the Week of Proper 2 / Ordinary 7
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Sin enslaved my many years,
And led me bound and blind;
Till at length a thousand fears
Came swarming o’er my mind.
“Where,” said I, in deep distress,
“Will these sinful pleasures end?
How shall I secure my peace,
And make the Lord my friend?”
Friends and ministers said much
The gospel to enforce;
But my blindness still was such,
I chose a legal course:
Much I fasted, watch’d and strove,
Scarce would shew my face abroad,
Fear’d almost to speak or move,
A stranger still to God.
Thus afraid to trust His grace,
Long time did I rebel;
Till despairing of my case,
Down at His feet I fell:
Then my stubborn heart He broke,
And subdued me to His sway;
By a simple word He spoke,
“Thy sins are done away.”
Since Christ is the Word of God and the Truth of God, he may be received even by those who have not heard of his manifestation in the flesh. A proud and self-righteous morality is inconsistent with saving faith; but a humble and penitent reliance upon God, as a Savior from sin and a guide of conduct, is an implicit faith in Christ; for such reliance casts itself upon God, so far as God has revealed himself,—and the only Revealer of God in Christ. We have, therefore, the hope that even among the heathen there may be some, like Socrates, who under the guidance of the Holy Spirit working through the truth of nature and conscience, have found the way to life and salvation.
In the 18th century, Archibald Boyle was the leading member of an association of wild and wicked men known as “The Hell Club” in Glasgow, Scotland. After one night of carousing at the Club’s notorious annual meeting, Boyle dreamed he was riding home on his black horse. In the darkness, someone seized the reins, shouting, “You must go with me!” As Boyle desperately tried to force the reins from the hands of the unknown guide, the horse reared. Boyle fell down, down, down with increasing speed.
“Where are you taking me?” The cold voice replied, “To hell!” The echoes of the groans and yells of frantic revelry assaulted their ears. At the entrance to hell, Boyle saw the inmates chasing the same pleasures they had pursued in life. There was a lady he’d known playing her favorite vulgar game. Boyle relaxed, thinking hell must be a pleasurable place after all. When he asked her to rest a moment and show him through the pleasures of hell, she shrieked. “There is no rest in hell!” She unclasped the vest of her robe and displayed a coil of living snakes writhing about her midsection. Others revealed different forms of pain in their hearts. “Take me from this place!” Boyle demanded. “By the living God whose name I have so often outraged, I beg you, let me go!”
His guide replied, “Go then—but in a year and a day we meet to part no more.” At this, Boyle awoke, feeling that these last words were as letters of fire burned into his heart. Despite a resolution never to attend the Hell Club again, he soon was drawn back. He found no comfort there. He grew haggard and gray under the weight of his conscience and fear of the future. He dreaded attending the Club’s annual meeting, but his companions forced him to attend. Every nerve of his body writhed in agony at the first sentence of the president’s opening address:
“Gentlemen, this is leap year; therefore it is a year and a day since our last annual meeting.” After the meeting, he mounted his house to ride home. Next morning, his horse was found grazing quietly by the roadside. A few yards away lay the corpse of Archibald Boyle. The strange guide had claimed him at the appointed time.
In the 18th century, Archibald Boyle was the leading member of an association of wild and wicked men known as "The Hell Club" in Glasgow, Scotland. After one night of carousing at the Club's notorious annual meeting, Boyle dreamed he was riding home on his black horse. In the darkness, someone seized the reins, shouting, "You must go with me!" As Boyle desperately tried to force the reins from the hands of the unknown guide, the horse reared. Boyle fell down, down, down with increasing speed. "Where are you taking me?" The cold voice replied, "To hell!" The echoes of the groans and yells of frantic revelry assaulted their ears.
At the entrance to hell, Boyle saw the inmates chasing the same pleasures they had pursued in life. There was a lady he'd known playing her favorite vulgar game. Boyle relaxed, thinking hell must be a pleasurable place after all. When he asked her to rest a moment and show him through the pleasures of hell, she shrieked. "There is no rest in hell!" She unclasped the vest of her robe and displayed a coil of living snakes writhing about her midsection. Others revealed different forms of pain in their hearts.
"Take me from this place!" Boyle demanded. "By the living God whose name I have so often outraged, I beg you, let me go!" His guide replied, "Go then—but in a year and a day we meet to part no more." At this, Boyle awoke, feeling that these last words were as letters of fire burned into his heart. Despite a resolution never to attend the Hell Club again, he soon was drawn back. He found no comfort there. He grew haggard and gray under the weight of his conscience and fear of the future. He dreaded attending the Club's annual meeting, but his companions forced him to attend. Every nerve of his body writhed in agony at the first sentence of the president's opening address: "Gentlemen, this is leap year; therefore it is a year and a day since our last annual meeting."
After the meeting, he mounted his house to ride home. Next morning, his horse was found grazing quietly by the roadside. A few yards away lay the corpse of Archibald Boyle. The strange guide had claimed him at the appointed time.
There was a preacher who was interviewing with a pastoral search committee. An English teacher headed the committee, and was very concerned that the future pastor spoke properly. “When the hen is on the nest, does she sit or set?” he asked the candidate. The hopeful pastor was frustrated. He didn’t know what to say, and his career was on the line. Finally he replied, “It really doesn’t matter if she’s sitting or setting. What I want to know is this: when she cackles is she laying or lying?”
Our pastor called the other day and told my wife, Helen, that at her age she should start thinking about the hereafter.
“Oh, I do, I do,” Helen told him. “No matter where I am, I ask myself, ‘What am I here after?’“
I was walking in San Francisco along the Golden Gate Bridge when I saw a man about to jump off. I tried to dissuade him from committing suicide and told him simply that God loved him. A tear came to his eye. I then asked him, “Are you a Christian, a Jew, a Hindu, or what?”
He said, “I’m a Christian.”
I said, “Me, too, small world. . .Protestant or Catholic?”
He said, “Protestant.”
I said, “Me, too, what denomination?”
He said, “Baptist.”
I said, “Me, too, Northern Baptist or Southern Baptist?”
He said, “Northern Baptist.”
I said, “Well, ME TOO, Northern Conservative Baptist or Northern Liberal Baptist?”
He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist.”
I said, “Well, that’s amazing! Northern Conservative Fundamentalist Baptist or Northern Conservative Reformed Baptist?”
He said, “Northern Conservative Fundamentalist Baptist.”
I said, “Remarkable! Northern Conservative Fundamentalist Baptist Great Lakes Region or Northern Conservative Fundamentalist Baptist Eastern Region?”
He said, “Northern Conservative Fundamentalist Baptist Great Lakes Region.”
I said, “A miracle! Northern Conservative Fundamentalist Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1879, or Northern Conservative Fundamentalist Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912?”
He said, “Northern Conservative Fundamentalist Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912.”
I said, “DIE HERETIC!’ and pushed him over the rail.
“Teaching”; used of the content rather than the act of teaching. The Greek word may be used of the doctrines of men (Matt. 15:9), but more important, refers to the teaching of Jesus (Matt. 7:28) and later the teaching of his followers. “My teaching,” Jesus said, “is not my own. It comes from him who sent me (John 7:16; i.e., it is from God). The word was used of Christian doctrine (Acts 2:42), to which believers are to be wholeheartedly committed (Rom. 6:17). It is important to “continue” in the doctrine (2 John 9) and to be able both to teach it and to refute those who oppose it (Titus 1:9).
Seeking to know God better, John Chrysostom became a hermit in the mountains near Antioch in A.D. 373. Although his time of isolation was cut short by illness, he learned that with God at his side, he could attend alone against anyone or anything.
That lesson served Chrysostom well. In A.D. 398 he was appointed patriarch of Constantinople, where his zeal for reform antagonized the Empress Eudoxia, who had him exiled. Allowed to return after a short time, Chrysostom again infuriated Eudoxia, who sent him away again. How did Chrysostom respond to such persecution? With these words:
“What can I fear? Will it be death? But you know that Christ is my life, and that I shall gain by death. Will it be exile? But the earth and all its fullness are the Lord’s. Poverty I do not fear; riches I do not sigh for; and from death I do not shrink.”
To tell the Saviour all my wants,
How pleasing is the task!
Nor less to praise Him when He grants
Beyond what I can ask.
My labouring spirit vainly seeks
To tell but half the joy,
With how much tenderness He speaks,
And helps me to reply.
Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,
Such secrets to declare;
Like precious wines their taste they lose,
Exposed to open air.
But this with boldness I proclaim
Nor care if thousands hear,
Sweet is the ointment of His name,
Not life is half so dear.
And can you frown, my former friends,
Who knew what once I was,
And blame the song that thus commends
The Man who bore the cross?
Trust me, I draw the likeness true,
And not as fancy paints;
Such honour may He give to you,
For such have all His saints.
There is a place along the Hudson River where, as you sail, you seem to be entirely hemmed in by hills. The boat drives on toward a rocky wall, and it seems as if it must either stop or be dashed to pieces. Just as you come within the shadow of the mountain, an opening is suddenly discovered, and the boat passes out into one of the grandest bays on the river. So it is with temptation. You are not to seek it, not to enter into it; God promises no way out in such a case. But if it meets you on your heavenward journey, you are to go straight on, though you see no way out. The way will reveal itself in due time if you only keep on your way, being the way of duty-the way of the Lord. As in the river, the beautiful bay lies just around the menacing rock. So it will often be found that your sweetest and best experience in life lies just beyond your most threatening temptation.
A government official who came into President Lincoln's office was startled to find the chief executive shining his shoes. "Sir," he gasped, "surely you do not polish your own shoes!" "Of course," replied the humble President. "Whose do you polish?" The greatness of a man is evidenced by his humility. In the words of an old Filipino saying, "The higher the bamboo grows, the lower it bends."
All of this is illustrated in the life of Jesus. "Jesus did not come to be served but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many" (Mat 20:28). The highest title God ever allows in His church is "servant." Am I willing to serve people as Jesus did? I know, I cannot die for people to save them as Jesus did, but I can "die to self" to enable me to tell people that Jesus died for their sins, and thus serve them in the greatest way possible.
When I humble myself, then God will give me the grace to grow into maturity where, I like the tall bamboo, can lower myself to serve those of "low esteem." Notice, "Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited" (Rom 12:16). How tall are you spiritually? Tall and flexible enough to serve people in all kinds of situations?
Conscience is that faculty in me which attaches itself to the highest that I know, and tells me what the highest I know demands that I do. It is the eye of the soul which looks out either toward God or toward what it regards as the highest authority. If I am in the habit of steadily facing toward God, my conscience will always introduce God’s perfect law and indicate what I should do. The point is, will I obey? I have to make an effort to keep my conscience so sensitive that I walk without offense. I should be living in such perfect sympathy with God’s Son that in every circumstance the spirit of my mind is renewed.
The one thing that keeps the conscience sensitive to Him is the habit of being open to God on the inside. When there is any debate, quit. There is no debate possible when conscience speaks. - Oswald Chambers
The hills ahead look steep and high,
And often we behold them with a sigh;
But as we near them level grows the road,
We find on every slope, with every load,
The climb is not so steep, the top so far.
The hills ahead look harder than they are.
The hills ahead look steep and high, And often we behold them with a sigh; But as we near them level grows the road, We find on every slope, with every load, The climb is not so steep, the top so far. The hills ahead look harder than they are.
Roger Simms, hitchhiking his way home, would never forget the date—May 7. His heavy suitcase made Roger tired. He was anxious to take off his army uniform once and for all. Flashing the hitchhiking sigh to the oncoming car, he lost hope when he saw it was a black, sleek, new Cadillac. To his surprise the car stopped. The passenger door opened. He ran toward the car, tossed his suitcase in the back, and thanked the handsome, well-dressed man as he slid into the front seat. “Going home for keeps?” “Sure am,” Roger responded. “Well, you’re in luck if you’re going to Chicago.” “Not quite that far. Do you live in Chicago?” “I have a business there. My name is Hanover.”
After talking about many things, Roger, a Christian, felt a compulsion to witness to this fiftyish, apparently successful businessman about Christ. But he kept putting it off, till he realized he was just thirty minutes from his home. It was now or never. So, Roger cleared his throat, “Mr. Hanover, I would like to talk to you about something very important.” He then proceeded to explain the way of salvation, ultimately asking Mr. Hanover if he would like to receive Christ as his Savior. To Roger’s astonishment the Cadillac pulled over to the side of the road. Roger thought he was going to be ejected from the car. But the businessman bowed his head and received Christ, then thanked Roger. “This is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.”
Five years went by, Roger married, had a two-year-old boy, and a business of his own. Packing his suitcase for a business trip to Chicago, he found the small, white business card Hanover had given him five years before. In Chicago he looked up Hanover Enterprises. A receptionist told him it was impossible to see Mr. Hanover, but he could see Mrs. Hanover. A little confused as to what was going on, he was ushered into a lovely office and found himself facing a keen-eyed woman in her fifties. She extended her hand. “You knew my husband?” Roger told how her husband had given him a ride when hitchhiking home after the war. “Can you tell me when that was?” “It was May 7, five years ago, the day I was discharged from the army.” “Anything special about that day?” Roger hesitated. Should he mention giving his witness? Since he had come so far, he might as well take the plunge. “Mrs. Hanover, I explained the gospel. He pulled over to the side of the road and wept against the steering wheel. He gave his life to Christ that day.” Explosive sobs shook her body. Getting a grip on herself, she sobbed, “I had prayed for my husband’s salvation for years. I believed God would save him.” “And,” said Roger, “Where is your husband, Mrs. Hanover?” “He’s dead,” she wept, struggling with words. “He was in a car crash after he let you out of the car. He never got home. You see—I thought God had not kept His promise.” Sobbing uncontrollably, she added, “I stopped living for God five years ago because I thought He had not kept His word!”
It is said that long ago there lived a saint so good that the angels came down to see how a mortal could be so godly. He went about his daily work diffusing virtue as a star diffuses light, as a flower emits perfume, without being aware of it. Two words told the story of his days-he gave; he forgave. Yet these words never fell from lips; they were only expressed by his smile, in his forbearance and charity. The angels asked God that the gift of miracles might be given to this good man. The answer was, "Yes; ask him what he wishes." So the angels spoke to him about it. Would he choose that the touch of his hand should heal the sick? He said, no, that he would rather God should do that. Would he have power to convert souls? He answered, no, that it was the Holy Spirit's work. What, then, did he desire? He said, "That God may give me His grace." When pressed further to give the particular power he would have, he replied, "That I may do a great deal of good without ever knowing it." Then it was decided that every time the saint's shadow should fall behind or on either side, so that he could not see it, it should have the power to cure disease, soothe pain, and comfort sorrow. Thus it came to pass that, falling thus out of his sight, his shadow made withered plants grow again, and fading flowers sweet, gave health to pale children and joy to unhappy mothers. But the saint was never aware of the blessings that flowed from him. And the people, respecting his humility, even forgot his name and spoke of him as the Holy Shadow. How different this dear saint was from some of the present-day leaders in our religious circles whose names almost overshadow the name of Him whom they preach.
The study of the Holy Spirit, His person, works, relation to the Father and Son, relation to man, ministry in salvation and sanctification, conviction, and indwelling.
A young woman who was soundly converted immediately began to read her Bible. One who disbelieved the Scriptures and took delight in ridiculing them asked her, "Why do you spend so much time reading a book like that?" "Because it's the Word of God," replied the girl. "Nonsense! Who told you that?" scornfully asked the unbeliever. After a moment's silence the girl asked, "Who told you there's a sun in the sky?" "Nobody," replied the scoffer; "I don't need anybody to tell me. The sun tells me." "Yes," said the girl in triumph, "and that's the way God tells me about His Word. I feel His warmth and sense His presence as I read His wonderful word!"
1. Water
2. Oil
3. Wind
4. Fire
5. Dove
6. Seal
An American scientist once visited the offices of the great Nobel-prize-winning physicist, Niels Bohr, in Copenhagen. He was amazed to find that over Bohr’s desk was a horseshoe, securely mailed to the wall, with the open end up in the approved manner (so it would catch the good luck and not let it spill out).
The American said with a nervous laugh, “Surely you don’t believe the horseshoe will bring you good luck, do you, Professor Bohr? After all, as a scientist …”
Bohr chuckled, “I believe no such thing, my good friend. Not at all. I am scarcely likely to believe in such foolish nonsense. However, I am told that a horseshoe will bring you good luck whether you believe in it or not.”
Dr. Helen Roseveare, missionary to Zaire, told the following story.
“A mother at our mission station died after giving birth to a premature baby. We tried to improvise an incubator to keep the infant alive, but the only hot water bottle we had was beyond repair. So we asked the children to pray for the baby and for her sister. One of the girls responded, ‘Dear God, please send a hot water bottle today. Tomorrow will be too late because by then the baby will be dead. And dear Lord, send a doll for the sister so she won’t feel so lonely.’ That afternoon a large package arrived from England. The children watched eagerly as we opened it. Much to their surprise, under some clothing was a hot water bottle! Immediately the girl who had prayed so earnestly started to dig deeper, exclaiming, ‘If God sent that, I’m sure He also sent a doll!’ And she was right! The heavenly Father knew in advance of that child’s sincere requests, and 5 months earlier He had led a ladies’ group to include both of those specific articles.”
One stormy night an elderly couple entered the lobby of a small hotel and asked for a room. The clerk said they were filled, as were all the hotels in town. “But I can’t send a fine couple like you out in the rain,” he said. “Would you be willing to sleep in my room?” The couple hesitated, but the clerk insisted. The next morning when the man paid his bill, he said, “You’re the kind of man who should be managing the best hotel in the United States. Someday I’ll build you one.” The clerk smiled politely.
A few years later the clerk received a letter from the elderly man, recalling that stormy night and asking him to come to New York. A round-trip ticket was enclosed. When the clerk arrived, his host took him to the corner of 5th Avenue and 34th Street, where stood a magnificent new building.
“That,” explained the man, “is the hotel I have built for you to manage.” The man was William Waldorf Astor, and the hotel was the original Waldorf-Astoria. The young clerk, George C. Boldt, became its first manager.
Thy mansion is the Christian’s heart,
O Lord, Thy dwelling-place secure!
Bid the unruly throng depart,
And leave the consecrated door.
Devoted as it is to Thee,
A thievish swarm frequents the place;
They steal away my joys from me,
And rob my Saviour of His praise.
There, too, a sharp designing trade
Sin, Satan, and the World maintain;
Nor cease to press me, and persuade
To part with ease, and purchase pain.
I know them, and I hate their din;
Am weary of the bustling crowd;
But while their voice is heard within,
I cannot serve Thee as I would.
Oh! for the joy Thy presence gives,
What peace shall reign when Thou art there;
Thy presence makes this den of thieves
A calm delightful house of prayer.
And if Thou make Thy temple shine,
Yet, self-abased, will I adore:
The gold and silver are not mine;
I give Thee what was Thine before.
A French explorer was crossing Africa from the Zambezi and came into the region of the Barotsi people. He had heard stories about the native king Lewanika, whose greatest delight had been to put to death, by newly invented tortures, those who offended him. He was also known as the "human tiger."
This French officer came to the station where Pastor Coillard was in charge, and the pastor himself, a Frenchman, entertained him kindly. Then came Sunday. The French officer was absolutely without God, but as a matter of politeness he went to church and sat through the service. When he came out he said, "Monsieur Coillard, who was that remarkable looking man sitting next to me, who listened so carefully?" That was King Lewanika, the 'human tiger.'" "Was it?" "Yes." "Then if that is what Christ can do, I mean to be His."
A waitress, a fine Christian woman, works in a restaurant. The tax law states that tips received from customers should be declared as "taxable revenue." But the Christian waitress begins to rationalize: "The others do not declare them; Why should I? If I do, I shall get them in trouble." The element of benevolence enters this situation and a sinful action is justified as one of protection of fellow workers. In reality, however, the non-declaration of tips, altogether or in part, is due to the fact that so much tax has to be paid. What, then, does this Christian waitress think of doing? Do not count the tips but declare a flat sum for each working day. Her will hinders her from reporting her actual earnings. The human will is the hardest horse to tame; it is the hardest part of our personality to subject to the will of God. Sometimes we even want the will of God to appear as our own will.
It is related how the need of the West Indian slaves was presented to the Moravians. The Moravians were told that it was impossible to reach the slave population because they were so separated from the ruling classes. Undaunted, two Moravian missionaries offered themselves as candidates. They said, "We will go and be slaves on the plantations and work and toil if need be under the lash, to get right beside the poor slaves and instruct them." They left their homes, went to the West Indies, went to work on the plantations as slaves and by the side of slaves, to get close to the hearts of slaves. The slaves heard them, and their hearts were touched, because the missionaries had humbled themselves to their condition. That was grand; it was glorious. Yet Christ's example was more glorious, for He stepped down from heaven to earth to get close to our side. He Himself came beside us that we might feel the throbbings of His bosom, be encircled in the embrace of His loving arms, be drawn to Him, and hear Him whisper in our ears, "God is full of grace and truth."
Did you hear about the minister who said he had a wonderful sermon on humility but was waiting for a large crowd before preaching it?
A subtle temptation that comes to the new believer in Christ is to become proud of his position. He finds it all too easy to take the lead and to assign to Christ a position of lesser importance. Thomas Aquinas was a true saint of God, whose crown of glory never faded because he never polished it himself. One day when he was walking in the cloisters of a monastery in Bologna where he was lecturing, a monk came hurrying up to him and told him to come with him on an errand to the city. The monk had been ordered by his superior to bring with him the first brother monk he saw; not knowing Thomas by sight, he told him to come.
The great teacher never said a word but followed the monk as well as he could, though a bit slowly, for he was rather lame. "Hurry up, can't you?" the monk said impatiently, and Thomas did his best. After a while, the monk noticed that all the people in the street were looking at his companion, and many of them were saluting him with great respect. Presently one of them asked, "Isn't that the great teacher, Thomas Aquinas, who is with you?" The monk was horror-stricken! He had disturbed one of the most important men in the city and then treated him with scant courtesy. With tears in his eyes he begged the master's pardon.
Dr. Westfield, the Bishop of Bristol in the reign of Charles I, was so excellent a preacher that he was called "a born orator." Yet he was so conscious of his own insufficiency that he never ascended the pulpit without trembling, even when he had been fifty years a preacher. Preaching once before the King at Oxford, he fainted away. His Majesty awaited his recovery, and then heard a sermon that powerfully moved him. The more conscious a preacher is of his own weakness, the more powerful and effective may be the message that he preaches.
The hunter crouches in his blind
‘Neath camouflage of every kind,
And conjures up a quacking noise
To lend allure to his decoys.
This grown-up man, with pluck and luck,
Is hoping to outwit a duck.
- Ogden Nash
Winter was coming on and a hunter went out into the forest to shoot a bear out of which he planned to make a warm coat. By and by he saw a bear coming toward him and raised his gun and took aim.
“Wait,” said the bear, “why do you want to shoot me?”
“Because I am cold,” said the hunter.
“But I am hungry,” the bear replied, “so maybe we can reach an agreement.”
In the end, the hunter was well enveloped with the bear’s fur and the bear had eaten his dinner. We always lose out when we try to compromise with sin. It will consume us in the end.
A group of friends went deer hunting and paired off in twos for the day. That night one of the hunters returned alone, staggering under an eight-point buck.
“Where’s Harry?” he was asked.
“Harry had a stroke of some kind. He’s a couple of miles back up the trail.”
“You left Harry laying there, and carried the deer back?”
“Well,” said the hunter, “I figured no one was going to steal Harry.”
A woman complained to the service manager of an appliance firm that the push-button ice maker and dispenser on the door of her new refrigerator was popping ice cubes on her kitchen floor-all by itself. A serviceman could find nothing wrong with the appliance, but the woman continued to complain that ice cubes were littering her kitchen. Finally, a supervisor arrived, determined to stand watch in the kitchen until the mystery was solved. He had been there about an hour when a German shepherd entered, stood on his hind legs and pressed the ice-maker button. Ice cubes rained on the floor, and the dog gobbled up most of them.
In his classic work on the Beatitudes titled The Heavenly Octave, F. W. Boreham included this passage:
“The ideal peacemaker is the man who prevents the peace from being broken. To prevent a battle is the best way of winning a battle. I once said to a Jewish rabbi, ‘I have heard that at a Jewish wedding a glass is broken as part of the symbolism of the ceremony. ‘Is that a fact?’ ‘Of course it is,’ he replied. ‘We hold aloft a glass, let it fall and be shattered to atoms, and then, pointing to its fragments, we exhort the young people to guard jealously the sacred relationship into which they have entered since, once it is fractured, it can never be restored.’”
After hundreds of fruitless years, a model minister has been found to suit everyone. It is guaranteed that he will please all the people in any church.
He preaches only 20 minutes, but thoroughly expounds the Word.
He condemns sin, but never hurts anyone’s feelings.
He works from 8:00 to 10:00 p.m., doing every type work, from preaching in the pulpit to janitor work.
He makes $200 a week, wears good clothes, buys good books regularly, has a nice family, drives a nice car, and gives $50 a week to the church.
He stands ready to give to any good cause, also.
His family is completely model in deportment, dress, and attitude.
He is 26 years old and has been preaching for 30 years.
He is tall, short, thin, heavyset, handsome, has one brown eye and one blue eye, hair parted in the middle, left side dark and straight, right side blond and wavy.
He has a burning desire to work with teenagers and spend all his time with the older people.
He smiles all the time with a straight face because he has a sense of humor that keeps him seriously dedicated to his work.
He makes 15 calls a day on church members, spends all his time evangelizing the unchurched, and is never out of the office.
Their people support each other and share a “can-do” attitude.
They communicate clear expectations and give meaningful feedback.
They meet their deadlines and fulfill the objectives of their projects.
Their meetings have purpose and lead to specific actions.
They deal effectively with challenges and problems.
Their team’s productivity is high—the quality of their work is top-notch.
Their team members are enthusiastic and motivated, working at top capacity.
They hire the best-qualified workers and know how to blend different personalities into a harmonious group.
Not only do their workers respect them, but so do their bosses—giving them credibility throughout the organization.
The image of God in which man was and is made has been variously explained in detail. Although scholars may differ on the nuances of the phrase, there is general agreement that it has to do with dignity, destiny, and freedom.
The assertion that man is made in God’s image shows each man his true dignity and worth. As God’s image-bearer, he merits infinite respect. God’s claims on us must be taken with total seriousness. No human being should ever be thought of as simply a cog in a machine, or mere means to an end.
The assertion points also to each man’s true destiny. Our Maker so designed us that our nature finds final satisfaction and fulfillment only in a relationship of responsive Godlikeness—which means, precisely, that state of correspondence between our acts and God’s will which we call obedience. Living that is obedient will thus be teleological—progressively realizing our telos (Greek for “end” or “goal”).
Also the assertion confirms the genuineness of each man’s freedom. Experience tells us that we are free, in the sense that we make real choices between alternatives and could have chosen differently, and theology agrees. Self-determining freedom of choice is what sets God and his rational creatures apart from, say, birds and bees, as moral beings.
The farmer who plants certain seeds knows what to expect. He knows he will reap what he sows. He may not know exactly how many bushels of corn he'll get to an acre, but he knows it will all be the result of the seeds he planted. That is an unbreakable law of nature: we reap what we sow, but we can never know exactly how much the harvest will be. This also holds true in the spiritual realm. We find immutable laws of sowing and reaping there also. I know some people try to deny the existence of such a realm as the Kingdom of God. They are like moles who are ignorant of the existence of the sunlit world because they are blind.
91% of the world’s population has heard of coke.
74% have seen coke
51% have tasted
10% of the world’s population has heard the Gospel.
We should be lenient in our judgment of those who accomplish so much in the vineyard of God. They are men of like infirmities and weaknesses as ourselves. Let us remember they are not perfect. Are we then to reject their message because of their imperfections? No. In a pipe which conveys water into a house, there may be a flaw that will sometimes permit rust or earth to mix with the water. Shall we, therefore, reject the water itself, and say, if we may not have it just as it comes out of the fountain or source, we will not have it at all? What if we live far from the fountain itself and can have no water but what is conveyed in pipes subject to such defects?
A Scotsman was an extremely hard worker and expected all the men under him to be the same. His men would tease him, "Scotty, don't you know that Rome wasn't built in a day?" "Yes," he would answer. "I know that. But I wasn't foreman on that job."
God’s benevolent concern for humankind. All religions have some idea of the importance of love. Christian theology stresses the importance of love because God has revealed that he is love (1 John 4:8, 16). Love is both what God is and what he has done; God always acts in love.
Love is a transitive reality—that is, it requires an object. In the Bible, love is described as personal (between persons) and selfless (desiring the best for others). Christians see God’s love in sending his Son to die on the cross to save sinners (Rom. 5:8; John 3:16; 1 John 4:10). Christians are to be known by the fact that they love God and others (John (13:34-35). Their love is not to be like the love the world has (Luke 6:32, 35). Love is best seen in actions and in most cases is to be identified with what we do—in our compassion and commitment to those around us, regardless of the object’s virtue (1 John 4:19). Our loving attitudes and behavior are to reflect God’s love. Jesus said that only two commands are needed to govern our lives: love of God and love of neighbor. If such love is demonstrated, all the law and prophets are fulfilled.
Bishop Taylor came the closest of anyone to capturing the sentiment of Proverbs 31 when he wrote:
“If you are for pleasure, marry. If you prize rosy health, marry. A good wife is heaven’s last best gift to a man; his angel of mercy; minister of graces innumerable; his gem of many virtues; his box of jewels; her voice, his sweetest music; her smiles, his brightest day; her kiss, the guardian of innocence; her arms, the pale of his safety; the balm of his health; the balsam of his life; her industry, his surest wealth; her economy, his safest steward; her lips, his faithful counselors...and her prayers, the ablest advocates of heaven’s blessing on his head.”
Start by doing what’s necessary; then do what’s possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.
In a company of literary gentle-men, Daniel Webster was asked if he could comprehend how Jesus Christ could be both God and man. "No, sir," he replied, and added, "I should be ashamed to acknowledge Him as my Savior if I could comprehend Him. If I could comprehend Him, He could be no greater than myself. Such is my sense of sin, and consciousness of my inability to save myself, that I feel I need a superhuman Savior, one so great and glorious that I cannot comprehend Him."
A man named Henry Milans lay in a ward of Bellevue Hospital in New York. A group of students stood around his bed, while the instructing professor remarked: "We have discovered in this man all the marked indications of the incurable inebriate. Note the dancing eyes. Note the trembling of the hands and other members of his body. This man can never be cured. He must die as he has lived, a drunkard. Nothing can save him."
Not long after that, Ensign Hall of the Salvation Army describes what happened. "Amid the fervent 'Hallelujahs!'of Christians in the hall, Milans stumbled forward. The change that took place in him was remarkable. What science was unable to do, Christ accomplished in a moment."
Nineteen years after his conversion, he testified: "From that moment to the present I have never been tempted to take a drink of anything with alcohol in it. I should have to learn all over again to love the drink that was for 35 years the greatest love of my life."
A ship's mate once challenged a chaplain with the question, "How is it that you are always talking to my men about Jesus Christ? Did you ever see Him?" "No, I never did." "Then how can you tell a man to trust in someone you have never seen? I can't see any sense in that." "Well," replied the chaplain, "when you head for a place of refuge in a storm, what sense is there in telling your men to let go the anchor when they cannot see the ground? On what principle do you trust your ship and your life to ground you have never seen and never can see?" "Oh," said the mate, "we go by our chart." "Exactly," replied the chaplain, holding up his Bible, "and I, too, go by a chart, and it is an infallible one, while yours is not. It tells me of the only sure ground of my salvation-the atoning work of Christ upon the cross. My faith, like your anchor, takes hold of this unseen but real ground, and so rides out the storm of life in peace and safety."
The strongest argument for the Gospel of Christ is the personal testimony of someone whose life has been changed by it. Charles Bradlaugh, an avowed infidel, once challenged the Rev. H. P. Hughes to a debate. The preacher, who was head of a rescue mission in London, England, accepted the challenge with the condition that he could bring with him 100 men and women who would tell what had happened in their lives since trusting Christ as their Savior. They would be people who once lived in deep sin, some having come from poverty-stricken homes caused by the vices of their parents. Hughes said they would not only tell of their conversion, but would submit to cross-examination by any who doubted their stories. Furthermore, the minister invited his opponent to bring a group of non-believers who could tell how they were helped by their lack of faith. When the appointed day arrived, the preacher came, accompanied by 100 transformed persons. But Bradlaugh never showed up. The result? The meeting turned into a testimony time and many sinners who had gathered to hear the scheduled debate were converted.
The finite can neither see nor comprehend the Infinite. The Infinite has to reveal Himself. Henry Ward Beecher said: "When Columbus drew near to the eastern coast of this continent, he could see that there were mountains, but do you believe he knew what minerals were in them? Do you suppose he knew all the trees, all the shrubs, all the vines, all the herbs there? He knew something about the outlying islands of this great continent, but he did not understand the details that went to make it up. I can understand there is such a being as God, but when it is said that He is infinite, I am so finite that my comprehension ends right there. I cannot understand infiniteness. All things in the natural world symbolize God, yet none of them speak of Him but in broken and imperfect words. High above all He sits, sublimer than mountains, nobler than lords, truer than parents, more loving than lovers. His feet tread the lowest places of the earth, but His head is above all glory; everywhere He is supreme."
Over wide areas of the United States, carpenter bees begin swarming around the roofs and eaves of houses when spring arrives looking for edible wood in which to nest. The bees make a small hole in the wood and lay their eggs. Though the initial hole is small, over time more and more of the inner wood is eaten away. Even though the surface of the wood looks good, enough carpenter bees can eat away the strength of the supporting timbers of a home and eventually destroy it. The home owner must guard against such attacks.
Similarly, the Christian must guard against the attacks of sin which bore within, seeking a foothold in one's life. Just as the carpenter bees multiply and feed on the wood, sin multiplies and feeds on the soul. It is better to keep the sin out in the first place than to root it out after it invades.
There is a story of a young minister who was going home late one evening from church. He entered a crowded streetcar with his Bible under his arm and at once became the target for sneering remarks from some rough fellows. These remarks kept up, and as the young minister was leaving the car, to the amusement of his companions one youth said, "Say, Mister, how far is it to heaven?" What would be the actions of a consecrated Christian under such circumstances? Is it permissible to lose one's temper and blow one's top? Of course, one way to answer is to keep silent, but then one feels he is failing the Master. This young minister, with a quiet dignity and with all gentleness, replied, "It is only a step away; will you take it now?"
Suppose we should write out here to-night this excuse, how would it sound?
Would you sign that, young man? Would you, mother? Would you come up to the reporters' table, take up a pen and put your name down to such an excuse? You would say, "Let my right hand forget its cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I sign that."
Just let me write out another answer:
Who will sign that? Is there one who will put his name to it? Is there no one who will say, "By the grace of God I will accept the invitation now"?“He saith unto them, Come and see. They came and saw where He dwelt, and abode with Him that day: for it was about the tenth hour” (John 1:39).
This is the first of the gracious invitations of the Lord Jesus to “Come” to Him. On this occasion, right after His baptism by John, He invited two potential disciples to come with Him to His dwelling place. Very likely this was an outdoor mat somewhere, for He soon afterwards acknowledged that “the Son of Man hath no where to lay His head” (Matthew 8:20). Nevertheless, one night of abiding with Jesus changed their lives. Soon afterwards He issued another invitation to them. “Come ye after me, and I will make you to become fishers of men” (Mark 1:17), and they never went home again.
First He invites us to come to see and know Him, then to come with Him to win others. There is also the wonderful invitation to come to Him for relief from our burdens and cares. “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). And note His promise to those who do accept His invitation: “Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out” (John 6:37).
There were personal invitations. To Zacchaeus, the seeking sinner glimpsing Jesus from a sycamore tree, He said: “Come down: for today I must abide at thy house” (Luke 19:5). To his friend Lazarus, dead and bound in a tomb, He cried: “Lazarus, come forth” (John 11:43), and not even the grave could prevent his accepting such a call.
There are other invitations from the Lord, with gracious promises to those who come, but note especially the final invitation of the Bible, “And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely” (Revelation 22:17).
I also noticed a telling pattern in the O. T. accounts: the very clarity of God’s will had a stinting effect on the Israelites’ faith. Why pursue God when he had already revealed himself so clearly? Why step out in faith when God had already guaranteed the results? Why wrestle with the dilemma of conflicting choices when God had already resolved the dilemma? In short, why should the Israelites act like adults when they could act like children?
The Albanian Palace of Congresses, in the capital city of Tirana, was once a virtual shrine to atheistic communism. But late last year the featured attraction there was not communist ideology but the Jesus film, a Campus Crusade for Christ evangelistic project.
An estimated 2,000 people turned out for the first Albanian showing of the film in mid-December, including the country’s top government officials. More than 700 indicated decisions for Christ. “What once was a temple of communism is now being used as a temple of the holy God,” exclaimed the head of the government-controlled Albanian film industry.
But, for me personally, being anything but a missionary would be second best. Perhaps a story I recall hearing years ago explains it best. It seems the old Standard Oil Company offered an enormous sum of money to a missionary in China to work for them, to help with the development of Standard Oil in China. The missionary turned them down. So they doubled the salary offer. He turned them down again. They said, “What do you want? We can’t give more money than that.: He said, “The money doesn’t have anything to do with it. The job is too small.”
A juggler, driving to his next performance, is stopped by the police. “What are those machetes doing in your car?” asks the cop.
“I juggle them in my act.”
“Oh, yeah?” says the doubtful cop. “Let’s see you do it.”
The juggler gets out and starts tossing and catching the knives. Another man driving by slows down to watch.
“Wow,” says the passer-by. “I’m glad I quit drinking. Look at the test they’re giving now!”
A certain man misappropriated a sum of money, never believing that his good Christian friend would take steps to have him punished for embezzlement. Now that he is in jail he knows he depended too much on the kindness and mercy of this Christian, instead of reckoning with his justice. There is great danger in misunderstanding God's essential character. He is a God of justice as well as of love. He will inflict punishment where punishment is due. There is mercy available through Jesus Christ, but that mercy becomes effective only to those who appropriate it, who accept it.
If I went shopping for a man to be my dad, here is what I'd buy: one who would always stop to answer a little boy's "why?" One who would always speak kindly to a little girl or boy, one who would give a bit of sunshine and joy.
I would pick a dad who followed the Bible's Golden Rule, and one who went regularly to church and Bible school. I would buy the very finest Dad to place in our family tree-and then I'd try to live like him, so he would be proud of me.
There is a legend told of an ancient kingdom whose sovereign had just died, and whose ambassadors were sent to choose a successor from twin infants. They found the little fellows fast asleep, and looking at them carefully, agreed that it was difficult to decide, until they happened to notice one curious small difference between them. As they lay, one infant had his tiny fists closed tight; the other slept with his little hands wide open. Instantly they made their selection of the latter. The legend very properly concludes with the record that, as he grew up in his station, he came to be known as the King with the Open Hand. We could say the same thing of our God. His hand is always open to give.
While serving as a missionary in Laos, I discovered an illustration of the kingdom of God. Before the colonialists imposed national boundaries, the kings of Laos and Vietnam reached an agreement on taxation in the border areas. Those who ate short-grain rice, built their houses on stilts, and decorated them with Indian-style serpents were considered Laotians. On the other hand, those who ate long-grain rice, built their houses on the ground, and decorated them with Chinese-style dragons were considered Vietnamese. The exact location of a person’s home was not what determined his or her nationality. Instead, each person belonged to the kingdom whose cultural values he or she exhibited.
So it is with us, we live in the world, but as part of God’s kingdom, we are to live according to his kingdom’s standards and values. - John Hess-Yoder
Andor Foldes is now seventy-two, but he recalls how praise made all the difference for him early in his career. His first recollection of an affirming word was at age seven when his father kissed him and thanked him for helping in the garden. He remembers it over six decades later, as though it were yesterday. But the account of another kiss that changed his life says a great deal about our inner need for purpose.
At age sixteen, living in Budapest, Foldes was already a skilled pianist. But he was at his personal all-time low because of a conflict with his piano teacher. In the midst of that very troubled year, however, one of the most renowned pianists of the day came to the city to perform. Emil von Sauer was not only famous because of his abilities at the piano, but he could also claim the notoriety of being the last surviving pupil of Franz Liszt.
Sauer requested that young Foldes play for him. Foldes obliged the master with some of the most difficult works of Bach, Beethoven, and Schumann. When he finished, Sauer walked over to him and kissed him on the forehead.
“My son,” he said, “when I was your age I became a student of Liszt. He kissed me on the forehead after my first lesson, saying, ‘Take good care of this kiss -- it comes from Beethoven, who gave it me after hearing me play.’ I have waited for years to pass on this sacred heritage, but now I feel you deserve it.”
One Sunday afternoon our family gathered around our big oak table for dinner. Soon my daughter Kate’s laughter rose above the talk. “Gram, you’re silly!” she said. We all turned to see my mom delicately lifting to her mouth a small strand of peas on the blade of her knife. All but one pea made it, and everyone clapped. Then Mom told us the story behind her unorthodox technique:
“When I was little we didn’t have much. It was the Depression. But we did have a table full of food because my father grew wonderful vegetables. Lots of hoboes who had jumped from the train wandered onto our property, looking for a meal. More often than not an extra seat was pulled up to our dinner table.
“One summer afternoon I was sweeping the kitchen floor when my father’s voice came through the screen door: ‘Lizzy, set another plate. We have company tonight.’ Our guest paused in the doorway, and dipped his head in a gesture of gratitude. ‘Looks like he doesn’t speak much English,’ Dad said, ‘but he’s hungry like we are. His name is Henry.’
“When dinner was ready Henry stood until we were all seated, then gently perched on the edge of his chair, his head bowed and his hat in his lap. The blessing was said and dishes were passed from hand to hand.
“We all waited, as was proper, for our guest to take the first bite. Henry must have been so hungry he didn’t notice us watching him as he grabbed his knife. Carefully he slid the blade into the pile of peas before him, and then lifted a quivering row to his mouth without spilling a single pea. He was eating with his knife! I looked at my sister May and we covered our mouths to muffle our snickers. Henry took another knifeful, and then another.
“My father, taking note of the glances we were exchanging, firmly set down his fork. He looked me in the eye, then took his knife and thrust it into the peas on his plate. Most of them fell off as he attempted to lift them to his mouth, but he continued until all the peas were gone.
“Dad never did use his fork that evening, because Henry didn’t. It was one of my father’s silent lessons in acceptance. He understood the need for this man to maintain his dignity, to feel comfortable in a strange place with people of different customs. Even at my young age I understood the greatness of my father’s simple act of brotherhood.”
Mom paused, looked at her grandchildren, and winked as she plowed her knife into a mountain of peas.
Several generations ago, during one of the most turbulent of the desert wars in the Middle East, a spy was captured and sentenced to death by a general of the Persian army. The general, a man of intelligence and compassion, had adopted a strange and unusual custom in such cases. He permitted the condemned person to make a choice. The prisoner could either face a firing squad or pass through the Black Door.
As the moment of the execution drew near, the general ordered the spy to be brought before him for a short, final interview, the primary purpose of which was to receive the answer of the doomed man to the query: "What shall it be-the firing squad or the Black Door?"
This was not an easy decision, and the prisoner hesitated, but soon made it known that he much preferred the firing squad to the unknown horrors that might await him behind the ominous and mysterious door. Not long thereafter, a volley of shots in the courtyard announced that the grim sentence had been fulfilled.
The general, staring at his boots, turned to his aide and said, "You see how it is with men; they will always prefer the known to the unknown. It is characteristic of people to be afraid of the undefined. Yet I gave him his choice."
"What lies beyond the Black Door?" asked the aide.
"Freedom," replied the general, "and I've known only a few brave enough to take it."
The story illustrates the situation many people face each day-a choice between the known and the unknown. Few have the courage to come alive, to stop being engulfed in a sea of mediocrity-humbled and dulled by failure to recognize their own potential. They lack the fortitude to stop living their lives in a mentally-chloroformed condition in that ignoble mass of humanity... the uncommitted. The choice is yours (Phi 4:13). "By grace ye are saved through faith" (Eph 4:28). "We live by faith, not by sight" (2Co 5:7).
Paul W. Powell, in The Complete Disciple, described this condition: “Many churches today remind me of a laboring crew trying to gather in a harvest while they sit in the tool shed. They go to the tool shed every Sunday and they study bigger and better methods of agriculture, sharpen their hoes, grease their tractors, and then get up and go home. Then they come back that night, study bigger and better methods of agriculture, sharpen their hoes, grease their tractors, and go home again. They comeback Wednesday night, and again study bigger and better methods of agriculture, sharpen their hoes, grease their tractors, and get up and go home. They do this week in and week out, year in and year out, and nobody ever goes out into the fields to gather in the harvest.
Telemachus was a monk who lived in the 4th century. He felt God saying to him, “Go to Rome.” He was in a cloistered monastery. He put his possessions in a sack and set out for Rome. When he arrived in the city, people were thronging in the streets. He asked why all the excitement and was told that this was the day that the gladiators would be fighting and killing each other in the coliseum, the day of the games, the circus. He thought to himself, “Four centuries after Christ and they are still killing each other, for enjoyment?” He ran to the coliseum and heard the gladiators saying, “Hail to Caesar, we die for Caesar” and he thought, “this isn’t right.” He jumped over the railing and went out into the middle of the field, got between two gladiators, held up his hands and said “In the name of Christ, forbear.”
The crowd protested and began to shout, “Run him through, Run him through.” A gladiator came over and hit him in the stomach with the back of his sword. It sent him sprawling in the sand. He got up and ran back and again said, “In the name of Christ, forbear.” The crowd continued to chant, “Run him through.” One gladiator came over and plunged his sword through the little monk’s stomach and he fell into the sand, which began to turn crimson with his blood. One last time he gasped out, “In the name of Christ forbear.”
A hush came over the 80,000 people in the coliseum. Soon a man stood and left, then another and more, and within minutes all 80,000 had emptied out of the arena. It was the last-known gladiatorial contest in the history of Rome.
A wounded soldier said to his comrades who were carrying him, "Put me down. Don't bother to carry me farther. I am dying." They did as he requested and returned to the scene of battle. A few minutes later, an officer saw the man weltering in his blood and said to him, "Can I do anything for you?" "Nothing, thank you." "Shall I get you a little water?" "No, thank you. I am dying." "Isn't there anything I can do for you?" persisted the kind-hearted officer. "Shall I write to your friends?"
"I have no friends that you can write to. But there is one thing for which I would be much obliged. In my pack you will find a Testament. Will you open it at the 14th chapter of John, and near the end of the chapter, you will find a verse that begins with 'Peace'. Will you read it to me?" The officer did so and read the words, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid" (Joh 14:27).
"Thank you, sir," said the dying man. "I have that peace; I am going to that Savior-God is with me-I want no more," and he was gone.
1. The law of volunteering: If you dance with a grizzly bear, you better let him lead.
2. The law of avoiding oversell: When putting cheese in a mousetrap, always leave room for the mouse.
3. The know-its-time-to-quit law: The more you run over a dead cat, the flatter it gets
4. The law of common sense: Never accept a drink from a urologist
5. The first law of reality: There are days when no matter which way you spit, it is upwind
6. The second law of reality: When you starve with a tiger, the tiger starves last.
7. The third law of reality: Whatever it is that hits the fan, it will not be distributed equally.
8. The fourth law of reality: Never get into fights with ugly people. They have nothing to lose.
9. The fifth law of reality: Creativity is great, but plagiarism is faster.
10. The law of goal-setting: Reality is a crutch for those who cannot cope with fantasy.
11. The law of escape: When you are in a hole, stop digging.
12. The law of vision: The higher you climb, the further you can see, but the view gets fuzzier.
13. The sixth law of reality: You’ll never win a pissing contest with a skunk.
An unbeliever of acute mind sought an acquaintance with the truth of the Bible and began to read the Book of Genesis. When he had reached the Ten Commandments, he said to a friend, "I will tell you what I used to think. I supposed that Moses was the leader of a horde of bandits; that, having a strong mind, he acquired great influence over superstition, that the exhibition was supernatural. I have been looking into the nature of that law. I have been trying to see whether I can add anything to it or take anything from it, so as to make it better. Sir, I cannot. It is perfect.
"The first commandment directs us to make the Creator the object of our supreme love and reverence. That is right. If He be our Creator, Preserver, and Supreme Benefactor, we ought to treat Him and none other as such. The second forbids idolatry-that certainly is right. The third forbids profanity. The fourth fixes a time for religious worship. If there be a God, He surely ought to be worshiped. It is suitable that there should be an outward homage, significant of our inward regard. If God be worshiped, it is proper that some time should be set apart for that purpose when all may worship harmoniously and without interruption. One day in seven is certainly not too much, and I do not know that it is too little. The fifth defines the peculiar duties arising from family relations. Injuries to our neighbor are then classified by the moral law. They are divided into offenses against life, chastity, property, and character; and I notice that the greatest offense in each class is expressly forbidden. Thus the greatest injury to life is murder; to chastity, adultery; to property, theft; to character, perjury. Now, the greater offense must include the less of the same kind. Murder must include every injury to life; adultery, every injury to purity; and so of the rest. This moral code is then closed and perfected by a command forbidding every improper desire in regard to our neighbors. I have been thinking, where did Moses get the Law?
"I have read history. The Egyptians and the adjacent nations were idolaters; so were the Greeks and Romans; the wisest and best Greeks or Romans never gave a code of morals like this. Where did Moses get that law which surpasses the wisdom and philosophy of the most enlightened ages? He lived at a period comparatively barbarous; but he has given a law in which the learning and sagacity of all subsequent time can detect no flaw. Where did he get it? He could not have soared so far above his age as to have devised it himself. I am satisfied where he obtained it. It came down from heaven. I am convinced of the truth of the religion of the Bible."
Many years ago, Chinese farmers theorized that they could eat their big potatoes and keep the small potatoes for seed. Consequently, they ate the big potatoes and planted the small potatoes. As a result of this practice for many years, the Chinese farmers made the startling discovery: nature had reduced all their potatoes to the size of marbles.
A new understanding of the law of life came to these farmers. They learned through bitter experience that they could not have the best things of life for themselves and use the leftovers for seed. The law of life decreed that the harvest would reflect the planting.
In another sense, planting small potatoes is still a common practice. We take the big things of life for ourselves and plant the leftovers. We expect that by some crazy twist of spiritual laws, our selfishness will be rewarded with unselfishness. But we cannot eat the big potatoes and have them, too!
What size potatoes have you been planting spiritually? "Be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that shall he also reap" (Gal_6:7).
The following article is based on a sermon by missionary Del Tarr who served fourteen years in West Africa with another mission agency. His story points out the price some people pay to sow the seed of the gospel in hard soil.
I was always perplexed by Psalm 126 until I went to the Sahel, that vast stretch of savanna more than four thousand miles wide just under the Sahara Desert. In the Sahel, all the moisture comes in a four month period: May, June, July, and August. After that, not a drop of rain falls for eight months. The ground cracks from dryness, and so do your hands and feet. The winds of the Sahara pick up the dust and throw it thousands of feet into the air. It then comes slowly drifting across West Africa as a fine grit. It gets inside your mouth. It gets inside your watch and stops it. The year’s food, of course, must all be grown in those four months. People grow sorghum or milo in small fields.
October and November .these are beautiful months. The granaries are full—the harvest has come. People sing and dance. They eat two meals a day. The sorghum is ground between two stones to make flour and then a mush with the consistency of yesterday’s Cream of Wheat. The sticky mush is eaten hot; they roll it into little balls between their fingers, drop it into a bit of sauce and then pop it into their mouths. The meal lies heavy on their stomachs so they can sleep.
December comes, and the granaries start to recede. Many families omit the morning meal. Certainly by January not one family in fifty is still eating two meals a day. By February, the evening meal diminishes. The meal shrinks even more during March and children succumb to sickness. You don’t stay well on half a meal a day.
April is the month that haunts my memory. In it you hear the babies crying in the twilight. Most of the days are passed with only an evening cup of gruel. Then, inevitably, it happens. A six- or seven-year-old boy comes running to his father one day with sudden excitement. “Daddy! Daddy! We’ve got grain!” he shouts.
“Son, you know we haven’t had grain for weeks.”
“Yes, we have!” the boy insists. “Out in the hut where we keep the goats—there’s a leather sack hanging up on the wall—I reached up and put my hand down in there—Daddy, there’s grain in there! Give it to Mommy so she can make flour, and tonight our tummies can sleep!”
The father stands motionless. “Son, we can’t do that,” he softly explains. “That’s next year’s seed grain. It’s the only thing between us and starvation. We’re waiting for the rains, and then we must use it.”
The rains finally arrive in May, and when they do the young boy watches as his father takes the sack from the wall and does the most unreasonable thing imaginable. Instead of feeding his desperately weakened family, he goes to the field and with tears streaming down his face, he takes the precious seed and throws it away. He scatters it in the dirt! Why? Because he believes in the harvest. The seed is his; he owns it. He can do anything with it he wants.
The act of sowing it hurts so much that he cries. But as the African pastors say when they preach on Psalm 126, “Brother and sisters, this is God’s law of the harvest. Don’t expect to rejoice later on unless you have been willing to sow in tears.” And I want to ask you: How much would it cost you to sow in tears? I don’t mean just giving God something from your abundance, but finding a way to say, “I believe in the harvest, and therefore I will give what makes no sense. The world would call me unreasonable to do this—but I must sow regardless, in order that I may someday celebrate with songs of joy.”
In college I was asked to prepare a lesson to teach my speech class. We were to be graded on our creativity and ability to drive home a point in a memorable way. The title of my talk was, “The Law of the Pendulum.” I spent 20 minutes carefully teaching the physical principle that governs a swinging pendulum.
The law of the pendulum is: A pendulum can never return to a point higher than the point from which it was released. Because of friction and gravity, when the pendulum returns, it will fall short of its original release point. Each time it swings it makes less and less of an arc, until finally it is at rest. This point of rest is called the state of equilibrium, where all forces acting on the pendulum are equal.
I attached a 3-foot string to a child’s toy top and secured it to the top of the blackboard with a thumbtack. I pulled the top to one side and made a mark on the blackboard where I let it go. Each time it swung back I made a new mark. It took less than a minute for the top to complete its swinging and come to rest. When I finished the demonstration, the markings on the blackboard proved my thesis.
I then asked how many people in the room BELIEVED the law of the pendulum was true. All of my classmates raised their hands, so did the teacher. He started to walk to the front of the room thinking the class was over. In reality it had just begun.
Hanging from the steel ceiling beams in the middle of the room was a large, crude but functional pendulum (250 pounds of metal weights tied to four strands of 500-pound test parachute cord.).
I invited the instructor to climb up on a table and sit in a chair with the back of his head against a cement wall. Then I brought the 250 pounds of metal up to his nose. Holding the huge pendulum just a fraction of an inch from his face, I once again explained the law of the pendulum he had applauded only moments before, “If the law of the pendulum is true, then when I release this mass of metal, it will swing across the room and return short of the release point. Your nose will be in no danger.”
After that final restatement of this law, I looked him in the eye and asked, “Sir, do you believe this law is true?”
There was a long pause. Huge beads of sweat formed on his upper lip and then weakly he nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
I released the pendulum. It made a swishing sound as it arced across the room. At the far end of its swing, it paused momentarily and started back. I never saw a man move so fast in my life. He literally dived from the table.
Deftly stepping around the still-swinging pendulum, I asked the class, “Does he believe in the law of the pendulum?”
The students unanimously answered, “NO!”
Robert, an experienced sky diver, was readying himself for a jump when he spotted another man outfitted to dive wearing dark glasses, carrying a white cane and holding a seeing-eye dog by a leash. Shocked that the blind man was also going to jump, Robert struck up a conversation, expressing his admiration for the man’s courage. Then curious, he asked, “How do you know when the ground is getting close?”
“Easy,” the blind man replied. “The leash goes slack.”
