Max Lucado - No Wonder They Call Him the Savior -: Discover Hope in the Unlikeliest Place?Upon the Cross

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A warm thank you to:

Dr. Tom Olbrichtfor showing me what matters.

Dr. Carl Brecheenfor seeds planted in a hungry heart.

Jim Hackneyfor your insights into our Masters sufferings.

Janine, Sue, Doris, and Paulfor your typing and encouragement.

Bob and Elsie Forcumor your partnership in the gospel.

Randy Mayeux and Jim Woodrooffor your constructive comments and brotherly support.

Liz Heaneyfor your keen editorial skills and creativity.

Multnomah Press, the original publisher of this bookthanks for taking a chance on a young author.

And most of all to Jesus Christplease accept this offering of gratitude.

The Brazilians taught me the beauty of a blessing. Here is a scene repeated in Brazil thousands of times daily... Its early morning. Time for young Marcos to leave for school. As he gathers his books and heads for the door, he pauses by his fathers chair. He searches his fathers face. Ben o, Pai? Marcos asks. (Blessing, Father? )

The father raises his hand. Deus te aben oe, meu filho, he assures. (God bless you, my son. )

Marcos smiles and hurries out the door.

This scene came to mind as I thought about the rerelease of No Wonder They Call Him the Savior. I wrote this book in Brazil. My years in Rio de Janeiro gave birth to many of these thoughts. The church we served was young (so were we) and hungry for the cross (we were too). Many of my messages centered around the Savior.

May God bless you as you read them. Just as the Brazilian children seek blessings from their fathers, so may you seek his. Hell give it, you know. He always has. Thats why we call him Father.

MAX LUCADO

I just want to know what counts. Deep Irish brogue. Dark, deep eyes. The statement was sincere. Dont talk to me of religion, Ive been down that road. And please, stay off theology. I have a degree in that. Get to the heart of it, okay? I want to know what counts.

His name was Ian. He was a student at a Canadian university where I was visiting. Through a series of events he found out I was a Christian and I found out he wanted to be but was disenchanted.

I grew up in the church, he explained. I wanted to go into the ministry. I took all the courses, the theology, the languages, the exegesis. But I quit. Something just didnt click.

Its in there somewhere, he spoke with earnestness. At least I think it is.

I looked up from my coffee as he began to stir his. Then he summarized his frustration with one question.

What really matters? What counts? Tell me. Skip the periphery. Go to the essence. Tell me the part that matters.

The part that matters.

I looked at Ian for a long time. The question hung in the air. What should I have said? What could I have said? I could have told him about church. I couldve given him a doctrinal answer or read him something classic like the Twenty-third Psalm, The LORD is my shepherd... But that all seemed too small. Maybe some thoughts on sexuality or prayer or the Golden Rule. No, Ian wanted the treasurehe wanted the meat.

Stop and empathize for a second. Can you hear his question? Can you taste his frustration? Dont give me religion, he was saying. Give me what matters.

What does matter?

In your Bible of over a thousand pages, what matters? Among all the dos and donts and shoulds and shouldnts, what is essential? What is indispensable? The Old Testament? The New? Grace? Baptism?

What would you have said to Ian? Would you have spoken on the evil of the world or maybe the eminence of heaven? Would you have quoted John 3:16 or Acts 2:38 or maybe read 1 Corinthians 13?

What really matters?

Youve probably wrestled with this question. Maybe youve gone through the acts of religion and faith and yet found yourself more often than not at a dry well. Prayers seem empty. Goals seem unthinkable. Christianity becomes a warped record full of highs and lows and off-key notes.

Is this all there is? Sunday attendance. Pretty songs. Faithful tithings. Golden crosses. Three-piece suits. Big choirs. Leather Bibles. It is nice and all, but... where is the heart of it?

I stirred my coffee. Ian stirred his. I had no answer. All my verses so obediently memorized seemed inappropriate. All my canned responses seemed timid.

Yet now, years later, I know what I would share with him.

Think about these words from Paul in 1 Corinthians, chapter 15.

For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received, that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures.

First importance he says.

Read on:

That he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve.