Humility and gratitude are not virtues that we have to clinch our fists to create. Just stop a minute and look around. What do you have that you have not received?
I love this question. I love the Apostle Paul for asking it in 1 Corinthians 4:7. And I love how it levels me, puts me down, shuts my mouth. It’s one of those power tweets in the Bible that doesn’t let you walk away the same person.
What do you have that you have not received?
Stop, ask, think.
Be bewildered by the grace of Jesus.
A Song of Ascents
Woe to me, that I sojourn in Meshech, that I dwell among the tents of Kedar! (Psalms 120:5)
The first “Song of Ascents” tells us Israel is in exile.
Glance through the surrounding pages to see this same superscript is repeated. In fact, Psalms 120–134 are all introduced “A Song of Ascents.” Understood in its context, this refers to Israel’s “coming up” out of Babylonian captivity. As each psalm shows us a little more we begin to see the journey from exile to Jerusalem.
Psalm 121 reminds us that the Lord is our keeper, he’ll keep our going out and coming in (verse 8). Psalm 122 directs us to a restored Jerusalem as our hope and prayer (verse 5). And a “restored Jerusalem” is a Jerusalem under the kingship of Messiah (verse 6). Then Psalm 123 defines our hope — “our eyes look to the Lord our God.” (verse 2). The Lord
alone is our salvation. And Psalm 124 assures us of this by recounting Israel’s deliverance from Egypt (verses 1–5). Psalm 125 interjects a vision of Jerusalem once more. Mount Zion (Jerusalem) is the picture of one who trusts in the Lord. This person, like Jerusalem, will not be moved but abides forever. Psalm 126 longs for this reality, “Restore our fortunes, O Lord!” (verse 4).
But wait. Right now we’re in Meschech. Reading Psalm 120 puts us surrounded by the tents of Kedar. Where they hate peace.
And as it was with the psalmist so it is with us, the readers. “We mourn in lonely exile here.” But it’s not lonely because the Son of God has come. He came and lived and suffered and died and was buried, then raised and ascended and enthroned. That’s when he sent the Spirit, the Helper, who indwells us now as a guarantee and validates our sonship by his witness (John 14:15–17; Ephesians 1:14; Romans 8:16).
So we’re not lonely, but we are waiting.
Jesus said he’d come back (John 14:3) — we’ve not yet seen his face. Paul said our citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20) — do you read the paper here?
Then Peter gives us (yes, all Christians) a helpful phrase: “elect exiles” (1 Peter 1:1, 17). That’s what we are. We’re exiles. We’re waiting.
And waiting is hard to do. We get the sorrowful part in 2 Corinthians 6:10. It is an age of groaning (Romans 8:23). It feels a lot like Meschech.
________
A Song of Ascents. Of Solomon
Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord . . . (Psalm 127:3)
So Israel is in exile, but there is hope. Our eyes look to the Lord our God, till he has mercy upon us (Psalm 123:2). These are the “Songs of Ascents” after all. Israel is coming up out of her captivity. We are headed to a restored Jerusalem.
From exile to a restored Jerusalem. We’ve seen this idea by the time we come to Psalm 127 and now it get’s a little clearer. Exactly how is this movement going to happen? How will we go from here to there?
Let’s talk about children.
This moving from here to there is only going to happen if the Lord himself does it. All our waiting is vain unless he shows up. And children are a heritage from the Lord. The sudden shift to children is no accident. The psalmist is refining our hope. The restored Jerusalem and the Lord‘s work are associated with the blessing of children.
But it’s not just any children. Not at this point in the story, not in this “drama of the Son.” Since Genesis 3:15 we’ve been looking for one born of a woman. Then for the offspring of Abraham (Genesis 12:3). Then for the descendent of David, the Son whose kingdom will be established forever (2 Samuel 7:13). We’re looking for this Son. He’s the locus of our hope.
The superscript is another step to help us see this. This psalm in the Songs of Ascents has an additional line. “A Song of Ascents. Of Solomon.” Solomon? Yes. A son of David. The psalmist wants us to know that all our waiting is targeted on this Son. So the line about Solomon makes us think “David’s son” and, perhaps, it also means to put Solomon in the same place as us. Maybe he knows (like we find out in 1 Kings) that he’s not the promised one.
We begin to hear the message: Solomon has come and gone . . . and we’re still looking for the Son.
And while we, after the Nativity, are not so much looking for the Son, we are looking to him. Jerusalem is not yet new and we know the only way it will be is by this One.
________
A Song of Ascents
There I will make a horn to sprout for David; I have prepared a lamp for my anointed. (Psalm 132:17)
Psalm 132 is the longest and clearest of the Songs of Ascents. As we’ve seen in the earlier psalms, we are coming up out of exile in hopes of a restored Jerusalem. Psalm 132 tells us why this Jerusalem is so special: it is the place of God’s dwelling and the throne of his anointed.
Two concepts come together in this city: the Lord‘s presence (the ark) and the Lord‘s reign (Davidic kingship). This is what makes it the zip code of our dreams. These two things. The place where God dwells. Where his presence is known. Where his nearness is felt. And the domain of his power. The execution of his authority. The government of his righteousness.
The psalmist is looking for this place. He wants to go there. Then in the fullness of time, in a person, God sends it all here. The presence and kingship come in a baby. A horn sprouts for David. Jesus is God with us (Matthew 1:22–23). And Jesus is the King (Matthew 2:5–6) — both of Israel and the nations (Matthew 2:11).
Don’t miss it, though. Psalm 132 isn’t really fulfilled in the Gospels. It’s more like a bullet straight to Revelation 21. The picture here is post-Golgotha. This horn of David will see his enemies clothed in shame (Psalm 132:18). He won’t be wearing a crown of thorns then.
And I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb [the descendant of David]. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb . (Revelation 21:22–23; 22:16)
No longer will there by anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. (Revelation 21:3)
Here is the vision of ultimate Christmas merriment.
We know that Jesus has come and that he will come again. Christmas is the time to celebrate his birth and long for his return.
Originally posted at Desiring God.
1 Kings 18 moves me. It’s almost like your there on Mount Carmel, watching this whole thing take place. And most of the time you spend watching the showdown isn’t of the Lord‘s great answer to Elijah. The fire from heaven, the offering consumed, the people on their faces — this didn’t take that long. It wasn’t dragged out. It was short and explosive.
Most of your time is spent watching these prophets of Baal. These poor prophets of Baal. It is a sad sight. These guys are mutilating their bodies just to get a peep from their god.
Hours go by.
Hours.
And there’s nothing. Not a word. . . .
And they cried aloud and cut themselves after their custom with swords and lances, until the blood gushed out upon them. And as midday passed, they raved on until the time of the offering of the oblation, but there was no voice. No one answered; no one paid attention. (1 Kings 18:28–29)
450 prophets of Baal, weeping and pleading, wounds all over their bodies, blood gushing out, exhausted and limping around an altar, hoping for Baal to show himself. Could it ever get any more gruesome that this? Imagine it. Seriously. Could there ever be a scene more horrible than this?
Yes.
The only scene more gruesome than a crowd of people limping around an altar, wounded all over their body with blood gushing out, begging to see a god who doesn’t exist is this: the true God of the universe hanging on a cross, wounded all over his body with blood gushing out, showing his love to a people who don’t care.
The prophets of Baal begged their god, “Answer us!” “Say something!” “At least a gesture!” “Please, anything!”
And the true God showed his love for us in that while we were sinners, Christ died for us. We didn’t ask him for that. We were sinners who didn’t care anything about God, we worshipped ourselves, we were dead in our sins. And it was precisely then that God showed himself. It was while we were still weak, at the right time, that Christ died for the ungodly.
Praise him.
[This post is adapted from an earlier version at the Desiring God blog]
Psalms 23:1-2,
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.”
The beginning of Psalm 23 sounds a lot different from the beginning of Psalm 22.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1)
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want” (Psalm 23:1)
Both are psalms of David placed beside each other with a purpose. We are struck in Psalm 22 with a cry of desperation. We are soothed in Psalm 23 with a declaration of the Lord‘s sufficiency. As the reader, we are supposed to feel this contrast. We are supposed to read them together, walking with the voice of each verse, being led to a confidence in the Lord that declares “I shall not want.”
So there is forsakenness in Psalm 22. It’s real. David has written, but the speaker is the Afflicted One — the one who is mocked in his suffering, the one who is surrounded by dogs (or Gentile soliders), the one whose hands and feet are pierced, whose garments are divided and for which lots are cast. This is Jesus on the cross (Matthew 27:35, 39, 46; John 19:23-24).
Psalm 22 gives us the voice of Messiah in his affliction. We read him and hear his prayers, almost like a proto-Gethsemane. And then David himself steps in to command our praise in Psalm 22:23. The Lord has heard the Afflicted One’s cry (v. 24). More than that, David tells us, “The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied; those who seek him shall praise the Lord!” (v. 26). David is now exulting in verse 27 — “All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations shall worship before you.”
From forsaken (22:1) to heard (22:24) to satisfied (v. 26) to worshiped by all the families of the nations (22:27). This is where Psalm 22 takes us. Now how did this happen? Here is where Psalm 23 comes in (and Psalm 24 soon after).
We know that Jesus was not ultimately forsaken. There’s an empty tomb to prove it. Even though he walked through the valley of the shadow of death, he was not left alone. He was not abandoned. In fact, on the third day he was raised. He was raised and declared to be the Son of God, given a name that is above every name. The Lord was his shepherd. He didn’t lack. That’s what the resurrection is saying.
And this is why we love Psalm 23. This is not a mere poem that’s appropriately recited at graveside services. This is the Messianic hope in God’s utter faithfulness, even through the shadows of death. The Lord is our shepherd and he never forsakes us. Never.
This is a confidence in the resurrection rooted in Jesus’ own victory over death. As the Father raised him, he will raise us, too (1 Corinthians 15:23). Because we are united to Jesus, the same shepherding grace exemplified in his victory is the same shepherding grace that will be exemplified in ours.
Read the original post at FighterVerses.com.
2 Samuel 10:12 —
Be of good courage, and let us be courageous for our people, and for the cities of our God, and may the Lord do what seems good to him.
Part of the Lord‘s covenant with David about Messiah included rest from all his enemies (2 Samuel 7:11). The promise for a Son who would be King forever came with a vision of dominion and peace. We even see a foretaste of the Lord‘s faithfulness to the promise in David’s military victories in 2 Samuel 8. This is a continuation of the promise that links the Davidic kingship back to Numbers 24:17-20.
So when Joab makes this awesome declaration in 2 Samuel 10:12 we should view it to be in this same line of hope. Joab can say what he says because he know what seems good to the Lord. It is good to the Lord to be faithful to his promises — to sustain the house of David and bring the promised Son of David to be born many years later in the City of David. God’s faithfulness to this promise is God’s faithfulness to the radiance of his own glory, for this promise becomes the locus of the revelation of his person (John 1:1-5, 14-18; Colossians 1:15-20; 2:9; Hebrews 1:1-3)
In other words, Joab can say what he says because of Jesus. And because of Jesus, we can say the same thing: let the Lord do what seems good to him!
Reading theology proper has a way of exposing our deficiencies in personal holiness.
I’ve been working my way through Scott Oliphint’s God With Us. It’s my favorite kind of book: all about God and thoroughly Christological (perfect for Advent reading). I love the doctrine of God’s aseity. I love how it blows our mental capacities, how we realize that we’re just standing on the seashore, that the ocean of the knowledge of God is only wetting our feet. God is greater than that which we can imagine. And then bigger than what we can’t imagine him to be.
It is so precious to feel his bigness, to be swallowed up by it, to close your eyes and weave together some special effects in your mind of what it looks like to be engulfed by the mystery of his fellowship, to be drawn into his communion, to consider the miracle of how we can know anything true about him.
And being immersed in this vastness affects how we think about personal holiness — namely, we realize the disparity between God and ourselves. We are more enthralled by this God to Whom (and by Whom) we have been reconciled. Little thoughts that may have gone unchecked are now rotten. There is an increasing impatience that the finished work of Jesus be more prevalent in the moments of our day. We want our union with Jesus to make more of a difference.
It’s an Isaiah 6 sort of thing. Not that we’re trying to merit a relationship. A God like that won’t be impressed with our unclean lips. We see him more clearly, we see ourselves in his light, and we’re stunned by the death and resurrection of Jesus all over again.
Since 1863, on the fourth Thursday of November, families and friends in the United States have gathered to commemorate an old tradition linked back to the early European settlers.
You know the story: The pilgrims and Native Americans came together for a happy feast to celebrate the harvest and forge new friendships. A few hundred years later, this event became a legislated holiday and got Norman Rockwelled into the fabric of American life. We call it Thanksgiving.
It’s interesting that we name a national holiday after an emotion — a very good emotion. In fact, an emotion for which the apostle Paul aimed his ministry. He tells it like this in 2 Corinthians 4:15:
It is all for your sake, so that as grace extends to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God.
“It is all for your sake.” What’s he talking about? In short, “it” refers to Paul’s gospel proclamation along with its accompanying ethos of suffering and persevering faith (2 Corinthians 4:13–14). Or, said a little longer, “it” refers to Paul’s gospel proclamation flowing from an ethos in continuity with the Old Testament writer of Psalm 116 — an ethos that perseveres in the midst of affliction by faith in the resurrection.
This is Paul’s character. This is how he does it: afflicted, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed (2 Corinthians 4:8–9). He went about as a missionary, taking the gospel from one city to the next, carrying in his body the death of Jesus, looking to the eternal weight of glory. And he did it for our sake.
He did it for our sake so that as the gospel continues to advance among all peoples, it mayincrease thanksgiving, to the glory of God. As grace extends to more and more people, it makes more and more people grateful. And this whole act of extending grace and responding in gratitude glorifies God.
And it’s a particular kind of gratitude. There is nothing generic about it. It is thanksgiving for the death and resurrection of Jesus, the Son of God incarnate, who came to save his people from their sins. This is the kind of thanksgiving that the apostle is aiming for. The kind that no holiday can manufacture.
While we do have some writings from the early pilgrims, we don’t really know the full details of the “thankfulness” present when the original attendees huddled around that now-famous meal. Were their hearts inclined to God in some vague sense? Did they call him Providence or Jesus? Were they just glad to have some food? We don’t know, and for our purposes it doesn’t really matter.
But what does matter is how we will huddle around our meal today.
Here’s a plea that we look along the beams of delicious turkey and good football to see Jesus, crucified for us, dead and buried for us, raised for us on the third day. For his grace has been extended to us. We’ve heard the good news. Paul (or one of the apostles) told someone who told someone who told someone. And eventually one of these “someones” told us. This grace has extended to “more and more people.” It has extended to you and me.
So in the midst of our many thanksgivings, may we be mainly thankful for that — for Jesus and all that he is for us. And in so doing, may we fulfill Paul’s goal, the increase of thanksgiving, to the glory of God.
(Originally published at Desiring God)
C. S. Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia, on Jill’s thirst and search for water:
The birds had ceased singing and there was perfect silence except for one small, persistent sound, which seemed to come from a good distance away. She listened carefully, and felt almost sure it was the sound of running water.
Jill got up and looked round her very carefully. There was no sign of the lion; but there were so many trees about that it might easily be quite close without her seeing it. . . . But her thirst was very bad now, and she plucked up her courage to go and look for that running water. . . .
The wood was so still that it was not difficult to decide where the sound was coming from. It grew clearer every moment and, sooner than she expected, she came to an open glade and saw the stream, bright as glass, running across the turf a stone’s throw away from her. But although the sight of water made her feel ten times thirstier than before, she didn’t rush forward to drink. She stood as still as if she had been turned to stone, with her mouth wide open. And she had a very good reason: Just on this side of the stream lay the Lion. . . .
How long this lasted, she could not be sure; it seemed like hours. And the thirst became so bad that she almost felt she would not mind being eaten by the lion if only she could be sure of getting a mouthful of water first.
“If you’re thirsty, you may drink.” . . .
For a second she stared here and there, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again,
“If you are thirsty, come and drink.” . . .
It was deeper, wilder, and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. . . .
“Are you thirsty?” said the Lion.
“I’m dying of thirst,” said Jill.
“Then drink,” said the Lion.
“May I — could I — would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. . . . The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic. . . .
“Do you eat girls?” she asked fearfully.
“I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn’t say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
“I daren’t come and drink,” said Jill.
“Then you will die of thirst,” said the Lion.
“Oh dear!” said Jill, coming another step nearer. “I suppose I must go and look for another stream then.”
“There is no other stream,” said the Lion.
The Silver Chair, (New York: Harper Collins, 1953), Kindle Edition, locations 219-238.
(See the original post at Desiring God)
Psalm 125:1-2 —
Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion,
which cannot be moved, but abides forever.
As the mountains surround Jerusalem,
so the Lord surrounds his people,
from this time forth and forevermore.
Calvin on the meaning of this psalm,
"Although the world is subject to so many and so sudden changes as almost to put on a new face every moment, and although the faithful are mingled with and placed in the same external condition as others, yet their safety continues steadfast under the invincible protection of God." (Commentary on the Book of Psalms, vol. V, 90.)
Calvin is right. You could stop reading now and be good to go. But there is more here. If we were to flip through the surrounding pages we see that the superscript in Psalm 125 is repeated. In fact, Psalms 120–134 are all "Songs of Ascents." This refers to Israel’s "coming up" out of Babylonian captivity and sets the theme as Israel’s return from exile to Jerusalem. Each psalm shows us a little more.
Psalm 120 gives the exilic cry, "Woe is me, that I sojourn in Meschech, that I dwell among the tends of Kedar!" (v. 5). Then Psalm 121 reminds us that the Lord is our keeper, he’ll keep our going out and coming in (v. 8). Psalm 122 directs us to a restored Jerusalem as our hope and prayer (v. 5). This is to say, a Jerusalem under the kingship of Messiah (v. 6). Then Psalm 123 refines our hope — "our eyes look to the Lord our God." (v. 2). The Lord alone is our salvation. And Psalm 124 assures us of this by recounting Israel’s deliverance from Egypt (vv. 1-5). Psalm 125 interjects a vision of Jerusalem once more. Mount Zion (Jerusalem) is the picture of one who trusts in the Lord. This person, like Jerusalem, will not be moved but abides forever. Psalm 126 longs for this reality, "Restore our fortunes, O Lord!" (v. 4). Psalm 127 then configures our hope to the blessing of children. But it’s not just any children. This "Song of Ascents of Solomon" looks to the offspring of David. David’s son, Solomon, is still looking for the promised son. Psalm 128 envisions the flourishing of Jerusalem under the reign of David’s son. Psalm 129 is another snapshot of reality. Circumstances are bad for this exiled people, but the Lord is righteous and all who hate Zion will be put to shame (v. 5). Psalm 130 and 131 model what it means to have faith, calling for Israel to hope in the Lord (130:7; 131:3). Then Psalm 132 comes with the central message of the Songs of Ascents: The Lord made a promise to David to set one of his sons on the throne of Zion forever. This is one of the clearest pictures of Old Testament faith in Jesus. It’s followed in Psalm 133 with a picture of unity, a glorious implication of a reunited kingdom. And then Psalm 134 concludes that ordering our worship, "bless the Lord!"
Calvin is right, remember? The circumstances of this world are volatile and crazy, but God’s people live under his invincible protection. But why? How? This is what the surrounding Songs of Ascents help us understand. Our hope in an abiding, protected, eternal Jerusalem is a hope in Messiah and his reign. God’s promise to David about Jesus included a dwelling place of peace — no disturbance, no violence (2 Samuel 7:10-11). But you don’t get a Jerusalem like that without a king like Jesus. That’s what Psalm 125 is getting at.
Mount Zion cannot be shaken because another mountain was. Actually, it was a hill, called Golgotha. Years after this psalm was written, one Friday afternoon, at about the ninth hour, this promised King died. Jesus Christ died for us, bearing the wrath we deserved. He suffered in our place, making atonement for our sins. The only reason the Lord can "surround his people from this time forth and forevermore" is because on that hill he didn’t surround his Son.
But this King would live forever. Yes, and after his thorns and cross came his throne and crown. Jesus conquered our sin in his death. Then he conquered death by his resurrection. And it’s because of this — and this alone — that we can go about our days under the Lord‘s invincible protection. The tomb is empty, Jesus reigns, and we cannot be moved.
(See the original post at FighterVerses.com)
In the last post on Hebrews 10:19-25, we saw how Jesus answers our fear of judgment in verses 19-20. But there’s another way as well, seen in verse 21.
Hebrews 10:21 forms the second part of the basis or ground to the commands in verse 22-24. See the “since” again in verse 21. “Since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus and since we have a great priest over the house of God, for these two reasons, let us draw near…”
So this is important. On the same grounds as the death of Jesus, we see the prayers of Jesus, his intercession for us, is the reason that we can have a rich relationship with God.
Jesus Prays for Us
We talk a lot about the death of Jesus because it is the center of our faith. One aspect we probably haven’t talked as much about is the priestly role of Jesus. This priestly role of Jesus — his interceding role — is really a theme in the book of Hebrews. It’s mentioned several times. Hebrews 7:25 tells us, “Jesus is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.” Jesus is always praying for us. He never stops.
There are these two elements: the once-for-all sacrifice of Jesus and the never-stopping prayers of Jesus.
So what’s happening here? If the sacrifice is once for all, then why does Jesus have to keep praying? Well, the prayers of Jesus for us are not for our sin problem. Jesus died and took God’s wrath in our place. That’s finished. Nothing more needs to happen. This now all applies to us by faith — by our faith. Our faith, that’s what Jesus prays for. And the same one who accomplished the forgiveness of our sins is the same one who sustains the life of our faith, all flowing from the blood of his cross and victory of his resurrection.
Peter’s Story in Luke 22
I think the story of Peter in Luke 22 gives us a glimpse into what this looks like. Jesus had the last supper with the disciples and at some point they started arguing about who is the greatest of them. And I imagine Peter was in that conversation. Jesus had told the disciples that they’d all run away. And Peter speaks up and says “not me! I’m following Jesus all the way.”
Here’s when Jesus looks at Peter, “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail (Luke 22:31).
Basically, Jesus says, “Peter, you don’t get it. Satan came to me. He wants to destroy you. But it’s not going to happen because I am praying for you. I am praying that your faith would persevere and never fail.”
And we’re there with Peter. Our sins have been paid for by the blood of Jesus and we are thrown into this thing called life. Life is complicated. Life is hard. It’s not a bed of roses. There are temptations, there are sufferings, there are difficulties. And it’s in the thick of all this stuff that we are called to draw near to God.
Jesus Knows, and He Prays
We’re called to a relationship with God in the wildest and craziest and most hectic movements of our days. Draw near to God when work is frustrating again. Draw near to God when your heart is breaking over disobedient children. Draw near to God when you’re in that traffic jam and you’re already running late. Jesus doesn’t stop praying for you in those moments. He never stops praying.
In fact, Hebrews 4 tells us that he knows how we feel, he is a high priest who can sympathize with our weaknesses. He gets it. And he prays for us. So when things we hard, and your faith gets the weakest, remember Jesus is praying for you. He is praying for you.
We have the blood of Jesus abolishing our fear of judgment, the sin problem is no more. And we have the prayers of Jesus abolishing our fear of disappointment. In the most difficult circumstances, we are not left alone. Jesus is praying for us that our faith may not fail.
So we can have a rich relationship with God because Jesus is always praying for us.
If you trust in Jesus, there is nothing that can keep you from a rich, sweet, deep, glorious relationship with God. He is your Father and you are his child. Jesus has died for you and Jesus prays for you. So let us draw near.
