JUSTIN STUMVOLL / EXPLORING NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCES
In this conversation, Justin Stumvoll and Jason explore the nature of God, near-death experiences, the transformative power of radical love, and the importance of emotional healing in understanding one’s relationship with God. The discussion also touches on the concept of oneness with God, the impact of heavenly encounters, and the journey of reconciliation and legacy within families. Ultimately, the conversation emphasizes the restorative nature of God’s love and the invitation to discover deeper connections with the divine.
Justin and Jason discuss how NDE experiences reveal unconditional love, the process of self-judgment, and the concept of justice as redemption. The dialogue emphasizes Earth as a unique opportunity for spiritual growth and understanding of the divine, highlighting the importance of choice in experiencing love and pain.
The guys present a vision of universal reconciliation, where all souls return to the truth of love. They discuss the importance of embracing the present moment, the journey of forgiveness, and the reframing of suffering and pain. The dialogue emphasizes the significance of trust in God, the fruit of love and humility, and the value of connection over agreement in spiritual discussions.
For more on Justin Stumvoll
Website: https://justinandabi.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheConnectedLifepodcast
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@justin-abi
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/justinstumvoll/
Please rate, review, share, and subscribe!
Podcast intro and outro music by Wilde Assembly
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Kingdom Theology
I was honored to write the forward for Dubb Alexander, Ryan Pena, Eunike Jonathan & Tony Robinson’s new book, The Kingdom — Available Now!
FORWARD
My son has a framed work of art hanging on his bedroom wall that once graced the wall of my childhood bedroom. It is a colored pencil drawing of a castle with spires and battlements, a fortified tower, arrow slits, a drawbridge, a corresponding moat, and gate.
It also includes a soldier on guard duty standing tall, uniformed in royal blue trousers, scarlet red tunic, and a beefeater English bearskin hat. His sword is unsheathed and held up in a salute—as if to let us know he maintains vigilant watch, eyes always scanning for signs of an enemy, ready to respond to any threat.
The soldier is disciplined, dedicated— he is steadfast in his loyalty to the King and Kingdom. He would die for the King.
How do I know? What makes me such an expert regarding this work of art?
I’m the artist.
Inspired by the castle mural painted on my Covenant Church third-grade classroom wall, I drew that solitary soldier and his kingdom. In my nine-year-old scrawl, above my castle, I wrote the phrase, “The Kingdom God has prepared for us far exceeds any imagination.”
That phrase was inspired by 1 Cor 2:9: “…No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no heart has imagined, what God has prepared for those who love Him.”
Yeah, I grew up in the Church and thus, I’ve been fascinated by the King and His Kingdom since before I can remember. The idea of Kings and Kingdoms permeated everything I knew about God, Scripture, and the way we Christians navigate all things. But the Kingdom I understood was a dichotomy— “a division into two parts…”
The awe-inspired nine-year-old who drew that castle grew up in a loving home and knew a kind and loving King with a beautiful Kingdom that looked like family.
But that kid was also raised in the Church’s dizzying obsession with good and evil and often compromised by a separation-based atonement theory. That innocent nine-year-old grew up in the Western Evangelical obsession with dominion by way of domination, sovereignty by way of control, justice by way of violent retribution, and power by way of hierarchies of exclusion.
While I knew the other-centered love of Jesus, I had to traverse the Church’s literal application of violent Old Testament delusions. The Kingdom was often presented as a militarized, politicized war machine leveraged by religious zealots and fork-tongued grifters for the purpose of control and exclusion.
Thus, as I entered adulthood, I began to believe that God’s beautiful Kingdom was a prepared future heaven that could only be experienced if I survived the brutality of this present age.
Then, in my thirties, thanks to pioneers in the goodness of God, I began to refocus my Kingdom definitions around what Jesus had to say about it.
Jesus talked about the Kingdom all the time. But never with a sword in His hand and always in the language of Greater Love and the context of family. Not once did Jesus call God, “King,” He always called Him, “Dad.”
“When you pray, say Father…” He instructed us in Luke 11:2, and he continued in Matthew 6:10. Dad, “Your Kingdom come…on earth as it is in heaven.”
And boy did I pray—my nine-year-old earnest faith reignited in my thirty-something heart. I joined all creation in the age-old question; the one we’ve been asking since the lie of separation first entered the mind of Adam.
“Some of the Pharisees asked Jesus, ‘When will the kingdom of God come?’
Jesus answered, ‘God’s kingdom is coming, but not in a way that you will be able to see with your eyes. People will not say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or, ‘There it is!’ because God’s kingdom is within you.’” (Luke 17:20-21)
Remember that castle-inspiring verse in Corinthians? “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no heart has imagined, what God has prepared for those who love Him” —the very next verse reads, “But God has revealed it to us by the Spirit…” (See 1 Cor 2:9-10)
It seems that Jesus believed the Kingdom wasn’t a future heaven but a present revelation of the family relationship between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit established on earth through us.
Jesus reframed the Kingdom in the relational context of Family. You could say it this way, if it isn’t family, it isn’t the Kingdom Jesus revealed.
As my friends Dubb Alexander, Ryan Pena, Eunike Jonathan, and Tony Robinson have written, “The Kingdom is a Royal Family who co-reigns upon the Earth… The heart of God in creating humanity is for family. His desire in the act of creation was not to expand His army, but to give love through union and connection with Himself…”
They continue, “We were created for connection, oneness, and union with The Trinity. This is the first aspect of The Kingdom we need to see. The Kingdom is a family, and Father’s heart is to expand that family.”
And finally, “The Kingdom, most simplistically put, is ‘The extension of the heart and authority of God, from Heaven to Earth, through humanity….it is powered by love, revealing identity and purpose, liberating people to be authentic and unifying humanity with honor.”
This book provides clarity and liberty to discover the what, where, when, how, and why of the Kingdom within us. What is the Kingdom? What is it like? What must it become? When and where is the Kingdom?
This manuscript is beautifully practical—no highbrow hoops to jump through or self-indulgent theological speak, this is a straightforward, thorough, grace-inspired discovery of how to live, move, and have our being in the Family as ambassadors of our Father’s Kingdom. My friends have written an invitation into relational trust.
You know, my Father loves that castle I drew when I was nine. He knew I saw myself in that soldier with the sharp military uniform and shiny sword; recognized my earnest salute—His eyes alive with laughter as I presented my vigilant watch.
He also knew my warrior interpretation of His Kingdom would be transformed by His indwelling Spirit. He knew there would be fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, friends like those who wrote this book, who would come alongside me to re-present His Kingdom.
If I were to pick up the colored pencils today and let my imagination run wild, if I were to set about creating a work of art that represented the Kingdom, and if I were to hang that image on my wall, you most likely would see a family.
And I believe if you looked closely, you would see yourself in it.
I am grateful for what my friends have written. It’s their work of art—an invitation to discover that The Kingdom God has prepared for us far exceeds any imagination. And “God has revealed it to us by the Spirit…”
Jason Clark—Author of Leaving and Finding Jesus and host of Rethinking God with Tacos
www.afamilystory.org
To purchase the book, CLICK HERE
The Slave/Master Paradigm Within The Church
Excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
Maybe the most significant issues in the church today stem from Christian servants who don’t know friendship. I think much of the Deconstruction movement has been birthed in institutions led by Older Brothers who slave down the road of lack.
Many of our leaders are wholly invested in the paradigm of slaves and masters; they approach obedience as a transactional obligation and thus live and preach a hierarchal, controlling, and punishing Father/Master message. Just like the Older Brother, they are convinced they know the heart and motivations of our Father, the thoughts and plans of the Master. But as Jesus told us, “…a servant doesn’t know what his master is thinking or planning,” He only tells that stuff to His friends— “for everything that I learned from my Father, I have made known to you.” (1)
Sadly, much of the church is full of behavior-focused, sin-counting, Older Brothers—slaving servants waxing eloquent on the master’s thoughts and plans while participating in dualism, nationalism, liberalism, moralism, wokeism, and a thousand other obligations outside of friendship.
Sadly, the world has been inundated with slaving Older Brother Christians—diligent servants, calling the master, “dad,” while preaching a punishing message that conflicts with His heart of reconciliation for all our brothers and sisters—slaving servants who interpret Scripture outside of friendship and present the gospel outside of Greater Love.
Dear friends, let’s stop participating in the hierarchal paradigm of masters and slaves; let’s stop giving ear to slaving Older Brothers who don’t know what our Father “is thinking and planning.” That way lies striving, disillusionment, trauma, and broken trust.
How can we recognize when we are participating in the Slave-Master paradigm? Here are five earmarks:
- Our interpretation of Love isn’t cruciform—self-giving, other-centered.
- We leverage Scripture to measure some vast separation between God and humanity.
- We justify cruelty in the name of righteousness and holiness.
- We participate in, and propagate, hierarchy and exclusion in the name of love.
- We perceive and present punishment as justice.
And we can identify slaving Older Brother leaders using the same criteria.
If we want to know our Father’s heart, it can best be discovered on the Emmaus Road with friends as we humbly steward the burning. Jesus’ disciple, John, revealed the measureless depth of this burning heart friendship when, in his gospel, he referenced himself three times as “the one Jesus loved.”(2)
We are all “the one Jesus loves.” That’s how Greater Love works.
The fact is, Jesus calls every one of us “friend”—we are all the one He loves. And the more we surrender to this Greater Love friendship, the more we awaken to our Father’s reconciling heart. In this heart-to-heart connection, serving comes naturally, and obedience is a fruit rather than an obligation.
In friendship, we discover the high-water mark of Christian faith is measureless reconciling love. In friendship, our lives become surrendered expressions of Greater Love, and that’s the definition of Christian maturity.
Servant friends are people moving closer to reconciliation with each step they take. Christian maturity is developed as we revel in our friendship with Jesus.
1 John 15:15 NIV & MSG
2 John 13:23
This article is excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
The Church and Her Inclusively Transformative Nature
Excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
I love the Church. She raised me. Most of my deepest friendships have been formed in the church. I’ve experienced Her compassion, authenticity, kindness, generosity, wisdom, grace, desire for righteousness, wholeness, and innocence. I’m also thankful for Her various expressions.
I’m not writing about the institution. Rather, I’m writing about the people I’ve known and with whom I’ve grown through the vast expressions of the Church.
I’ve been sensitive with seekers, shook with shakers, kneeled with kneelers, been lowly in high church, taken communion with robed Episcopalians, and fallen to the ground with 3,000 brothers and sisters after John Wimber prayed.
I’ve received benedictions with Catholics and confessed with a priest in Haiti just outside a children’s hospital where he poured out his life for the least of these. (1)
I’ve tasted God’s goodness with the Methodist, raised a song with the Baptist, missionaried with the Alliance and The Assemblies, prayed in tongues with Pentecostals, and cried out in righteous hunger with friends from Kansas City. I’ve become close with friends who are Eastern Orthodox and discovered the riches of the Anabaptists.
I’ve experienced the holiness of God in a home of the underground Church in China, danced with exuberant worshipers in South Africa, fellowshipped with hundreds of Filipinos who walked days to take part in revival, and laughed with loved and cared-for orphans in Nicaragua.
I’ve seen the impact of the church, miracles large and small—more than a book could contain, broken marriages restored, the lonely put in family, the poor made rich, bodies made whole, and hearts, minds, and lives transformed. I’ve seen addicts set free and imaginations restored. I’ve seen the poor receive care, the hungry fed, the widow, and the orphan loved and protected.
I’ve been part of men’s movements that swept the world, challenging us to live lives of character and kindness. I’ve been a part of equality movements for race and gender where faithful women and men of all colors confronted and led us as we repented for participating in prejudice, exclusivity, and hierarchy.
I could write a book on the history of how the Church has tended to every broken and unjust issue in this often cruel and punishing world. And it would barely scratch the surface of the heaven-to-earth impact the Church has had. Throughout history, the Church has been full of good people, friends of God whose lives became generous expressions of Greater Love. The world is infinitely richer because of the Church’s authentic other-centered kindness.
Greater Love is the hope for the world, and the church is God’s expression of it. The Church is God’s idea, and His ideas are always brilliant. The Church is the city on a hill; the light meant to illuminate His reconciliation for all creation.
I love the Church. I wrote this book for Her. And it’s because of my love for the Church that I confront our obsession with separation, our infatuation with retribution, and the hypocrisy of exclusion.
In my twenties, the early days of my deconstruction, long before anyone used that term, those post-Bible College years when I reacted against the cruel and unkind hypocrisies within the institution, I often wondered if a baby was in the bath water. In those early days, I thought the only hope for the Church was Jesus’ return, and I occasionally thought about waiting for Him at home. But those days are so far behind me I hardly remember them.
You see, as I’ve left every Jesus that isn’t reconciling. I’ve also left every idea of church that isn’t built upon the Cornerstone of Greater Love. I’ve left every aspect of the church that practices us or them, in or out, for or against; and when I find I haven’t, I repent.
Like Peter, I am discovering the Church Jesus described when He prayed we would be one just as He was one with His Father. (2) I am awakening to the inclusive Church Jesus revealed when He told His disciples, “On that day, you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you.” (3)
There is no hierarchy in the Trinity, only mutual, self-giving love. The last are first, and the first are last because that’s how love works. Love is a circle, an ever-expanding revelation. And when the Church mirrors this Truth, there is no end to transformation.
I love the Church. Her history is rich in reconciliation, but we haven’t even scratched the surface of Her inclusively transformative nature. I see a Church awakening to the never leaving, never forsaking, cruciform love of God, and my heart is that we might repent of any heretic circles within the Church that shut people out—because I’m convinced Greater Love “shows no partiality.”
Jesus in us and through us has “the wit to win!” And we, the Church, are meant to partner with reconciling love to draw bigger circles that take all creation in!
1 Matthew 25:40
2 John 17:21
3 John 14:20
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This article is excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
The Price Is Too Steep
Excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus / Chapter Ten: Yes, I Sure Hope So
For about two weeks after I released the article in which I’d responded to the question, “Can you be saved after you die,” with the answer, “Yes, I sure hope so,” I lived oblivious to the nuclear-sized bomb I’d dropped within our church circles—especially with some of the leadership in our church.
I had no idea how offensive the article was until a pastor friend reached out so we could “catch up” over coffee.
“Do you actually believe you can be saved after you die?” He asked, minutes into our conversation. It was less a question and more an accusation. I sensed what I said next could affect our friendship, so I spoke carefully. “In light of my growing trust in God’s reconciling love, yes…” Then acknowledging my article as the source of his question, I smiled good-naturedly and added, “…I sure hope so.”
He nodded seriously. There was no return smile, just concern and—anger. “He’s offended,” I realized as he gathered himself. Then, to his credit, he confronted me—not from his offense but with a sincere concern for my immediate and, quite possibly, eternal well-being.
“Jason, I share your hope, but….”
Then he told me the heartbreaking story of how his dad, at age 80, died in a violent car crash. “The car rolled several times, and he died of a broken neck,” he said.
“Jason, my siblings, and I shared the gospel with him for 20 years, and for 20 years, he resisted. He wanted nothing to do with God. To my knowledge, he never accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior before the accident.”
Then, in great anguish, my pastor friend looked at me and said, “But I’m hopeful he’s in heaven—” I began to respond like that orthodox priest who encouraged the boy to pray for Judas. With a deep hope in the reconciling nature of the love of my best friend, Jesus, I earnestly said, “Amen! Me too–”
He waved his hand brusquely to hush me. Then continued with a corrective tone. “I’m hopeful my siblings and I shared enough of the gospel over the years that he knew to cry out to God before he died. We have no reason to believe he would have, but I’m hopeful.”
The cruelty of his statement shook me. As he continued, my heart broke for him.
“I’m hopeful that before he lost control of the car, before it flipped, before his neck broke, he was able to get out a prayer—to cry out to God. And I’m hopeful it was enough.”
My heart grew heavier each time he emphasized the word hope.
“In light of the circumstances, I’m not sure that his prayer would be enough,” he lamented, “But I’m hopeful, you know, that God heard him. I’m hoping he is in heaven. But…”
Then he went on to agonize over the likelihood that his dad was not in heaven.
I was heartsick and disturbed by the theological certainty he placed in the punishing nature of God—a certainty that was clearly crushing him. He was tormented over whether he’d “evangelized” enough. He wondered aloud if a prayer said in the horror of a violent car crash would be enough.
“What am I still lacking?” That was the cruel and punishing road my pastor friend traveled. He seemed to believe God counted his dad’s sins against him—and his dad had come up lacking.
My pastor friend’s pain was real, traumatizing, and tragically unnecessary.
You see, what he described to me wasn’t Christian hope. It was fatalism.
His hope wasn’t placed in the measureless love of Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not counting people’s sins, rejections, cruelties, confusion, delusions, or capacity to be deceived against them. His “hope” was placed in a heavenly Father who looks away—a punishing god who must bend the knee to my pastor friend’s finite understanding.
Like so many of our Christian leaders today, he gave me the religion of separation. He presented the retributive idea that all humanity is born into Adam, but it takes a specific prayer to get us into Christ. He gave me the religion of transaction, and, like many of our Christian leaders today, he twisted the language of relationship into a contradiction of Greater Love.
My pastor friend approached salvation through the unforgiving nature of time. And for his dad, when it came to God’s reconciling love, time had most likely run out. And this is the point at which a retributive theological belief about God is exposed as perverse.
You see, for my pastor friend’s dad, when it came to God’s reconciling love, time was finite. But when it came to God’s punishment, time is infinite, and his dad was most likely gonna spend an eternity tormented by fire in some place where Greater Love couldn’t reach him.
I felt crushed for my pastor friend and disgusted that he believed this bullshit about our friend Jesus, so I challenged His God lens.
“Bro, you just told me that your faith is in a heavenly Father who likely condemned your earthly father to eternal damnation. Man, the price you are paying to follow a God who punishes is too steep. For you to be a Christian, your dad must suffer an eternity in hell.”
Then I told him about my hope. “I have placed my hope in the belief that God is like Jesus; I have put my hope in the One who came to save men’s lives, not destroy them. (1) My hope is that God is in Christ reconciling your dad to Himself, not counting his rejection or brokenness against him.
While I don’t know what that could mean for your dad, I am convinced this hope is the joy of his, yours, and my salvation; the very joy Jesus set before Him while He endured the cross.” (2)
Then, with deepening faith in the reconciling love of God, I referenced the question he had confronted me with, “Can you be saved after you die? I asked.
And then answered, “Yes, I sure hope so.”
1 Luke 9:56
2 Hebrews 12:2
1 John 17:21
This article is excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
Hell and the Older Brother
Excerpted from Leaving and Finding Jesus / Chapter Ten: Yes, I Sure Hope So
In Luke 15, Jesus told a story about an older brother. He worked his father’s land faithfully while his younger brother ran off with his inheritance to live in, as Benson’s Commentary notes, “unbounded riot and debauchery….” (1)
Then one day, while slaving under the hot sun, the older brother learned his prodigal brother had returned, received forgiveness, and been restored to the family. You probably remember what happened next.
Upon hearing about the prodigal’s return, the older brother leapt with delight, left his labor, and raced to the house to greet him. As he neared the house, he recognized the sounds of merrymaking. Thrilled that His Father had thrown a party, he ran to join them.
There was cheering, wonder, and joy as he reconciled with his brother in an embrace. The older brother also felt a stunning reverence for their father’s relentless, ultimate, restorative nature. “I have hoped and eagerly waited for this day. Reconciliation, at last!” The older brother thought as heaven invaded earth. And everyone was so happy!
Yeah, that’s not what happened.
The father did throw a reconciliation party, but the older brother wasn’t happy about it.
Instead, he took offense and became furious at his father’s forgiving and reconciling nature. As far he was concerned, time had run out on his younger sibling long ago. Hell trains, gnashing of teeth, and eternal separation in a lake of fire—you know, forever, etc. That was the punishment his little brother had earned.
“While my brother partied, I slaved,” the older brother thought angrily. Then he began to count sins. He hadn’t wallowed in “unbounded riot and debauchery” or rejected and betrayed the family. Like a Rich Young Ruler, he’d kept all the commandments. He hadn’t committed murder or adultery, hadn’t stolen anything, or given false testimony; he honored his father. “Hell, I’ve worked my ass off for the old man,” he thought as he fumed outside the reconciliation party.
That last thought was his tipping point into hell. “I’ve earned a reward while my brother has earned punishment, but instead, our father forgives and restores him to the family?” He thought. “It’s unacceptable!”
The older brother would take no part in forgiveness or reconciliation. He wouldn’t join the party. Hell, he wouldn’t even go into the same damn house! And that’s what he told his father after his dad left the ninety-nine to be with his wayward son.
The older brother fumed as his father stood quietly beside him outside the party. The laughter of reconciliation spilled into the cold dark night, each sound of joy offending his self-righteous paradigm until he couldn’t take it any longer. He turned and erupted.
“Look!” the older brother said to the Emmaus Road Stranger…
Wait, let me try that again.
“Look!” the older brother said to the Farmer who went out to sow seed…
Nope, one more time.
“Look!” the older brother said to his father. “All these years, I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet, you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.”
The father looked at his oldest boy and said, “My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” In essence, “Son, there has never been any need to slave under the heavy weight of reward and punishment. Eternal life has always been available to you here and now!”
The older brother was confronted with the offensive truth that he had been keeping score in a game his father wasn’t playing. When it comes to heaven and hell, I think most Western Christians are playing the same deterministic reward and punishment game, which reminds me of a joke I once heard from my friend Paul Young. It went something like this.
* * *
A man arrived suddenly at heaven’s gates. He was surprised and unsure of what to do. “Do I just walk in?” he wondered to himself. The Apostle Peter, who happened to have gate duty that day, saw the man’s consternation and walked over to him. Relieved, the man lowered his voice and asked, “So, do I just…walk in?”
Peter lowered his voice to match the fella and solemnly responded, “Well, I guess it depends.”
The man nodded, “It depends on something,” he thought. It made sense. “Uh…what does it depend on?” He asked.
Peter answered, “Well, it depends on how many points you have.
“I’m required to have points to get in?”
“Of course.”
“Uh…how many points do I need?”
Peter leaned in and quietly said, “You need a hundred points.”
The man thought for a moment, then grinned. “Only a hundred? Well, I pastored a church for 40 years; only took time off according to my contract. Preached the gospel and prayed for people.”
Peter smiled broadly. “That is wonderful. I will totally give you a point for that.”
The man looked shocked. “A point, one point? That’s all it’s worth, one point?”
“Totally worth a point,” Peter repeated, grinning.
“Uh…well, I worked at the soup kitchen on Saturday evening for a few years, you know, helping with the poor and all.”
“Another point, good for you.”
The man, nervous now, continued. “Okay, I asked Jesus to come into my heart as my Lord and Savior, was baptized and all?”
Peter thought for a few seconds before speaking. “Well, not sure about that one. Folks have only been doing that for a couple of hundred years, so probably not.”
The man began to panic as he thought about his life—all the stuff he had done and not done; and for what, two points?
Right about that time, another fella showed up, and the pastor recognized him as the owner of a coffee shop in the same town where he had lived and died. He was a nice guy, but only a C&E Christian. You know, Christmas and Easter. The fella walked by and waved to him and Peter and then proceeded without hesitation right through the Pearly Gates.
The pastor leaned forward and asked in a desperate and serious tone, “Are you kidding me? That guy has a hundred points?”
Peter put his arm around the pastor and grinned, “Naw, he’s just not playing this game!”
* * *
You know, when our faith is built upon the dualistic certainty of reward and punishment, we’ll think of heaven and hell in the context of points earned or lost. We’ll slave for a god who counts sin, a god who measures the width, length, height, and depth of the distance between us. And eventually, we will participate in the hell of separation and retribution in direct opposition with the reconciling heart of a good Father.
And how great is that darkness?
(1) Benson’s Commentary
This article is excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
No Omissions
Excerpted from Leaving and Finding Jesus / Chapter Seven: Retribution
While we could discuss the afterlife endlessly, “I don’t know” is the only empirically true answer. As to the answer a relational theologian would give, I think anything less than “I sure hope so” would be anti-Christ. I don’t write that with condemnation, but as a challenge to the hearts and minds of friends of Jesus—that we might be set free!
As for me, “Yes, I sure hope so” is my answer. I’ve grown convinced that answer best aligns my heart with the heart Jesus demonstrated on the cross when, hanging between heaven and earth, He said, “Father, forgive them.”
* * *
“Them” is everyone.
There is no exclusion, no, “Father, forgive them….”
if they stop sinning
if they repent
if they receive Me
if they say a sinner’s prayer
if they believe in My name
if they love Me
if they love one another
if they obey My commandments
if they are faithful
if they read Scripture
if they believe in eternal conscious torment
if…
Nope.
Just, “Father, forgive them.”
All of them.
“For they know not what they do….” Their eyes are unhealthy, and how great is their darkness…
On that cross, God was in Christ reconciling “the world to Himself,” not counting our if’s against us. “The world” includes all the peoples.
There were no omissions, no “The world except everyone in Timbuctoo, El Dorado, and The Simpsons who live at 742 Evergreen Terrace in Springfield, Oregon.
Nope—just “the world.” All of it!
Then, Jesus, on a cross, proclaimed, “It is finished.”
* * *
“Finished” means “ended or completed.” I looked it up. Case closed, settled, resolved. No one was overlooked by Christ at the cross—not even Judas. Paul told us, “…in Adam, all die, so in Christ, all will be made alive.”
“All” means, “everyone.” I looked it up.
It’s crazy, but most Christians put their faith in the first part of that verse, “In Adam, all die,” but seem to completely ignore the second half and the whole point, “so in Christ all will be made alive.”
What does that ultimately mean? I don’t know, but I bet it’s measurelessly good, and I’m convinced that anything less than positioning our hearts in the hope that all means “everyone.” is not just anti-Christ; it places us firmly on the “What am I still lacking?” road, cut off from experiencing eternal life in the ever-present now. It positions us as self-righteous malcontents slaving on the wrong side of a three-foot concrete median, often in opposition to our Father’s reconciling heart…
This article is excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
People I Don’t Like…
I lay in bed beside Mary last night, stewing over an encounter I had that day with a friend who I disliked.
I began to make a list, starting with him, of people in my life that I didn’t like and found so completely unattractive. The Jerks, the Religious…
I’m learning about love, and of course this kind of thinking is detrimental not only to them but to me. So I asked Papa as I drifted off, “can you give me perspective on why I feel this way? I know it’s stinking thinking, but I just don’t like these people. Papa can you change my heart?”
Of course, I knew he could.
This morning, Sunday morning, I realized it wasn’t their outward appearance or behavior that made me dislike them. It was more in the fact that they didn’t value me or find me attractive. And I saw something in common about each of these people, they were all insecure, which in turn triggered insecurity in me.
So, still wrestling with myself over the contradiction of the Christ-life in me and the feelings I had toward these people, I entered a Sunday worship service and heard singing about the power in His name.
Immediately I realized that His name was my name and as I began to sing from this identity, the love of Papa began washing over me from head to toe. And I began to see the guy I didn’t like from Papa’s perspective.
Suddenly, it was all I could do to wait for the first opportunity to make a bee line for the fella to tell him who he was and of the great admiration, value and joy our Father had in him.
And oh my, I saw Papa looking back at me through His twinkling eyes. Our in-Christ-ness, our I-am-ness, our oneness and union—it’s huge! It’s the game changer!
Oh, and it sure beats doing the right thing because it is the right thing!
Love you
Lloyd
The Power of Assurance
Jesus walked the planet the last three years of His life telling people who He was and backing it up with signs and wonders.
He actually told us we didn’t have to believe that He was the Son of God if He didn’t do miracles.
“Do not believe Me unless I do what My Father does” (John 10:37).
But for His first thirty years, Jesus—God the Father revealed, perfect theology, perfect ministry, Love in human form, the Creator of the universe—lived among humanity and only a handful of people knew it.
We might be tempted to think that Jesus’s first thirty years were not as significant as the last three simply because we have no miracles to measure Him by. However, I think those first thirty years are the reason He lived like He did the last three.
I would like to suggest that Jesus spent those formative thirty years becoming sure in His Father’s love.
And so we find Jesus at the age of thirty on the shores of the Jordan River where He meets John the Baptist and is submerged beneath the water. The heavens open, a dove descends, and a voice like thunder rumbles, “This is My Son, whom I love; with Him I am well pleased” (Matt. 3:17).
And the question has to be asked. Why was the Father pleased? What had Jesus done?
And that’s just it—we don’t know. But whatever it was, it sure blessed the Father.
I would like to suggest that Jesus spent those formative thirty years becoming sure in His Father’s love. Those first thirty years were spent becoming sure in the pleasure of His Father.
For 30 years Jesus discovered His Father’s nature, and then discovered more of His Father’s nature, and then discovered more of His Father’s nature. For 360 months Jesus knew His Father’s love, and then knew more of His love, and more of His love. For 1,560 weeks Jesus grew in wisdom and favor until the absolute goodness of His Father was so deeply interwoven into His heart that it was the only reality He knew. For 10,950 days Jesus grew surer, and surer in His Father’s always-good love until He only knew His Father’s pleasure.
And then, after all that, in the fullness of time, Jesus gets an “attaboy,” a “Well-pleased.”
Jesus got a “well pleased” before He did anything! He got a “well pleased” before He turned water into wine before He walked on water before He made more food out of less. He got a “well pleased” before He healed the blind eye, the deaf ear, the lame, or before He cleansed the leper. He got a “well pleased” before He cast out demons and set people free. He got a “well pleased” before He raised the dead.
He got a “well pleased” before He went into the wilderness, before He raised up world-changing disciples, before He went to the cross, before He rose, before He saved all of humanity and set us free from the slavery of need. He got a “well pleased” before He ascended and then descended in the form of the Holy Spirit to release us into a brand new, one-of-a-kind, intimate revelation of His perfect love.
“I am convinced that when we get to heaven and we get a ‘well pleased’ or ‘well done,’ it won’t be for how hard we tried, or even for what we did; it will be for how sure we became in our Father’s love. The doing will simply be the evidence that we believed He loved us.”
I believe all the beautiful works Jesus did over the last three years of His life were the evidence of the first thirty years of becoming sure in His Father’s always-good love, His Father’s pleasure.
And just before Jesus ascended to heaven, after the resurrection, He told us we would experience greater works than He did. And it wasn’t some hope for us, it was a promise. Jesus looked into the future and saw sons and daughters sure in the Fathers love, discovering His pleasure, and doing miracles that transform the world just like He did.
There is something astoundingly transformative about discovering the Fathers pleasure, His perfect love for us. For those who wish to make an impact on this world, it is the most important thing. Discovering our Fathers perfect love and good pleasure over us is what will empower us to give as Jesus gave.
“There is something astoundingly transformative about discovering the Fathers pleasure, His perfect love for us. For those who wish to make an impact on this world, it is the most important thing. Discovering our Fathers perfect love and good pleasure over us is what will empower us to give as Jesus gave.”
I am convinced our only responsibility on this earth is to grow surer in our Fathers good pleasure, His love. I am convinced that when we get to heaven and we get a “well pleased” or “well done,” it won’t be for how hard we tried, or even for what we did; it will be for how sure we became in our Father’s love. The doing will simply be the evidence that we believed He loved us.
I believe God loves us, He is pleased with us, and we are all learning to believe it, and live surer each day, prone to love. And this is what will change the world.