My Dear Shepherds,
Achan and I go way back.
He was the Israelite described in Joshua 7 who stole the “devoted things” after Jericho fell. Everything and everyone in that city, save only Rahab and her family, were to be irrevocably given over to the LORD. But Achan took a beautiful Babylonian robe, some silver and gold, and buried the loot in his tent.
Then, when the Israelite army attacked the small town of Ai, they were routed. Thirty-six Israelites were killed. God’s people were thrown into turmoil and Joshua was utterly confounded. God conducted a kind of national line-up till Achan was fingered for the crime and was executed along with his family in the Valley of Achor (Trouble).
In 1998 I arrived at a deeply damaged congregation. I’ll spare you the details, but they were defeated and demoralized. So much had gone wrong that I wondered if there was some kind of deep-set sin in the congregation, something spiritually toxic buried under the carpet.
Six months into that first year I decided to preach a series of sermons from Joshua. It was a logical text for a new season in a church, but my secret purpose was to get to Joshua 7, to hold up the story of Achan as a mirror to our congregation. As that Sunday approached, I felt this sermon would be pivotal. If there was some crippling sin under the carpet, it was the time for repentance and cleansing.
I did something I’d never done before and never did again. I stayed at the church that whole Saturday night, praying deep into the night that God would convict of sin if it was there, and bring grace and peace to us going forward. So, there I sat, well past midnight, bowed in the dim light of that silent sanctuary, praying my heart out.
As God is prone to do, he turned the light on me. Could there be anything in me that would stymie the Lord’s blessing on this church I’d come to shepherd? I knew right away it was about a grudge I’d carted with me from my previous church, especially against one person.
That person didn’t even know we had an issue. He wasn’t an enemy. Along with a few others, he just never seemed to trust me. It had gotten under my skin and was buried out of sight. That night I told the Lord I’d make a call to ask for forgiveness, but the fellow didn’t even know we had a problem. God pointed me instead to Luke 6 and told me, “Whenever you think of this brother, bless and pray for him.” So I did and soon my under-the-carpet, grudging obsession was healed.
My sermon that Sunday was strong and convicting, but also grace-filled. At the end, “with every head bowed, every eye closed,” I asked if anyone needed to repent. There were no hands raised and I took that as truth and God’s answer. If there had ever been anything under the rug, it had been given up to the Savior.
I know that what I’d buried wasn’t in the same category as Achan’s looting of God’s holy possessions. But I also know that even as sordid and paltry a sacrifice as a grudge must be offered to God, to be blood-covered and burned on his altar. To hold and hide resentment was to jeopardize God’s blessing on me and my church family. Jesus stood in for me that night, as he always does. He not only forgives sins like my grudge, he also blesses us with the grace-oriented mind of Christ.
Be ye glad!
