“These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off were assured of them, embraced them and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.” Hebrews 11:13
The other day I was talking with a friend about a loved one who had died of a serious illness. This friend commented it was better to die “in faith”, believing in healing even though it didn’t appear, than to die in unbelief. His comment didn’t set too well with me at the time, and I realized later I have come to measure the validity – the reliability – of the thing for which I’m believing by whether or not it comes to pass. That’s a really good test for the prophetic, but perhaps not too appropriate for the promised.
The Lord has been dealing with me lately about thinking more generationally. You know, the whole “no man (or woman) is an island” concept. As a woman who has chosen a career other than motherhood – a career out there in what used to be a man’s world – I’m very much aware of entering into the labors of the women who went before me. The Rosie Rivets and others who took the hard knocks so I could be accepted as an equal, despite my gender. Those women believed in equality in the workplace and paid the price for it, even though they never enjoyed it themselves. Years later I, who have paid nothing, do.
And most certainly, spiritually speaking, I have entered into the labors of every preacher and teacher from Martin Luther to Jack Hayford. “The just shall live by faith.” Exclamation point. But what labors of mine will those who follow enter?
I feel a little like the Israelites standing on the near side of Jordan, seeing the entire land before them, all the way from the Mediterranean to the Euphrates River. It extends beyond the horizon to the north. I see it all, all that the man Christ Jesus, the Son of God, purchased on that tree. It has yet to be fully claimed in my life personally or in the church as a whole. But mile by mile, generation by generation, we are claiming the promises. We’ve come a long way since Brother Luther nailed his proclamation to the door. But we have a long way yet to go.
Lord, train my hands for war and my fingers for battle! (Psalm 144:1). Show me how to take my portion and perhaps a little more for someone else. Let me leave a legacy of received promises to encourage those who will follow. And if I come up short of a promise, for whatever reason, give me the courage to still embrace it, confess it, and proclaim it.
Every time one, just one, of us chooses to believe, we create an atmosphere that makes it easier for our brothers and sisters, not to mention the lost, to believe also. We clear a path for those who will come after.
Among the most plaintive words the Lord lamented while he endured life in the flesh were these, “Oh faithless and perverse generation! How long will I suffer you?”
Not long, Lord. Not long.