Pastoral Resources

A young fellow wanted to be a star journalist but lived in a small town (not much possibility). One day the dam upstream broke and the town was flooded. He got in a rowboat and headed out to look for a story. Found a lady sitting on her rooftop. He tied up the boat and told her what he was after. (They both watched as various items floated by).

She says, “Now there’s a story.” “No, that’s not a story.” Finally a hat floats by and then does a 180 degree turn, goes upstream a ways and does another 180 degree turn, etc.

The fellow says, “There’s a story.”

“Oh no, that’s not a story. “That’s my husband Hayford. He said that he was going to mow the lawn come hell or high water!”

I see the doctrine of hell as being probably the major stumbling block to the return of a de-Christianized world to Christ. The doctrine of eternal damnation, more than any other teaching of the church, produces atheism. If you examine closely all the big name atheists—like Feuerback and Nietzsche—it is this teaching more than any other that offended them and turned them away. Out of these famous atheists came all the movements that have caused so much hell here and now. If God is to practice what He preaches, then it makes it hard to believe in eternal damnation.

An Australian native preacher went to a little church in the bush to preach. It was dusk when he arrived, the place was without light, and he wondered what to do about it. Presently, he saw twinkling lights moving about through the bush. His congregation was arriving. Each person carried a hurricane lamp, and as they came in they placed their lamps upon a shelf around the chapel wall. Soon the whole place was flooded with light. Each had contributed light that had dispelled the darkness. Your share is needed in a world which desperately needs the illumination of the gospel.

"Deposit this in my name" means "deposit it in my account." Or "draw this in my name" means "draw this from my account." Isn't that what would happen if I were to write out a check for you? You would take it and present it to the bank. You would cash it. But the money would come out of my account because my name was signed on the check. You would have to believe that I had money in the bank and the money could become yours; otherwise you would never have presented the check to be cashed. Thus, through faith in my name, you would have made my account yours in the amount that I had made available to you.

That's exactly the transaction that takes place between God and man. He has the resources which we need. He is Life and Light. Especially do we need these, in a spiritual sense, for our spiritual existence. They are made available to us in the measure that we need them, because we ourselves are bankrupt. Our name isn't worth anything at the source of Life and Light, but the Lord Jesus Christ has available what we need.

An old Indian chief constantly spoke of the Lord Jesus and what He meant to him. "Why do you talk so much about Jesus?" asked a friend. The old chief did not reply, but slowly, deliberately gathered some sticks and bits of grass. He made a circle of them. In the circle he placed a caterpillar. Still silent, he struck a match and lit the sticks and grass. They watched the caterpillar. As the fire caught around the circle, the trapped caterpillar began to crawl around rapidly, seeking a way to escape.

As the fire advanced, the helpless caterpillar raised its head as high as it could. If the creature could have spoken, it would have said, "My help can only come from above."

Then the old chief stooped down. He extended his finger to the caterpillar which crawled up his finger to safety. "That," said the chief glowing, "was what the Lord Jesus did for me! I was lost in sin. My condition was hopeless. I was trapped. Then the Lord Jesus stooped down in love and mercy and He drew me out of the horrible pit of sin and shame. How can I help but love Him and talk of His wondrous love and care?"

Lord, help us to be right, for you know how hard it is to change.

The story is told of two men riding on a sleigh during a blizzard. Almost frozen and afraid that they would not reach warmth and safety, they came upon another traveler who had fallen in the snow and was near death from the terrific cold. One suggested that they stop and help. The other refused, saying that to stop might keep them from reaching safety. He insisted on going on.

However, the first man decided to stay and help. He set himself to the task of massaging the man's body to restore circulation. After long hard work, the man responded and was saved. The traveler's work in helping another helped keep himself warm and alive. The one who refused to stay and help was found some distance ahead, frozen to death.

How do we get it all done? There are so many things to do. Housework, homework, away-from-home-work, schoolwork and church work all demand our attention. We have got to bring home the bacon, put it on the table, get the kids to the ballgame, get everything done around the house, spend time together as a family and find time for the Lord all on the same day. This probably does not even begin to describe your busy schedule. In a world full of things that need to be done, where do we go to get some sense of what to do first? How do we determine our priorities? Most of us just jump right in and overload ourselves. As a result we begin to get very nervous. We say to ourselves, "Well, I will just have to try harder. After all, other people seem to be able to manage all this, so I should be able to do it too." The tension which results from this overload seems to correspond directly with the amount of hair on our heads. The more we overload ourselves, the more we pull out our hair in frustration. Finally we realize that we just cannot do it all. With this realization comes two choices: We can go crazy trying to keep up with the unhealthy pace we have set and be grouchy, mean, unsatisfied, unfulfilled and unhappy. Or, we can prioritize our lives to decide which activities are the most important and thus be happier, more fulfilled and much more satisfied with the direction we have taken.

Jesus told His disciples to be "wise as serpents" (Mat_10:16). How can we become wise? How do we go about the process of organizing and prioritizing our lives? Here are some suggestions that will help us get started.

Pray. This is the single most important thing that we do. We need guidance from the Lord, and He has promised to give it to us if we will only ask Him for it. We need to be as specific as we can, not for God's sake, but because it will help us to focus on exactly what we need to do and be asking for (Jam_1:5).

Seek wise counsel. Since we cannot know all that we need to know on every subject, we need to be searching for counsel from people we know who are wise.

Plan. Without an organized plan, even the noblest of ideas will fizzle out.

Prioritize. Once you have set your goals, decide which parts of your plan need your attention first. You may find that you need to streamline your objectives-maybe even cut something out (Mat_6:33).

Acts Now that you have prayerfully and thoughtfully designed your plan, take action. Watch as some of your worries seem to disappear and your hair begins to grow back.

Some helpful hints for a husband who wants to see his spouse experience God’s best are posted in Daddy’s Home, by Greg Johnson and Mike Yorkey.

1. A husband can

2. Back off (give her some space).

3. Be patient (don’t rush things).

4. Love her as you love your own body (that’s going to take some work).

5. Affirm her role in the family (whether she stays home or works outside the home, she’s got the most important job in the world).

6. Pray for her as you’ve never prayed before (because God hears our prayers).

7. Lower your expectations (you’re not going to see fireworks every night).

8. Do the little things (without expecting anything in return).

9. Show her she’s the most cherished woman on earth (she’ll probably faint the first time you do this).

10. Above all, persevere (you’re in this for the long haul).

11. A wise husband builds his mate’s self-esteem, realizing that the subtle words and actions of a sinful world constantly assault her sense of self-worth. He remains sensitive to her needs and is always ready to offer his support.

12. Encourage your wife verbally and demonstratively. Words of cheer and praise are high octane fuel that boost your wife’s emotional fuel tanks.

People have wondered if it is possible to minister to mental-emotional-behavioral problems without resorting to psychological models and methods or to psychological gimmicks and devices. The evidence suggests that it is. Three researchers found in a national survey conducted for the Joint Commission on Mental Illness and Health that “of those persons who actively sought help for personal problems, the vast majority contacted persons other than mental health professionals, and that generally they were more satisfied with the help received than were those who chose psychiatrists and psychologists.”

"Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ" (Gal 6:2). Concerning this passage, an eloquent preacher of the past wrote: "Many persons are caught with the most superficial contradiction. In the second verse it says, 'Bear ye one another's burdens'; and in the fifth it says, 'Every man shall bear his own burden.' As if both of them could not be true! As if a man carrying a burden for which he is especially responsible might not have it lightened somewhat by one who walked by his side and helped him! As if a little child carrying a heavily laden basket-which it was his task and business to carry, and which he had to take care of-might not be helped by another child walking by his side and taking hold of the handle. Might it not be said to one of them, 'This is your burden, and you must see to it'; and to the other, 'Help him with his burden.' To bear one another's burdens does not mean to take them from one another's shoulders, but to help each other to carry them."

On a road not far from my home are some trees that are slowly being destroyed by huge coils of ivy. The vines wind themselves like snakes around the trunk. At this point it is impossible to untwist these runners because they are so firmly embedded into the trees. They are literally strangling the life out of those helpless giants. But there was a day when the ivy was a small plant just seeking a little support in climbing. Had the trees resisted these tiny tendrils, they would not be in the state they are today. - Paul Van Gorder

Auto maker Henry Ford was vacationing in Ireland when he was asked to contribute toward a new orphanage. Ford wrote a check for two thousand pounds, which made headlines in the local newspaper. But the paper inadvertently reported the gift as twenty thousand pounds. The director of the orphanage apologized to Ford. “I’ll phone the editor straight away and tell him to correct the mistake,” he said.

“There’s no need for that,” Ford replied, and promptly wrote a check for the additional eighteen thousand pounds.

Henry Kissinger, in his book The Whitehouse Years, tells of a Harvard professor who had given an assignment and now was collecting the papers. He handed them back the next day and at the bottom of one was written, “Is this the best you can do?”

The student thought, “no,” and redid the paper. It was handed in again, and received the same comment. This went on ten times, till finally the student said, “Yes, this is the best I can do.”

The professor replied, “Fine, now I’ll read it.”

Following a brilliant student career at Cambridge, rejected several opportunities in order to go to the mission field. He prayed, “Here am I, Lord; send me to the ends of the earth, send me to the rough, the savage pagans of the wilderness; send me from all that is called comfort in earth; send me even to death itself if it be but in Thy service and in Thy kingdom.”

A recent news release told of a Charlotte, North Carolina, woman who set a world record while playing a convenience store video game. After standing in front of the game for fourteen hours and scoring an unprecedented seven and a half million points on the game called “Tapper,” the woman was pleased to see a TV crew arriving to record her efforts for posterity. She continued to play while the crew, alerted by her fiancé, prepared to shoot. However, she was appalled to see the video screen suddenly go lank. While setting up their lights, the camera team had accidentally unplugged the game, thus bringing her bid for ten million points to an untimely end! The effort to publicize her achievement became the agent of her ultimate failure.

A young woman named Anne Steele had encountered one trial and disappointment after another. Being a devout Christian, she continuously sought to praise God—even in sorrow. She was engaged to be married, and had looked forward to her wedding day with eagerness. The big day finally arrived and so did the guests—but the groom was missing. After about an hour of waiting, a messenger brought the tragic news that Anne’s fiancé had drowned. The sudden shock was almost too much for her, but after a while she regained her spiritual composure.

Later Anne Steele penned the song that is still found in many hymnbooks:

Father, whate’er of earthly bliss Thy sovereign will denies,

Accepted at Thy throne of grace, let this petition rise:

Give me a calm, a thankful heart, from every murmur free!

The blessings of Thy grace impart, and make me live to Thee.

- H.G.B.

I read this past week of a couple (let's call them Carl and Clara) whose twenty-five year marriage was a good one. Not the most idyllic, but good. They now had three grown children who loved them dearly. They were also blessed with sufficient financial security to allow them room to dream about a lakeside retirement home. They began looking.

A widower we'll call Ben was selling his place. They liked it a lot and returned home to talk and plan. Months passed. Last fall, right out of the blue, Clara told Carl she wanted a divorce. He went numb. After all these years, why? And how could she deceive him ... how could she have been nursing such a scheme while they were looking at a retirement home?

She said she hadn't been. Actually, this was a recent decision now that she had found another man. Who? Clara admitted it was Ben, the owner of the lake house, whom she inadvertently ran into several weeks after they had discussed the sale. They'd begun seeing each other. Since they were now "in love," there was no turning back. Not even the kids, who hated the idea, could dissuade their mother.

On the day she was to leave, Carl walked through the kitchen toward the garage. Realizing she would be gone when he returned, he hesitated, "Well, hon, I guess this is the last time—" His voice dissolved as he broke into sobs. She felt uneasy, hurriedly got her things together, and drove north to join Ben.

Less than two weeks after she moved in with Ben, her new lover, he was seized with a heart attack. He lingered a few hours...and then died.

Here in this world,

He bids us come;

there in the next,

He shall bid us welcome.

- John Donne

An interesting map is on display in the British Museum in London. It’s an old mariner’s chart, drawn in 1525, outlining the North American coastline and adjacent waters. The cartographer made some intriguing notations on areas of the map that represented regions not yet explored. He wrote: “Here be giants,” “Here be fiery scorpions,” and “Here be dragons.” Eventually, the map came into the possession of Sir John Franklin, a British explorer in the early 1800s. Scratching out the fearful inscriptions, he wrote these words across the map: “HERE IS GOD.”

From an old mariner’s chart, drawn in 1525, on display in the British Museum in London, outlining the North American coastline and adjacent waters. The cartographer made some intriguing notations on areas of the map that represented regions not yet explored. He wrote: “Here be giants,” “Here be fiery scorpions,” and “Here be dragons.” Eventually, the map came into the possession of Sir John Franklin, a British explorer in the early 1800s. Scratching out the fearful inscriptions, he wrote these words across the map: “HERE IS GOD.”

When the Spanish explorer Hernando Cortez landed at Vera Cruz, Mexico in 1519 he was intent on conquest. To assure the devotion of his men, Cortez set fire to his fleet of eleven ships! With no means of retreat Cortez’s army had only one direction to move, into the Mexican interior. Cortez understood the price of commitment—and he paid it.

Several years ago, in Long Beach, California, a fellow went into a fried chicken place and bought a couple of chicken dinners for himself and his date late one afternoon. The young woman at the counter inadvertently gave him the proceeds from the day—a whole bag of money (much of it cash) instead of fried chicken.

After driving to their picnic site, the two of them sat down to open the meal and enjoy some chicken together. They discovered a whole lot more than chicken—over $800! But he was unusual. He quickly put the money back in the bag. They got back into the car and drove all the way back. Mr. Clean got out, walked in, and became an instant hero. By then the manager was frantic.

The guy with the bag of money looked the manager in the eye and said, “I want you to know I came by to get a couple of chicken dinners and wound up with all this money. Here.” Well, the manager was thrilled to death. He said, “Oh, great, let me call the newspaper. I’m gonna have your picture put in the local newspaper. You’re the most honest man I’ve heard of.” To which they guy quickly responded, “Oh no, no, don’t do that!” Then he leaned closer and whispered, “You see, the woman I’m with is not my wife...she’s uh, somebody else’s wife.”

Heroes come in strange forms and unexpected places. It was 1960. I was in a graduate course in Islamic history, law, and theology at Brandeis University. Our primary text was in Arabic, the diary of a Muslin doctor in Damascus in the 11th century. My Arabic was less than adequate, so every class was traumatic. What began as a nightmare, though, ended as a priceless memory. It was not the course. It was the professor.

He was Semitics librarian at Harvard, a refugee from Hungary who had studied organ building under Albert Schweitzer, and an Islamic scholar of distinction. I was his chauffeur to and from the train station. I do not remember much about the Muslim doctor. I will never forget Joseph de Somogyi. Joseph de Somogyi was a devout Lutheran as well as a scholar. When Nazism began to permeate life in Hungary, he laid his open Hebrew Bible on his university desk. Other professors would ask: “Joseph, is that not Jewish?” “Yes,” he would reply. “It is the most Jewish of all things Jewish!” They would challenge his temerity and urge him to be more careful. His response: “I am a Christian. Aren’t you?”

One evening a policeman appeared at his door. He informed Joseph that he would return later with two Gestapo agents. His advice: “I would appreciate it if you would disappear.”

For some time Joseph lived in hiding with peasants in rural Hungary. His life work lay buried in scholarly manuscripts in an orchard in anticipation of a day when his country would again be free. Nazism passed, and he returned to his university post. Then the Soviet Union moved against Hungary. One hundred twenty-seven women and children sought safety in the basement of Joseph’s villa on the Danube. The target of the Soviet bombers was a munitions factory across the river. Joseph’s name soon appeared on the list of those to be arrested and shipped to Siberia.

A conference of Semitic scholars was scheduled in Vienna. Joseph applied for a visa to go. He was refused. After three more refusals he decided to visit personally the office of the individual responsible for all visas. The office was on the fourth floor. I will never forget my friend’s face as he looked across at me and said, “Dennis, I was so angry that I did not take the elevator. I took the stairs to cool off.”

At the second landing, he bumped into a former student of his. After a warm embrace, the student asked, “Doctor, what are you doing here? Can I help you?” Then Joseph learned that this former student’s fiancee was the personal secretary of the official he had come to see. The student took Joseph to the fourth floor, introduced him to his fiancee, and instructed her to grant the visa to his old professor. She paled and replied: “You know I can’t. His name is on the proscribed list.” At that, Joseph’s former student said with some emotion: Give the doctor a visa, or cancel our wedding plans.” The fiancee, shaken, arose, walked to the window, and stood for a long time. Then she returned to her desk and granted the visa.

When Doctor de Somogyi arrived in Vienna, he found a message from H.H. Rowley, the British Old Testament scholar. It said, “I do not have a position worthy of you, but we have a stipend that can keep you alive until something appropriate comes.” That stipend enabled him to survive until the positions at Harvard and Brandeis opened for him.

I will not forget Doctor de Somogyi’s look as he leaned across to face me more fully and asked: “Dennis, do you think it was an accident that I took the stairs that day instead of the elevator?”

Upon the plains of hesitation,

bleached the bones of countless millions

who, on the threshold of victory,

sat down to wait, and waiting they died.

The First Battle of Bull Run might not have been a smashing Confederate victory without the flowing curls of Rose Greenhow. On July 9, 1861 she hid a message in her lovely tresses; when she combed out her hair for Rebel officers, they learned that Union troops were about to march on Richmond. A second message contained the invaders’ strength and marching orders. Confederate General P.G.T. Beauregard later said that Greenhow “lived in a house within rifle range of the White House.” Her house became the heart of a Southern spy network, and at the height of her activities Greenhow directed more than 50 agents.

At a U.S. arsenal a few years ago, a large cannon lay, marked "Condemned." The attendant pointed out some indentations about the size of a pinhead which dotted the barrel in a dozen places. They did not appear to go deeper than a 32nd of an inch; and yet the weapon was condemned. There might be a weakness extending through the entire gun, so that in war the mighty engine capable of hurling half a ton of metal, a dozen miles and hitting a target with fine accuracy, might under the heat of battle and the strain of powder, burst into a thousand fragments. Some basic flaw may destroy our characters and ruin others, be we ever so perfect in other points.

Americans spend $50 million a year on subliminal message tapes designed to help them do everything from improve their self-image to stop smoking. But there’s so hidden message in the National Research Council’s verdict on such techniques. The Council’s report, released in September 1992, concludes that subliminal messages simply don’t work. They don’t deliver the life-transforming power they promise.

Two men were sent to check a rumor that iron lay beneath the surface of a certain piece of ground. One, a scientist and mineralogist, conscious of his own limitations, took along some instruments. The other, a buoyant, self-confident individual, said, "I believe what I can see; and what I can't see I won't believe." He walked rapidly over the field and said, "Iron? Nonsense! I see no iron; there is no iron here." And that is what he stated in his report. The other man did not trust his eye at all but looked at his instruments. The needle on one pointed to the fact that a rich deposit of iron did lie beneath the earth's surface. As he made his report he said, "My eye couldn't see it, but my magnet discerned it." As the eye cannot see minerals hidden in the earth, so it cannot see what is in the heart of God toward man. Man can look upon the crucified Christ and fail to see God's plan of redemption.

A man who hid for 32 years fearing punishment of pro-Nazi wartime activity says he used to cry when he heard happy voices outside, but dared not show himself even at his mother’s funeral. Janez Rus was a young shoemaker when he went into hiding at his sister’s farmhouse in June, 1945. He was found years later after she bought a large supply of bread in the nearby village of Zalna. “If I had not been discovered, I would have remained in hiding. So I am happy that this happened,” Rus told a reporter. Throughout those years he did nothing. He never left the house, and could only look down at the village in the valley.

.

I will believe that the white object I see is black if that should be the decision of the hierarchical church.

You can have a brighter child; it all depends on your expectations. Before you’re tempted to say, “Not true,” let me tell you about Harvard social psychologist Robert Rosenthal’s classic study. All the children in one San Francisco grade school were given a standard I.Q. test at the beginning of the school year. The teachers were told the test could predict which students could be expected to have a spurt of academic and intellectual functioning. The researchers then drew names out of a hat and told the teachers that these were the children who had displayed a high potential for improvement. Naturally, the teachers thought they had been selected because of their test performance and began treating these children as special children.

And the most amazing thing happened—the spurters, spurted! Overall, the “late blooming” kids averaged four more I.Q. points on the second test that the other group of students. However, the gains were most dramatic in the lowest grades. First graders whose teachers expected them to advance intellectually jumped 27.4 points, and the second grade spurters increased on the average 16.5 points more than their peers. One little Latin-American child who had been classified as mentally retarded with an I.Q. of 61, scored 106 after his selection as a late bloomer.

Isn’t this impressive! It reminds me of what Eliza Doolittle says in My Fair Lady, “The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she is treated.” You see, how a child is treated has a lot to do with how that child sees herself and ultimately behaves. If a child is treated as a slow learner and you don’t expect much, the child shrugs her shoulders and says, “Why should I try, nobody thinks I can do it anyway!” And she gives up.

But if you look at that child as someone who has more potential than she will ever be able to develop, you will challenge that child, work with her through discouragement, and find ways to explain concepts so the child can understand. You won’t mind investing time in the child because you know your investment is going to pay off! And the result? It does!

So, what’s the message for parents? Just this: Every child benefits from someone who believes in him, and the younger the child, the more important it is to have high expectations. You may not have an Einstein, but your child has possibilities! Expect the best and chances are, that’s exactly what you’ll get.

A poor but devout Frenchman came to his spiritual advisor and said with a sorrowing heart: "I profess faith in God, but at times, against my will, I'm overwhelmed with doubts as I try to live a Christian life in this world. Surely, God must be displeased with me as I struggle to overcome them." The clergyman answered with much kindness, "The King of France has two castles in different areas and sends a commander to each of them. The castle of Mantleberry stands in a place remote from danger, far inland; but the castle of La Rochelle is on the coast, where it is liable to continued sieges. Now which of the two commanders, do you think, stands highest in the estimate of the King-the commander of La Rochelle, or he of Mantleberry?" "Doubtless," said the poor man, "the King values him the most who has the hardest task, and braves the greatest dangers." "You are right," replied his advisor, "And now apply this matter to your case and mine."

I was once conducting a rap session with high school teenagers. I told them that they could ask me any question on any subject, and I would try and answer it. Their questions were typical of ones I had received in similar sessions scores of times before. As the session drew to a close, one girl toward the back, who had not said anything, raised her hand. I nodded, and she said, “The Bible says God loves everybody. Then it says that God sends people to hell. How can a loving God do that?”

I gave her my answer, and she came back to me with arguments. I answered her arguments, and she answered my answers. The conversation quickly degenerated into an argument. I did not convince her, nor did she convince me. After a few more questions I dismissed the session. After the session I approached her and said, “I owe you an apology. I really should not have allowed our discussion to become so argumentative.” Then I asked, “May I share something with you?” She said, “Yes.” So I took her through a basic presentation of the gospel. When I got to Romans 3:23 and suggested that all of us were sinners she began to cry. It was then that this high school senior admitted she had been having an affair with a married man. The one thing she needed was forgiveness. When I finished the presentation of the gospel, she trusted Christ. The reason she did not believe in hell was because she was going there. In her heart she knew she had sinned. Her conscience condemned her, but rather than face the fact of her guilt, she simply denied any future judgment or future hell.

What do neo-Nazis, wife-beaters and Ku Klux Klan members have in common?

If you guessed “high, but misplaced self-esteem,” you’re right. Studies not suggest that too much self-esteem is worse than too little. That’s what three researchers found after 150 studies in psychology and criminology. their article, published in Psychological Review, states the societal pursuit of self-esteem may literally end up doing considerable harm.”

One of the authors of the study, Joseph Boden of the University of Virginia, says, “You’ve got a lot of people running around with seriously inflated egos who come crashing to earth all the time.” Their self-esteem must be attached to real concrete accomplishments and skills to be valid. The study found aggressive, violent and hostile people—such as neo-Nazis, wife-beaters and members of the Ku Klux Klan—”consistently express favorable views of themselves.”

The study suggests standard psychotherapy, which attempts to raise the self-esteem of violent people, may actually be harmful. “These people are often violent precisely because they already believe themselves to be superior beings,” the study concludes. “Perhaps it would be better to try instilling modesty and humility.” Hmmm, now that’s a thought.

Francis Patton (1843-1932, a former president of Princeton University, observed that whereas the high watermark of the Old Testament was Psalm 23:4, that of the New Testament was Philippians 1:23. David was willing to go, but wanting to stay, but Paul was willing to stay, but wanting to go.

Couples who live together before marriage have a nearly 80% higher divorce rate than those who did not, and they seem to have less regard for the marriage institution, according to a survey of Swedish women conducted by Cambridge’s National Bureau of Economic Research. Swedes were chosen because they tend to precede American social trends by 10 to 15 years, said David Bloom, an economics professor at Columbia University and a co-worker on the study. About 2 million of the U.S. couples who are living together are unwed—about 4% of the total. In Sweden 12% of couples are unwed.

It is hard to believe now, but the potato was once a highly unpopular food. When first introduced into England by Sir Walter Raleigh, newspapers printed editorials against it, ministers preached sermons against it, and the general public wouldn’t touch it. It was supposed to sterilize the soil in which it had been planted and cause all manner of strange illnesses—even death.

There were, however, a few brave men who did not believe all the propaganda being shouted against it. It was seen as an answer to famine among the poorer classes and as a healthful and beneficial food. Still, these few noblemen in England could not persuade their tenants to cultivate the potato. It was years before all the adverse publicity was overcome and the potato became popular.

A Frenchman named Parmentier took a different tack. He had been a prisoner of war in England when he first heard of the new plant. His fellow prisoners protested the outrage of having to eat potatoes. Parmentier, instead, thoughtfully inquired about the methods of cultivating and cooking the new food.

Upon his return to France, he procured an experimental farm from the Emperor, in which he planted potatoes. When it was time to dig them, at his own expense, he hired a few soldiers to patrol all sides of his famous potato patch during the daytime. Meanwhile he conducted distinguished guests through the fields, digging a few tubers here and there, which they devoured with evident relish.

At night, he began to withdraw the guards. A few days later one of the guards hastened to Parmentier with the sad news that peasants had broken into the potato patch at night, and dug up most of the crop.

Parmentier was overjoyed, much to the surprise of his informant, and exclaimed, “When the people will steal in order to procure potatoes, their popularity is assured.”

In his little book On Christian Truth, Harry Blamires suggests that we think of the human race aboard a hijacked jet-liner flying through time. “God himself directed its takeoff from the divine control-tower. The initiator of all evil, whom we call the Devil, managed to get a boarding pass.” When the plane reached its cruising altitude, the Devil produced his weapons, threatened the pilot, and took control of the aircraft and all its passengers. Thus the plane hopped on fearfully through history from airport to airport till “it was caught on the tarmac at Jerusalem, an outpost of the Roman empire, in the reign of Tiberius Caesar, where the Son of God offered himself as sole hostage in exchange for the passengers and crew.”

Once it was the blessing, now it is the Lord;

Once it was the feeling, now it is His Word;

Once His gifts I wanted, now the Giver own;

Once I sought for healing, now Himself alone.

Once ‘twas painful trying, now ‘tis perfect trust;

Once a half salvation, now the uttermost;

Once ‘twas ceaseless holding, now He holds me fast;

Once ‘twas constant drifting, now my anchor’s rest.

Once ‘twas busy planning, now ‘tis trustful prayer;

Once ‘twas anxious caring, now He has the care;

Once ‘twas what I wanted, now what Jesus says;

Once ‘twas constant asking, now ‘tis ceaseless praise.

Once it was my working, His it hence shall be;

Once I tried to use Him, now He uses me;

Once the power I wanted, now the Mighty One;

Once for self I labored, now for Him alone.

- A.B. Simpson

What hindereth thee more than thine affections not fully mortified to the will of God?

A young preacher frequently talked with a wise old farmer. One day the question under discussion was, "What is the greatest hindrance to spiritual growth and happiness?" The preacher said, "Surely it is failure to renounce our sinful self." "No," said the farmer, "the greatest hindrance is failure to renounce our righteous self."

1. There are times, however, when God would desire to answer our prayers, but is hindered by our own actions and attitudes, since He will only act in consistency with His own holy nature and loving wisdom. Some are listed below:

2. Sin in the heart: “If I regard iniquity in my heart, the LORD will not hear me” (text verse).

3. Unforgiving attitude: “When ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any” (Mark 11:25).

4. Carnal motive: “Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts” (James 4:d3).

5. Selfish family relations: “Likewise, ye husbands, dwell with them according to knowledge, giving honor unto the wife, as unto the weaker vessel, and as being heirs together of the grace of life; that your prayers be not hindered” (I Peter 3:7).

6. Unbelief: “But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering….For let not that man think that he shall receive any thing of the Lord” (James 1:6,7). HMM

Alila stood on the beach holding her tiny infant son close to her heart. Tears welled in her eyes as she began slowly walking toward the river’s edge. She stepped into the water, silently making her way out until she was waist deep, the water gently lapping at the sleeping baby’s feet. She stood there for a long time holding the child tightly as she stared out across the river. Then all of a sudden in one quick movement she threw the six month old baby to his watery death.

Native missionary M. V. Varghese often witnesses among the crowds who gather at the Ganges. It was he who came upon Alila that day kneeling in the sand crying uncontrollably and beating her breast. With compassion he knelt down next to her and asked her what was wrong.

Through he sobs she told him, “The problems in my home are too many and my sins are heavy on my heart, so I offered the best I have to the goddess Ganges, my first born son.”

Brother Varghese’s heart ached for the desperate woman. As she wept he gently began to tell her about the love of Jesus and that through Him her sins could be forgiven.

She looked at him strangely. “I have never heard that before,” she replied through her tears. “Why couldn’t you have come thirty minutes earlier? If you did, my child would not have had to die.”

Each year millions of people come to the holy Indian city of Hardwar to bathe in the River Ganges. These multitudes come believing this Hindu ritual will wash their sins away. For many people like Alila, missionaries are arriving too late, simply because there aren’t enough of these faithful brothers and sisters on the mission field.

All thy...billows are gone over me—Psalm 42:7.

They are His billows, whether they go over us

Hiding His face in smothering spray and foam,

Or, smooth and sparkling, spread a path before us,

And to our haven bear us safely home.

They are His billows, whether, for our succour,

He walks across them, stilling all our fear,

Or to our cry there comes nor aid nor answer,

And in the lonely silence none is near.

They are His billows, whether we are toiling

Through tempest-driven waves that never cease,

While deep to deep with clamor loud is calling,

Or at His word they hush themselves in peace.

They are His billows, whether He divides them,

Making us walk dry shod where seas had flowed,

Or lets tumultuous breakers surge about us

Rushing unchecked across our only road.

They are His billows, and He brings us through them;

So has He promised, so His love will do;

Keeping and leading, guiding and upholding,

To His sure harbor, He will bring us through.

- Annie Johnson

They are His billows, whether they go over us

Hiding His face in smothering spray and foam,

Or, smooth and sparkling, spread a path before us,

And to our haven bear us safely home.

They are His billows, whether, for our succour,

He walks across them, stilling all our fear,

Or to our cry there comes nor aid nor answer,

And in the lonely silence none is near.

They are His billows, whether we are toiling

Through tempest-driven waves that never cease,

While deep to deep with clamor loud is calling,

Or at His word they hush themselves in peace.

They are His billows, whether He divides them,

Making us walk dry shod where seas had flowed,

Or lets tumultuous breakers surge about us

Rushing unchecked across our only road.

They are His billows, and He brings us through them;

So has He promised, so His love will do;

Keeping and leading, guiding and upholding,

To His sure harbor, He will bring us through.

Single through no fault or choice of my own, I am unable to express my sexuality in the beauty and intimacy of Christian marriage, as God intended...To seek to do this outside of marriage is, by the clear teaching of Scripture, to sin against God and my own nature. I have no alternative but to live a life of voluntary celibacy...chaste not only in body, but in mind and spirit...I want to go on record as having proved that for those who are committed to do God’s will, His commands are His enablings.

The phone rang and I greeted a young pastor friend from Arlington, Virginia.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Studying,” I replied. “Nothing special.”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Yes, why?”

“Your father just trusted Christ this evening.”

“He what? You’ve got to be kidding!” I blurted out.

Such an inappropriate response grew out of long detours in our father-son journey. Ever since I received Christ as a boy my concern has been for the salvation of my family and loved ones. On repeated occasions I had broached the subject of the gospel with dad, but his response was less than excited.

My father has always been a very important person to me. Not that I approved of everything he said or did or that I imitated him consciously in any way. We weren’t really close friends, either. But he was important in my life because of the indirect impact he made upon me.

Dad was a military man. He had seen action around the world. During the periods when he was embroiled in battle, I would become very sensitive to his spiritual need. I and my family prayed for him, but at times I’m afraid my faith sputtered. His response was always the same: Son, don’t worry about me. I’ll work it out with God (as if God could be manipulated like a Pentagon official).

God brought a man into my life, a man with a passion for men. His name was Butch Hardman. One day before we knew each other Butch was boarding a plane in Detroit when a friend handed him a cassette tape.

“Ever hear Hendricks? Here’s a tape you should listen to.” On that tape I related my father’s spiritual need.

Butch listened and something about the anecdote reminded him of his own father with whom he had shared Christ shortly before he died. He began to pray for this unknown man, George Hendricks. Some months later Butch attended a pastors’ conference in Philadelphia where I was the speaker. He shook my hand afterward. That was the only time our paths crossed before a remarkable incident in Arlington.

Butch was driving the church bus down the street, having discharged all his passengers. He saw a man standing on the corner who reminded him uncannily of Howard Hendricks. Could it possibly be...? He backed up the bus, stopped, got off, and went over to the man.

“Are you by any chance Howard Hendricks’ father?”

It is easy to imagine the startled response. “Er-ah (I can envision my father’s critical once-over with his steely blue eyes) yeah—you a student of my son?”

“No, I’m not, but he sure has helped me. Got time for a cup of coffee?”

That encounter began a friendship, skillfully engineered by the Spirit of God. Butch undoubtedly sensed dad’s hesitancy when he discovered he had met a preacher. For a long time Butch did not invite him to attend his church. He simply suggested that dad drop by the office of coffee. Patiently he endured dad’s cigars and his endless repertoire of war stories. Before long he also learned that dad had been diagnosed as having a terminal throat cancer.

Months later Butch was at his bedside. “Mr. Hendricks, I’ll be leaving shortly for a Holy Land trip. Instead of my listening to you tonight, would you let me tell you a story?”

Butch had earned his hearing and he began simply to relate the interview of Jesus Christ with Nicodemus as recorded by the Apostle John. At the conclusion dad accepted Butch’s invitation to receive Jesus Christ as his own personal Savior. Then dad got up out of bed, stood, and saluted with a smile. “No I’m under a new Commander-in-Chief!” That night Butch called Dallas.

The last time I saw dad alive I could not believe he was the same man I had known. His frame was wasted, but his spirit was more virile than I had ever known.

In accordance with dad’s specific provision in his will, Butch Hardman conducted the crisp military funeral in Arlington cemetery where the gospel of Jesus Christ was presented to the small group of family and military attendants. As the guns saluted their final farewell, I knew God had vindicated forty-two years of prayer.

A man went to the doctor after weeks of symptoms. The doctor examined him carefully, then called the patient’s wife into his office “Your husband is suffering from a rare form of anemia. Without treatment, he’ll be dead in a few weeks. The good news is, it can be treated with proper nutrition.”

“You will need to get up early every morning and fix your husband a hot breakfast—pancakes, bacon and eggs, the works. He’ll need a home-cooked lunch every day, and then an old-fashioned meat-and-potato dinner every evening. It would be especially helpful if you could bake frequently. Cakes, pies, homemade bread—these are the things that will allow your husband to live.

“One more thing. His immune system is weak, so it’s important that your home be kept spotless at all times. Do you have any questions?” The wife had none.

“Do you want to break the news, or shall I?” asked the doctor.

“I will,” the wife replied.

She walked into the exam room. The husband, sensing the seriousness of his illness, asked her, “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “What’s going to happen to me?” he asked. With a sob, the wife blurted out, “The doctor says you’re gonna die!”

It is always painful to point out the inadequacies of spiritual heroes, but sometimes it reveals in vivid form some danger signs in our own lives. C. T. Studd was, by any standard of evaluation, a remarkable man. A brilliant athlete, a Cambridge scholar, and heir to a considerable fortune, he created a sensation in nineteenth-century England by dedicating his life and fortune to foreign missionary service. As one of the Cambridge Seven, he sailed to China in 1885 to serve his Lord. After ten difficult years, he returned, broken in health, to England. In 1900 he and his family sailed again, this time to India, where he served for six years before his health again suffered. But in 1912 he was off again, this time for Africa, to establish the Heart of Africa Mission in the Belgian Congo. He left his sick wife and four daughters in England, over her strong objections to his venture, and returned home only once, in 1916, before his death in 1931.

No one can doubt C. T. Studd’s zeal for his Lord. He lived by his own words, “We do need to be intense, and our intensity must ever increase.” That meant working eighteen-hour days, with no days off and no diverting activities. It was the Lord’s work he was doing, and no sacrifice was too great to make for Him. The lethargy of most Christians toward the lost enraged him, and he determined to live with single-minded excellence for Jesus Christ.

But tragically, Studd’s zeal consumed both him and those around him. It is impossible to justify his treatment of his wife, leaving her ill and living apart for eighteen years. His other relationships deteriorated as he made dictatorial demands on missionaries who came to serve under him. He even dismissed family members from the mission because he considered them less than totally committed, despite their sacrificial care of him in illness. The work was torn by doctrinal and personal controversies and fellow-workers were shocked by Studd’s attitude toward the African Christians. Tragically, his hard work and ill health caused him to turn to morphine for relief, and he finally became addicted to the drug. This was the final straw for the mission’s home committee and they felt compelled to remove Studd from the mission which he founded.

It is sad to point to the downfall of a dedicated man who accomplished much good. But it points to a fundamental issue. C. T. Studd was so intensely committed to a single aspect of God’s truth that his intensity became destructive. He saw excellence in terms of what he did and that led him to miss God’s will for the entire range of responsibilities God had given him. Christlikeness, true excellence, involves a balanced life and if a zeal for evangelism causes us to ignore our families or to become harsh and unloving with fellow-believers, excellence has been sacrificed to extremism. Studd’s downfall has lessons for the business executive single-mindedly developing professional skill; for the pastor building a great church or preaching great sermons; for the scholar unrelentingly researching the book which will be his contribution to knowledge; to the mother pouring all her energy into her family and marriage. Worthy ambitions all, dedication to them can be destructive if it is not coupled with a prior commitment to godly character and a recognition of the full range of responsibilities to which God calls us.

A little girl came home from Sunday school in much perplexity. "Mama," she said, "our teacher said today that we must come to Jesus if we want to be saved, but how can we come to Him when we cannot see Him?" "Did you not ask me to get you a drink of water last night?" said the mother. "Yes, Mama." "Did you see me when you asked me?" "No, but I knew that you would hear me and get it for me." "Well, that is just the way to come to Jesus. We cannot see Him, but we know that He is near and hears every word we say, and that He will give us what we need." As we try to see Jesus by faith, He will become real to us. Only through Him can we get a vision of God.

Nicolaus Copernicus was a famed astronomer born in Poland on February 19, 1473. He was a mathematician whose accomplishments changed men's ideas of the universe. Also he was a well-known writer. Although highly educated in astronomical science, he was much more-he was a child of God who had learned to know and trust his Savior, Jesus Christ. When he was critically ill with his final illness, his book, On Resolutions of the Celestial Bodies, just off the press, was laid in his arms.

At the close of his life, he did not think of himself as an astronomer or scientist, but as a sinner who needed the forgiveness of his Savior. He asked that the following epitaph be written on his gravestone:

"Lord, I do not ask the kindness Thou didst show to Peter. I do not dare ask the grace Thou didst grant to Paul; but, Lord, the mercy Thou didst show to the dying robber, that mercy show to me. That earnestly I pray."

Awake, my soul, to joyful lays,

And sing thy great Redeemer’s praise;

He justly claims a song from me,

His lovingkindness, oh, how free!

He saw me ruined by the fall,

Yet loved me notwithstanding all;

He saved me from my lost estate,

His lovingkindness, oh, how great!

Tho’ num’rous hosts of mighty foes,

Tho’ earth and hell my way oppose,

He safely leads my soul along,

His lovingkindness, oh, how strong!

When trouble, like a gloomy cloud,

Has gathered thick and thundered loud,

He near my soul has always stood,

His lovingkindness, oh how good!

- Samuel Medley

Clark Clifford shares this reminiscence of his former boss, Harry S. Truman:

Every morning at 8:30 the President would have a staff meeting. One day the mail clerk brought in a lavender envelope with a regal wax seal and flowing purple ribbons. Opening it, the President found a letter from King Ibn Saud of Saudi Arabia, whose salutation began, “Your Magnificence.”

“Your Magnificence,” Truman repeated, laughing. “I like that. I don’t know what you guys call me when I’m not here, but it’s okay if you refer to me from now on as ‘His Magnificence.’”

Truman subsequently sent a message to the United Nations supporting the admission of 100,000 Jews into Palestine. Soon afterward he received a second letter from King Ibn Saud. This one began: “Dear Mr. President.”

A visitor approached the preacher after listening to his sermons on the necessity of receiving Christ as Savior.

The man said he thought that Christianity should limit itself in presenting Christ as our example whom we should follow.

The preacher turned to the visitor and said, "If I were to preach Christ as our example, would you follow His example?"

"Why not?" was the flippant answer.

The preacher thought for a moment and said, "Okay, let us think then of some of the things that Jesus did and did not do. One of the things that is said of Him is that He did not sin. Can you take that step and follow His example in doing no sin?"

"No, I must be very honest about myself, I do sin."

The preacher then answered: "It is impossible then to follow Jesus unless you first make Him your Savior. It is He who must live in you so that you can say 'For me to live is Christ.'"

Jesus came into the world not to set an example for us, but to become our Savior. It is only as we receive Him that we are able to follow Him because He indwells us.

One of the most powerful stories I have ever heard on the nature of the human heart is told by Malcolm Muggeridge. Working as a journalist in India, he left his residence one evening to go to a nearby river for a swim. As he entered the water, across the river he saw an Indian woman from the nearby village who had come to have her bath. Muggeridge impulsively felt the allurement of the moment, and temptation stormed into his mind. He had lived with this kind of struggle for years but had somehow fought it off in honor of his commitment to his wife, Kitty. On this occasion, however, he wondered if he could cross the line of marital fidelity. He struggled just for a moment and then swam furiously toward the woman, literally trying to outdistance his conscience. His mind fed him the fantasy that stolen waters would be sweet, and he swam the harder for it. Now he was just two or three feet away from her, and as he emerged from the water, any emotion that may have gripped him paled into insignificance when compared with the devastation that shattered him as he looked at her.

“She was old and hideous...and her skin was wrinkled and, worst of all, she was a leper....This creature grinned at me, showing a toothless mask.” The experience left Muggeridge trembling and muttering under his breath, “What a dirty lecherous woman!” But then the rude shock of it dawned upon him—it was not the woman who was lecherous; it was his own heart.

Someone has said, "The Redeemer who loved us from eternity and formed us for Himself will not leave the pining soul to the secondhand tinkering of others. He will closet us in with Himself." I believe God longs to give to each of us a perfect personal assurance of His perfect salvation. Yet how few seem to realize this as David Brainerd did. In his diary he wrote: "My discourse was suited to my own case, for of late I have found a great want of apprehension of divine grace and have often been greatly distressed in my soul because I did not suitably apprehend this fountain open to purge away sin, and so I've had to be laboring for spiritual life and peace of conscience in my own strength; but now God showed me in some measure the arm of strength and fountain of all grace. But do I hear someone say, can He meet me at the point of my need? Let me tell you that He absolutely can."

He writes in characters too grand

For our short sight to understand;

We catch but broken strokes, and try

To fathom all the mystery

Of withered hopes, of death, of life,

The endless war, the useless strife—

But there, with larger, clearer sight,

We shall see this—His way was right.

John Oxenham

The renowned artist Paul Gustave Dore (1821-1883) lost his passport while traveling in Europe. When he came to a border crossing, he explained his predicament to one of the guards.

Giving his name to the official, Dore hoped he would be recognized and allowed to pass. The guard, however, said that many people attempted to cross the border by claiming to be persons they were not.

Dore insisted that he was the man he claimed to be. “All right,” said the official, “we’ll give you a test, and if you pass it we’ll allow you to go through.” Handing him a pencil and a sheet of paper, he told the artist to sketch several peasants standing nearby. Dore did it so quickly and skillfully that the guard was convinced he was indeed who he claimed to be. His work confirmed his word!

Few men are so great that the main course of history is different just because they lived, thought and spoke. Saint Augustine is one of those few. He is a great “bridge personality” of history. Christopher Dawson has written of him, in St. Augustine and His Age, “He was to a far greater degree than any emperor or barbarian warlord, a maker of history and a builder of the bridge which was to lead from the old world to the new.”

In a little room off the King’s Library in the British Museum a small exhibit is devoted to Augustine, who lived from A.D. 354 to 430. The exhibit consists chiefly of specimens of his writings, with copies of works that range from the Dark Ages to the first scholarly edition in the seventeenth century. The display gives some indication of his extraordinary popularity throughout the age of faith. Augustine’s works were more widely read than any other author’s from the eighth through the twelfth centuries, and even during the late Middle Ages he was constantly being rediscovered by clever men.

He speaks to this present age as mightily and sweetly as he spoke to the age of dying Roman Imperialism because “hearts speak to hearts,” and if ever there was a great heart to speak, it was his, and if ever there were small and frightened hearts who need his words, they are ours.

But Augustine’s early life gave no indication he was to become such a strong voice of faith. He was born in Tagaste, a small town in what is known today as Algeria, but during his teenage years his family moved to Carthage in the part of North Africa that belonged to Rome. His devout mother, Monica, taught her young son carefully and prayerfully. His brilliance concerned her deeply, especially when, as a young man, he cast off his simple faith in Christ for current heresies and a life given over to immorality.

Later, Augustine wrote: “I could not distinguish between the clear shining of affection and the darkness of lust. I could not keep within the kingdom of light, where friendship binds soul to soul…And so I polluted the brook of friendship with the sewage of lust.

The details of his sin may differ from ours. (He had a mistress for many years and an illegitimate son.) But Augustine’s story is still the story of many of us.:

The loss of faith always occurs when the senses first awaken. At this critical moment, when nature claims us for her service, the consciousness of spiritual things is, in most cases, either eclipsed or totally destroyed. It is not reason which turns the young man from God; it is the flesh. Skepticism but provides him with the excuses for the new life he is leading. This started, Augustine was not able to pull up halfway on the road of pleasure; he never did anything by halves. In the vulgar revels of a wild youth, he wanted again to be best, to be first, just as he was at school. He stirred up his companions and drew them after him. They in their turn drew him.Still his mother prayed, though, as Augustine recalls, it showed no result.

I will now call to mind my past foulness, and the carnal corruptions of my soul; not because I love them, but that I may love You, O my God. For the love of Your love I do it; reviewing my most wicked ways in the very bitterness of my remembrance, that You may grow sweet unto me (Your sweetness never failing, Your blissful and assured sweetness); and gathering me again out of my excess, wherein I was torn piecemeal, while turned from You, the One Good, I lost myself among a multiplicity of things…I was grown deaf by the clanking of the chain of my morality, the punishment of the pride of my soul, and I strayed further from You, and You left me alone, and I was tossed about, and wasted and dissipated, and I boiled over in my fornications, and You held Your peace, O Thou my tardy joy!…I went to Carthage, where shameful loves bubbled around me like a boiling oil.

Carthage made a strong impression on Augustine. For a young man to go from little Tagaste to Carthage was about the same as one of our youths going from the small community of Montreat, North Carolina, to Los Angeles. In fact, Carthage was one of the five great capitals of the Roman Empire.A seaport capital of the whole western Mediterranean, Carthage consisted of large new streets, villa, temples, palaces,docks and a variously dressed cosmopolitan population. It astonished and delighted the schoolboy from Tagaste. Whatever local marks were left about him, or signs of the rube, they were brushed off in Carthage.

Here Augustine remained from his seventeenth to his twenty-eighth year. He absorbed all Carthage had to offer, including the teachings of the Manichaeans (a religious sect from Persia).

Augustine recalled those dark days and his mother’s continued intercession on his behalf: Almost nine years passed, in which I wallowed in the mire of that deep pit, and the darkness of falsehood (Manichaeism)…All which time that chaste, godly and sober widow…ceased not at all hours of her devotions to bewail my case unto You. And her prayers entered into Your presence; and yet You suffered (allowed) me to be yet involved and reinvolved in that darkness.

He also recalled how God comforted his mother during that time, showing her that all things would eventually work together for good. First He gave her a vision: She saw herself standing on a certain wooden rule, and a shining youth coming towards her, cheerful and smiling upon her. He having…enquired of her the causes of her grief and daily tears, and she answering that she was bewailing my perdition, he bade her rest contented, and told her to look and observe, “That where she was, there was I also.” And when she looked, she saw me standing by her in the same rule.

Desperate over his Manichaean heresy, Monica begged a bishop, a man deeply read in the Scriptures, to speak with her son and refute his errors. But Augustine’s reputation as an orator and dialectician was so great that the holy man dared not try to compete with such a vigorous jouster.He answered the mother wisely that a mind so subtle and acute could not long continue in such adroit but deceptive reasoning. And he offered his own example, for he, too, had been a Manichaean.

But Monica pressed him with entreaties and tears. At last the bishop, annoyed by her persistence and moved by her tears, answered with a roughness mingled with kindness and compassion, “Go, go! Leave me alone. Live on as you are living. It is not possible that the son of such tears should be lost.” In his twenty-ninth year, Augustine longed to go to Rome, the most magnificent city in the world, the seat of learning and, to many, the center of the universe.Fearing for the spiritual and moral well-being of her son, Monica pled unceasingly with him not to go. But the day came that she watched with apprehension the tall masts of the ship in the harbor, as they swayed gently above the rooftops.

She had waited all day with Augustine in the debilitating heat for the right tide and wind for him to sail to come. Augustine persuaded his mother to seek a little rest in the coolness of a nearby chapel. Exhausted, she promptly fell asleep. At dawn she awoke and searched the rooftops for the masts of the ship. It was gone.

But Augustine’s heart was heavy, heavier than the air weighted by the heat and sea-damp -- heavy from the lie and the cruelty he had just committed. He envisioned his mother awakening and her sorrow. His conscience was troubled, overcome by remorse and forebodings.

He later wrote: “I lied to my mother, and such a mother, and escaped…That night I privily departed, but she was not behind in weeping and prayer. And what, O Lord, was she with so many tears asking of You, but that You would not permit me to sail? But You, in the depth of Your counsels and hearing the main point of her desire, (regarded) not what she then asked, that You (might) make me what she ever asked.

Augustine was guided to Rome and then farther north where, after listening to Saint Ambrose, bishop of Milan and the most eminent churchman of the day, he left the Manichaeans forever and began again to study the Christian faith.

One day, under deep conviction: I cast myself down I know not how, under a certain fig-tree, giving full vent to my tears; and the floods of mine eyes gushed out an “acceptable sacrifice to You.” And, not indeed in these words, yet to this purpose, spake I much unto You: “and You, O Lord, how Long? How long, Lord, (will) You be angry, for ever?

Remember not our former iniquities,” for I felt that I was held by them. I sent up these sorrowful words: How long, how long, “to-morrow, and to-morrow?” Why not now? why not is there this hour and end to my uncleanness?

So was I speaking and weeping in the most bitter contrition of my heart, when, lo! I heard from a neighboring house a voice, as of boy or girl, I know not, chanting and oft repeating, “Take up and read; Take up and read.” Instantly, my countenance altered, I began to think most intently whether children were wont in any kind of play to sing such words; nor could I remember ever to have heard the like. So checking the torrent of my tears, I arose; interpreting it to be no other than a command from God to open the book, and read the first chapter I should find…

Eagerly then I returned to the place where Alypius (his friend) was sitting; for there had I laid the volume of the Apostle when I arose thence. I seized, opened, and in silence read that section on which my eyes first fell: “Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying; but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh…” No further would I read; nor needed I: for instantly at the end of this sentence, by a light as it were of serenity infused into my heart, all the darkness of doubt vanished away.

Then putting my finger between, or some other mark, I shut the volume, and with a calmed countenance made it known to Alypius. And what was wrought in him, which I knew not, he thus showed me. He asked to see what I had read: I showed him; and he looked even further than I had read, and I knew not what followed. This followed, “Him that is weak in the faith, receive;” which he applied to himself, and disclosed to me. And by this admonition was he strengthened; and by a good resolution and purpose, and most corresponding to his character, herein he did always very far differ from me, for the better, without any turbulent delay he joined me.

(Then) we go in to my mother, we tell her; she (rejoices): we relate in order how it took place; she leaps for joy, and…blessed You, “Who (are) able to do (more than what) we ask or think”; for she perceived that You (had) given her more for me, than she was wont to beg by her pitiful and most sorrowful groanings.

As we know, Augustine would go on to more than fulfill all his godly mother’s hopes and prayers, becoming a bishop and a defender of the truth. Having come home at last, this prodigal would help build a house of faith that stands to this day. In the words of Malcolm Muggeridge: “Thanks largely to Augustine, the light of the new Testament did not go out with Rome’s but remained amidst the debris of the fallen empire to light the way to another civilization, Christendom.”

As for Monica, her work on earth was done. One day shortly after Augustine’s conversion, she announced to him that she had nothing left to live for, now that she had achieved her lifelong quest of seeing him come to faith in Christ. Just nine days later, she died.

In the Bible we read of a prodigal whose father kept a vigil for his return, seeing him when he was “yet a great way off.” We who are spiritual beneficiaries of Augustine can be thankful that Monica was an equally loving but not so passive parent.

Whenever Augustine ran, she followed him; whenever he came home, she challenged his rebellious ways. For Augustine, she surely embodied on earth what he and many other prodigals have learned about our heavenly Father -- a truth best stated in this quotation from the Confessions:

“The only way a man can lose You is to leave You; and if he leaves You, where does he go? He can run only from Your pleasure to Your wrath.”

If someone asked you where to find the Bible verse that begins, “For God so loved the world…you’d probably know he was asking about John 3:16. If you had a Bible, you could find it for him in no time. But there was a time when no one could find a single verse in the whole Bible. There was no John 3:16, Genesis l:l or any other verse because the Bible wasn’t divided into verses or even chapters. Worse yet, there were hundreds of years when there weren’t even any word divisions. Punctuation marks, capital letters and even vowels were omitted. In those days, if Genesis had been written in English, it would have started: NTHBGNNNGGDCRTDTHHVNSNDTHRTH.” You would have had to spend hours or days just to find your favorite verse.

Words were divided by Jesus’ time, but vowels weren’t used in Hebrew Old Testaments until the sixth century A. D. Gradually, capitalizations, punctuation and paragraphing worked their way into the Old and New Testaments. But Bible chapters such as we have today didn’t come into being until the 13th century. They were the work of Stephen Langton, the Archbishop of Canterbury.

For the next 200 years, the Bible, now divided into chapters, continued to be copied by hand. Then in 1448, Rabbi Nathan startled the world by breaking the Old Testament into verses. The New Testament wasn’t divided into numbered verses until 1551 when a French printer, Robert Estienne did the job. He was planning a study Bible that would have side-by-side columns in three translations when he got the idea. He was so rushed for time he decided to do the dividing on a trip from Paris to Lyons. Some people have suggested he did the work on horseback and his sometimes awkward divisions resulted when his “jogging horse bumped his pen in the wrong places.” Yet, with a few exceptions, Estienne’s divisions provide us with the verses we have today.

So just as number of people were used in writing of the Bible over a period of centuries, it was the contribution of countless scribes, hundreds of years, and three men in particular—a Catholic archbishop, a Jewish rabbi and a Protestant printer—who turned “NTHBGNNNGGDCRTDTHHVNSNDTHRTH” into Genesis l:l.

Take the year 1809. The international scene was tumultuous. Napoleon was sweeping through Austria; blood was flowing freely. Nobody then cared about babies. But the world was overlooking some terribly significant births.

For example, William Gladstone was born that year. He was destined to become one of England’s finest statesman. That same year, Alfred Tennyson was born to an obscure minister and his wife. The child would one day greatly affect the literary world in a marked manner.

On the American continent, Oliver Wendell Holmes was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. And not far away in Boston, Edgar Allan Poe began his eventful, albeit tragic, life. It was also in that same year that a physician named Darwin and his wife named their child Charles Robert. And that same year produced the cries of a newborn infant in a rugged log cabin in Hardin County, Kentucky. The baby’s name? Abraham Lincoln.

If there had been news broadcasts at that time, I’m certain these words would have been heard: “The destiny of the world is being shaped on an Austrian battlefield today.” But history was actually being shaped in the cradles of England and America. Similarly, everyone thought taxation was the big news—when Jesus was born. But a young Jewish woman cradled the biggest news of all: the birth of the Saviour.

Adapted from Charles Swindoll

Officer Jim Heimerl , a Minneapolis policeman, was taking part in a 16.3 mile run in Grantsburg, Wisconsin. Jim was four miles into the race, in a cluster of runners not far off the pace of the leaders, when two deer ambled out of the woods and onto the road. The startled buck, no doubt distressed to find himself in the middle of a human marathon, began zigzagging wildly through the runners. Jim didn’t even see the animal until the two of them ollided and sprawled together onto the asphalt highway. Jim fell flat on his face, received a concussion and opened a nasty gash on his forehead that required 23 stitches. “Luckily there was a doctor running the race not far behind me,” Jim reported. “Because of the way my heart was pumping from running, I lost a lot of blood in a hurry. The doctor applied pressure and got it stopped.” The buck, however, paid an even higher price for his encounter. The collision broke his leg and his back, and the only humane response was to quickly dispense him to the ranks of the deerly departed. Jim had already been admitted to a nearby hospital for repairs when state game officials called to tell him Wisconsin law holds that anyone who hits and kills a deer on a Wisconsin roadway can claim the deer. But since he didn’t feel up to dealing with a dead deer, and since he didn’t want to store the carcass in his station wagon in 80-degree heat while he recuperated overnight in the hospital, Jim declined the offer. He lamented his luck. “I hunt deer for 14 years without getting a thing, and then I get one while I’m running a race.”

Many years ago some men were panning for gold in Montana, and one of them found an unusual stone. Breaking it open, he was excited to see that it contained gold. Working eagerly, the men soon discovered an abundance of the precious metal. Happily, they began shouting with delight, “We’ve found it! We’ve found gold! We’re rich!”

They had to interrupt their celebrating, though, to go into a nearby town and stock up on supplies. Before they left camp, the men agreed not to tell a soul about their find. Indeed, no one breathed a word about it to anyone while they were in town. Much to their dismay, however, when they were about to return, hundreds of men were prepared to follow them. When they asked the crowd to tell who “squealed,” the reply came, “No one had to. Your faces showed it!”

At the start of the McCarthy era, Floridian Claude Pepper, one of the Senate’s most outspoken liberals, was on the conservatives’ “hit list” along with many other senators. George Smathers lashed out with some typical right-wing invective—he called his opponent “the Red Pepper”—and he launched a campaign to expose Pepper’s secret “vices.” Smathers disclosed that Pepper was “a known extrovert,” his sister was a “thespian,” and his brother a “practicing homo sapiens.” Also, when Pepper went to college, he actually “matriculated.” Worst of all, he “practiced celibacy” before marriage. Naturally, rural voters were horrified, and Pepper lost.

A young man was on the border of nervous collapse as he lay on the operating table. Among the nurses, he noticed one watching him intently. He thought he knew her and called her to him. "Yes," she said, "We have met before." Then he whispered, "Would you mind holding my hand?" She gripped it and he lay calmly waiting for the operation. What a strong thing sentiment is! It can conquer a man's fears even in the face of life's most serious crises.

The old man could not carry a tune in a syrup bucket, but he loved to sing, even if it was off-key! Besides, he was bad about "amening" the preacher. Services had degenerated into an "undignified" assembly because of the old man. He simply got too involved in the "goings on" and forgot himself.

Four of the more well-to-do members decided that this old fellow was just too crude for the congregation. They appointed themselves as the ones to go and talk to the old man.

When they arrived at the old fellow's house, he was in the field plowing with his old mule. Though it was beneath their dignity, they finally walked out through the dusty ground which soiled their fine clothes to talk to the old timer. "Brother Jones," they began, "we want to talk to you about your singing. Not meaning any offense, but you just cannot sing. We wish you would try not to sing so loud because frankly, your singing ruins our services!"

"I am sorry," the old fellow replied, "but it is just that when I look at these old clothes that I wear and then I think of them robes that God has for me, I just cannot help singing. And when I see that old shack over yonder that I live in and realize that it is liable to fall any time, and then I think about the beautiful palace that God has for me, I just have to sing praises to my Lord. You fellers see this old hat I got on? Well, when I see that crown in my mind that God has for me, I just have to yell that wonderful name of Jesus at the top of my lungs!"

"As a matter of fact," he said, "would one of you fellers mind holding my mule? I feel like singing now."

They left him right there, singing away in the field! And as these four men left the old fellow out there singing they viewed him in a different light. One said to the rest, "You know, his singing is not really all that bad." Another said, "I never really realized how sweet his voice really is." The third said, "I just hope that God will allow me to sing in the same group that he sings in."

Now there are several lessons in this story. Possibly the reason these men had never really seen things in their true light before was that the world was just too much with them. I wonder if the reason that we have difficulty sometimes appreciating the things that God has reserved for us in heaven is that the world is just too much with us, too. (Amen!)

I am told that when General Sherman went through Atlanta towards the sea--through the Southern States--he left in the fort in the Kennesaw Mountains a little handful of men to guard some rations that he brought there. And General Hood got into the outer rear and attacked the fort, drove the men in from the outer works into the inner works, and for a long time the battle raged fearfully. Half of the men were either killed or wounded; the general who was in command was wounded seven different times; and when they were about ready to run up the white flag and surrender the fort, Sherman got within fifteen miles, and through the signal corps on the mountain he sent the message: "Hold the fort; I am coming. W. T. Sherman." That message fired up their hearts, and they held the fort till reinforcements came, and the fort did not go into the hands of their enemies. Our friend, Mr. Bliss, has written a hymn entitled "Hold the fort for I am coming," and I'm going to ask Mr. Sankey to sing that hymn. I hope there will be a thousand young converts coming into our ranks to help hold the fort. Our Saviour is in command, and He is coming. Let us take up the chorus.

Ho! my comrades, see the signal
Waving in the sky!

Reinforcements now appearing,
Victory is nigh!
CHO.-- "Hold the fort, for I am coming,"

Jesus signals still.
Wave the answer back to heaven,

"By Thy grace we will."
See the mighty hosts advancing,

Satan leading on;
Mighty men around us falling,
Courage almost gone.--Cho

See the glorious banner waving
Hear the bugle blow.

In our Leader's name we'll triumph
Over every foe.--Cho.

Fierce and long the battle rages,
But our Help is near;

Onward comes our Great Commander,
Cheer, my comrades, cheer!--Cho.

P. P. Bliss.

I’ll never forget a conversation I had with the late Corrie ten Boom. she said to me, in her broken English, “Chuck, I’ve learned that we must hold everything loosely, because when I grip it tightly, it hurts when the Father pries my fingers loose and takes it from me!

I remember hearing of a man at sea who was very sea-sick. If there is a time when a man feels that he cannot do any work for the Lord it is then—in my opinion. While this man was sick he heard that a man had fallen overboard. He was wondering if he could do anything to help to save him. He laid hold of a light, and held it up on the port-hole.

The drowning man was saved. When this man got over his attack of sickness he was up on deck one day, and was talking to the man who was rescued. The saved man gave this testimony. He said he had gone down the second time, and was just going down again for the last time, when he put out his hand. Just then, he said, some one held a light at the porthole, and the light fell on his hand. A man caught him by the hand and pulled him into the lifeboat.

It seemed a small thing to do to hold up the light; yet it saved the man’s life. If you cannot do some great thing you can hold the light for some poor, perishing drunkard, who may be won to Christ and delivered from destruction. Let us take the torch of salvation and go into these dark homes, and hold up Christ to the people as the Savior of the world.

On Jan 25, 1990, Avianca Flight 52 from Colombia crashed just 15 miles short of New York’s Kennedy International Airport, killing 73 passengers. Reason: the plane just ran out of gas. Under international regulations, an airliner must carry enough fuel to reach its destination as well as its assigned alternate, plus enough extra to handle at least 45 minutes of delays. Due to low fuel condition, the Avianca pilots had requested “priority” (not “emergency”) landing. Because the exact word “emergency” was not used, and due to heavy traffic and bad weather conditions, the ill-fated plane was placed on a holding pattern…until it simply ran out of gas.

Many years ago during a Knicks-Bullets playoff game, one of the Bullets came up from behind the great Walt Frazier and punched him in the face. Strangely, the referee called a foul on Frazier. Frazier didn’t complain. His expression never changed. He simply called for the ball and put in seven straight shots to win the game, an amazing display of productive anger. If you want to get huffy about it, it was a great moral lesson as well.

Hoagy Carmichael, the story goes, once decided to take up golf. Lessons were arranged with an instructor. At the first session Carmichael was patiently shown the basics of the game: how to hold the club, How to stand, how to swing, etc.

Finally, after a half hour of this, the instructor felt Carmichael was ready to drive a few toward the first hole. The ball was teed up. Hoagy stepped up to it, swung, then watched the ball sail down the fairway, bound onto the green and roll into the cup—a hole in one!

The instructor was dumbfounded. Hoagy flipped the club to a caddy with a jaunty motion, then turned to the still speechless instructor. “OK,” he said casually, “I think I’ve got the idea now.”

Hollywood really is different from the rest of the country. A survey of 104 top television writers and executives found that their attitudes toward moral and religious questions aren’t shared by their audience.

Believe adultery is wrong:

Hollywood

49%,

Everyone else

85%.

Have no religious affiliation:

Hollywood

45%,

Everyone else

4%.

Believe homosexual acts are wrong:

Hollywood

20%,

Everyone else

76%.

Believe in a woman’s right to abortion:

Hollywood

97%,

Everyone else

59%.

The Holy Spirit’s distinctive role is to fulfill what we may call a floodlight ministry in relation to the Lord Jesus Christ. So far as this role was concerned, the Spirit “was not yet” (John 7:29, literal Greek) while Jesus was on earth; only when the Father had glorified him (John 17:1, 5) could the Spirit’s work of making men aware of Jesus’ glory begin.

I remember walking to church one winter evening to preach on the words, “He will glorify me” (John 16:14), seeing the building floodlit as I turned a corner, and realizing that this was exactly the illustration my message needed. When floodlighting is well done, the floodlights are placed so that you do not see them; in fact, you are not supposed to see where the light is coming from; what you are meant to see is just the building on which the floodlights are trained. The intended effect is to make it visible when otherwise it would not be seen for the darkness, and to maximize its dignity by throwing all its details into relief so that you can see it properly. This perfectly illustrated the Spirit’s new covenant role. He is, so to speak, the hidden floodlight shining on the Savior.

Or think of it this way. It is as if the Spirit stands behind us, throwing light over our shoulder on to Jesus who stands facing us. The Spirit’s message to us is never, “Look at me; listen to me; come to me; get to know me,” but always, “Look at him, and see his glory; listen to him and hear his word; go to him and have life; get to know him and taste his gift of joy and peace.” The Spirit, we might say, is the matchmaker, the celestial marriage broker, whose role it is to bring us and Christ together and ensure that we stay together.