    I tell them because somewhere, someone else is standing where I once stood.

    Someone is one decision away from destroying a marriage.

    Someone is trapped in secret sin.

    Someone is convinced they’ve gone too far for God to forgive.

    If my failures can persuade one person to turn around before making the same mistake…

    If my scars can convince someone that God’s grace is still greater than their shame…

    If one person finds hope because they realized God never gave up on me…

    Then every painful chapter will have served a purpose.

    When this life is over, I don’t want people talking about my accomplishments.

    I don’t want to be remembered for clever words, popular posts, or even a ministry.

    I want them to remember a faithful God…

    Who refused to stop pursuing an unfaithful man.

    Like the song says:

    “I don’t want to leave a legacy.

    I don’t care if they remember me.

    Only Jesus.”

    Because if my life points even one person toward Him…

    Then every chapter—

    The joyful ones.

    The painful ones.

    The victories.

    The failures.

    The mountains.

    The valleys.

    Will all have been worth it.

    Final Word

    One day, every one of us will leave something behind.

    The question isn’t whether we’ll leave a legacy.

    The question is what that legacy will point to.

    May people never look at our lives and say, “What an extraordinary person.”

    May they instead say,

    “What an extraordinary Savior.”

  • Sunday Studies – Mercy Offends: Lessons from Jonah 4

    Sunday Studies – Mercy Offends: Lessons from Jonah 4

    Most of us know the story of Jonah.

    We remember the storm.

    The great fish.

    The reluctant prophet finally walking through the streets of Nineveh proclaiming God’s coming judgment.

    What often surprises people is that the real climax of the book doesn’t happen when Jonah is swallowed by the fish.

    It happens after Nineveh repents.

    The greatest revival recorded in the Old Testament had just taken place.

    From the king to the common citizen, the people humbled themselves before God. They fasted, repented, and turned from their violence. In response, God withheld the judgment He had promised.

    If we were writing the story, this would be the perfect ending.

    The prophet preached.

    The people repented.

    God showed mercy.

    Everyone celebrates.

    Instead, Jonah chapter 4 opens with these startling words:

    “But it displeased Jonah exceedingly, and he became angry.” (Jonah 4:1)

    Jonah wasn’t angry because his message failed.

    He was angry because it succeeded.

    He had witnessed exactly what every prophet should long to see—repentance, mercy, and revival.

    And he hated it.

    That should stop every one of us in our tracks.

    Why Was Jonah Angry?

    Jonah explains it himself.

    “I knew that You are a gracious and merciful God, slow to anger and abundant in lovingkindness…” (Jonah 4:2)

    Notice what Jonah is saying.

    He isn’t questioning God’s character.

    He knew God’s character perfectly.

    He simply didn’t want God’s mercy extended to those people.

    The Assyrians weren’t misunderstood.

    They were notoriously cruel. They conquered nations through terror, torture, and brutality. Humanly speaking, Jonah’s hatred made sense.

    What didn’t make sense to Jonah was that God’s mercy could be greater than Nineveh’s wickedness.

    Our Jonah Moments

    Before we’re too hard on Jonah, we should ask ourselves a difficult question.

    Who is our Nineveh?

    Who do we quietly believe has crossed the line beyond God’s mercy?

    Maybe it’s a murderer.

    A rapist.

    A child molester.

    An abusive spouse.

    A corrupt politician.

    Someone who destroyed your family.

    Someone who betrayed your trust.

    Most of us have someone.

    We may never say it aloud, but somewhere deep inside we think,

    “Lord… surely not them.”

    That’s where Jonah meets us.

    Justice and Mercy

    This is where many people struggle.

    If God forgives someone guilty of terrible crimes, does that mean justice no longer matters?

    Not at all.

    Scripture never teaches that forgiveness removes earthly consequences.

    David was forgiven, but still lived with painful consequences.

    Moses was forgiven, yet never entered the Promised Land.

    The thief on the cross received mercy, but still died under Roman execution.

    A murderer who genuinely repents may still spend the rest of his life in prison.

    A child molester who truly comes to Christ should still face every legal consequence and every necessary safeguard to protect others.

    Grace does not erase justice.

    It restores a sinner’s relationship with God.

    Those are not the same thing.

    What Forgiveness Looks Like

    Perhaps you’re thinking,

    “That’s easy to say until it’s your child.”

    For one Oklahoma father, it was.

    In 2006, ten-year-old Lindsay Wagoner was raped and murdered. For thirteen years, her father, Bill Wagoner, carried the crushing weight of hatred toward the man who had taken his daughter’s life.

    Eventually, Bill came to a painful realization.

    The man who murdered Lindsay had already stolen enough from his family.

    He wasn’t going to allow him to steal the rest of his life as well.

    In 2019, Bill chose to meet face-to-face with the man who murdered his daughter. He forgave him and shared with him the message of Jesus Christ and the forgiveness that had first been extended to him.

    That meeting didn’t change what had happened.

    It didn’t erase the murder.

    It didn’t remove the prison sentence.

    It didn’t make evil good.

    But it did break the chains that hatred had wrapped around a grieving father’s heart.

    Bill’s story reminds us that forgiveness is never declaring evil to be acceptable.

    It is refusing to allow evil to have the final word.

    Jonah could preach repentance to Nineveh.

    Bill Wagoner lived it.

    One wanted judgment to have the final word.

    The other chose to let mercy have it.

    That is the crossroads every follower of Christ eventually reaches.

    The Foot of the Cross Is Level

    The uncomfortable truth is this:

    The ground at the foot of the cross is perfectly level.

    The respectable church member and the violent criminal are both saved exactly the same way.

    Neither earns forgiveness.

    Neither deserves forgiveness.

    Both stand before God entirely because of grace.

    That doesn’t make their sins equally destructive in this life.

    But it does remind us that salvation has never been based upon the size of our sin.

    It has always been based upon the greatness of our Savior.

    Jonah, the Older Brother… and Us

    Jonah wasn’t the only one to struggle with this.

    Jesus told the story of the prodigal son.

    Most of us celebrate the younger brother coming home.

    But the older brother became angry because someone he believed deserved judgment received mercy instead.

    The Pharisees struggled with tax collectors.

    Peter struggled with Gentiles receiving the Holy Ghost.

    The workers in Jesus’ vineyard parable struggled when those who worked only one hour received the same wage.

    Again and again, Scripture exposes the same temptation.

    We love mercy…

    …until it’s given to someone we don’t think deserves it.

    Looking Into the Mirror

    The Book of Jonah ends strangely.

    There’s no neat conclusion.

    No record of Jonah changing his heart.

    Instead, God simply asks,

    “Is it right for you to be angry?” (Jonah 4:4)

    Then the book ends.

    Almost as though God intentionally leaves the final chapter unfinished.

    Because the last chapter isn’t really about Jonah.

    It’s about us.

    Will we rejoice only when God’s mercy reaches people like us?

    Or will we celebrate whenever another sinner finds forgiveness—even someone we believed was beyond redemption?

    The measure of our understanding of grace isn’t how thankful we are that God forgave us.

    It’s whether we can rejoice when He forgives someone we never thought deserved it.

    Final Word

    The real miracle in Jonah isn’t that God spared Nineveh.

    It’s that God patiently pursued Jonah while his heart was resisting mercy.

    The greatest danger isn’t that God’s grace is too wide.

    It’s that our hearts become too narrow to rejoice when His grace reaches someone we never thought it should.

    If God had drawn the line where we often wish He would…

    none of us would be invited to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.

  • The Night the King Knelt: Jesus, Judas, and Peter

    It was the final evening before the Cross.

    The room was ready, the Passover meal had been prepared, and Jesus—fully aware of what was to come—chose to spend His last free hours not in isolation or defense… but in service. Humble, shocking, intimate service.

    “Jesus… having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end.” (John 13:1)

    Let that settle. He loved them—fully, knowingly, unwaveringly.

    And then He rose from supper, laid aside His garments, girded Himself with a towel, and poured water into a basin.

    He got down on His knees. And the King of Glory washed their feet.

    But this moment wasn’t just about humble leadership. It wasn’t about hygiene. It wasn’t even just a symbol.It was a revelation. And the contrast between how He treated Judas and Peter shows us just how deep that love runs.

    He Washed Judas.

    Yes, that Judas.

    Judas had already made the deal. Thirty silver coins. The price of a slave. The plan was in motion. And Jesus knew it all—

    “…Jesus knew who would betray Him…” (John 13:11).

    And yet He knelt before him anyway.

    No skipped turn. No avoided eye contact. No exposed accusation.

    Jesus washed the feet of His betrayer.Imagine that. Imagine the hands that had healed the blind gently wiping the dust from the feet of the man who would hand Him over to death. It was mercy poured out without condition. It was one final invitation. A moment of holy confrontation.

    But Judas didn’t break. He didn’t confess. He didn’t weep.He got up from the table and walked away with clean feet—and a defiled heart.

    He chose darkness, even as the Light knelt before him.

    How many times do we do the same? How often does Jesus offer us mercy—again—and we harden our hearts, justify our choices, and walk right out into the night?

    And…….He Washed Peter.

    Oh, Peter. Impulsive, passionate, and stubborn.

    When Jesus came to him with the basin, Peter resisted.“Lord, are You washing my feet?”

    “You shall never wash my feet!” (John 13:6, 8)

    That sounds noble. Like reverence. But it was pride cloaked in piety. Peter was trying to control the narrative—to protect Jesus, to preserve the hierarchy. But Jesus wasn’t having it.

    *If I do not wash you, you have no part with Me.” (v. 8)

    That stopped Peter in his tracks. And true to form, he flipped to the opposite extreme:

    “Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head!” (v. 9)

    Peter didn’t fully understand yet, but he surrendered. And Jesus met him right there—in confusion, in boldness, in brokenness. Jesus knew Peter would deny Him in just a few hours, not once, not even twice, but three times. Yet Jesus didn’t withhold His hands. He didn’t shame him or scold him.

    He washed him.He loved him.He prepared him—for failure… and for restoration.

    Where Judas hardened, Peter would eventually weep bitterly and return. That’s the difference. Not perfection, but repentance.

    So What Does This Mean for Us?

    It means Jesus still kneels today. He still offers cleansing. He still serves with nail-scarred hands—those who betray, those who deny, and those who simply misunderstand.

    It means no part of us is too dirty for Jesus to wash. But He will not force His grace on anyone. Judas shows us what it looks like to refuse. Peter shows us what it looks like to wrestle with pride… and then surrender.It means love kneels before us and asks: Will you let Me wash you? Will you let Me serve you? Will you follow Me… all the way to the cross?We love the idea of a God who reigns. But Maundy Thursday confronts us with a God who kneels. A Savior who scrubs the very feet that will carry betrayal and denial. A Messiah who looks us in the eye, knowing every failure, and says: “I still want you.”

  • The Other Prodigal Son

    “But he was angry and would not go in. Therefore his father came out and pleaded with him.” – Luke 15:28 (NKJV)

    Most of us focus on the younger son in Jesus’ parable—the one who ran away, wasted everything, and came home to a forgiving father. But let’s talk about the other prodigal son.

    The older brother never left home. He never rebelled. He did everything right. But when his lost brother was welcomed back, he refused to celebrate. Instead of joy, he felt resentment.

    He saw his brother’s redemption as an insult to his own obedience. “I never left, I never wasted anything, I did everything right—and where’s my feast?” He wasn’t just angry at his brother. He was angry at his father.

    How often do we do the same?

    When God forgives someone we think doesn’t deserve it.

    When we secretly want people to earn grace, instead of freely receive it.

    When we think our goodness makes us more deserving than someone else.

    But here’s the truth—the older son needed grace just as much as the younger one. He had stayed home, but his heart was just as lost.

    And yet, look at what the father does. He doesn’t rebuke him. He comes out to him. Just as he ran to the younger son, he reaches out to the older one. Because grace isn’t just for the obviously broken. It’s for the self-righteous, too.

    The question is—will we accept it? Or will we stay outside, arms crossed, missing the beauty of the Father’s mercy?

    Because at the end of the day, it’s not about who deserves grace. None of us do. That’s the point. And the Father’s invitation is the same for both sons: Come inside. Join the celebration. You belong here.

  • A New Perspective From 25 Year Old Notes

    9 March, 2025

    Digging into 25-year-old notes for tomorrow morning’s Sunday School lesson and this powerful truth resonates deeply.

    “The mercy we receive from God is directly proportional to what we show toward others. The judgement we receive will be a mirror of that which we administer.”

    James 2:13 reminds us, “For judgment is without mercy to the one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment.” This powerful statement unveils a profound truth about the nature of God’s grace and how it intertwines with our relationships with others.

    Consider this: the mercy we receive from God is intimately connected with the mercy we extend to those around us. When we forgive those who have wronged us, show compassion to the hurting, or offer grace during difficult moments, we align ourselves with the heart of God. Each act of mercy becomes a reflection of His love, creating a powerful cycle of grace.

    Additionally, the judgments we cast upon others often bloom back in our own lives. If we choose to be critical and harsh, we may find ourselves facing similar judgments when we falter. Instead, let us remember that each time we show kindness, it echoes back to us, amplifying the very mercy we desire from God.

    As we navigate our daily encounters, may we choose mercy over judgment. Lord, help us to reflect Your love and grace in all circumstances. Amen.