Pastoral Resources

In Discipleship Journal, Carole Mayhall tells of a woman who went to a diet center to lose weight. The director took her to a full-length mirror. On it he outlined a figure and told her, “This is what I want you to be like at the end of the program.”

Days of intense dieting and exercise followed, and every week the woman would stand in front of the mirror, discouraged because her bulging outline didn’t fit the director’s ideal. But she kept at it, and finally one day she conformed to the longed-for image.

A notorious miser was called on by the chairman of the community charity. “Sir,” said the fund-raiser, “our records show that despite your wealth, you’ve never once given to our drive.”

“Do your records show that I have an elderly mother who was left penniless when my father died? fumed the tightwad. “Do your records show that I have a disabled brother who is unable to work? Do your records show I have a widowed sister with small children who can barely make ends meet?”

“No, sir,” replied the embarrassed volunteer. “Our records don’t show those things.”

“Well, I don’t give to any of them, so why should I give anything to you?”

There was a poor woman who earned her living by hard labor but who was a joyous, triumphant Christian. "Ah, Nancy," said a gloomy Christian lady to her one day, "it is well to be happy now, but I should think the thoughts of the future would sober you. Suppose, for instance, you should have a spell of sickness and be unable to work, or suppose your present employer should move away and no one would give you a job. Suppose...." "Stop!" cried Nancy. "I never suppose. The Lord is my Shepherd, and I know I shall not want. You know, dear, it is all those supposes that are making you so miserable. You had better give them all up and just trust the Lord."

I remember hearing of a man's dream, in which he imagined that when he died he was taken by the angels to a beautiful temple. After admiring it for a time, he discovered that one stone was missing. All finished but just one little stone; that was left out. He said to the angel, "What is this stone left out for?" The angel replied, "That was left out for you, but you wanted to do great things, and so there was no room left for you." He was startled and awoke, and resolved that he would become a worker for God, and that man always worked faithfully after that.

It was a simple clerical error, but it could be the most expensive typo of all time. In 1978 Prudential, the largest insurance company in the U.S. loaned $160 million to United States Lines, a shipping firm. As part of the deal, Prudential got a lien on eight ships.

In 1986 U.S. Lines went into bankruptcy proceedings and started selling off assets. Prudential said it was owed nearly $93 million, the value of the lien, from the ships’ sale. Or so the insurance company thought. A close look at the lien documents disclosed that someone had omitted three little zeros, thus entitling Prudential to $92,885 only instead of $92,885,000.

The mistake loomed larger when McLean Industries, parent firm of U.S. Lines, sold the ships for $67 million. In a settlement approved later by a federal court, McLean agreed to give Prudential the proceeds from the sale of the ships—minus $11 million. That was the price McLean demanded for disregarding the missing zeros.

An English traveler in Jerusalem was trying to find someone who could speak both English and Arabic. He heard of an American missionary who lived near by. Stopping an Arab boy who knew little English, he asked him if he could direct him to the missionary's home. The face of the boy lit up, and he said, "You mean the lady who lives next door to God?" If an uncouth street urchin could detect one who walked with God, why cannot we so live that the world can see Jesus in us?

There was a man, while we were in London, who got out a little paper called "The Moody and Sankey Humbug." He used to have it to sell to the people coming into the meeting. After he had sold a great many thousand copies of that number, he wanted to get out another number so he came to the meeting to get something to put into the paper but the power of the Lord was present. It says here in this chapter (Luke 5) that the Pharisees, scribes, and doctors, were watching the words of Christ in that house in Capernaum, and that the power of the Lord was present to heal. It don't say they were healed. They did not come to be healed. If they had, they would have been healed. But sometimes there is a prayer of faith going up to God from some one, that brings down blessings. And so this man came into that meeting. The power of the Lord was present, and the arrow of conviction went down deep into his heart. He went out, not to write a paper, but to destroy his paper that he had written, and so to tell what the Holy Ghost had done for him.

The story is told of a judge who had been frequently ridiculed by a conceited lawyer. When asked by a friend why he didn’t rebuke his assailant, he replied, “In our town lives a widow who has a dog. And whenever the moon shines, it goes outside and barks all night.” Having said that, the magistrate shifted the conversation to another subject.

Finally someone asked, “But Judge, what about the dog and the moon?”

“Oh,” he replied, “the moon went on shining—that’s all.”

F. B. Meyer explained it this way: “A bar of iron worth $2.50, when wrought into horseshoes is worth $5. If made into needles it is worth $175. If into penknife blades it is worth $1,625. If made into springs for watches it is worth $125,000. What a ‘trial by fire’ that bar must undergo to be worth this! But the more it is manipulated, and the more it is hammered and passed through the heat, beaten, pounded, and polished, the greater its value.”

Christian, are you wondering about the trials through which you are passing? With impatient heart are you saying, “How long, O Lord?” The heat of the flame and the blows of the hammer are necessary if you are to be more than an unpolished, rough bar of iron. God’s all-wise plan, though it calls for the fire, produces the valuable watch spring of maturity. His very best for your life has behind it His perfect timing. - P.R.V.

By many estimates, the 1990s will be a time of continued confusion for clergy. Ministers are “the most frustrated profession in the nation,” according to management consultant Peter Drucker.… A study prepared by the Episcopal Foundation concluded that “many old and established patterns for ordained leaders in the church are no longer working.” Among clergy comments in the study:

The status of clergy is lower.

Clergy are no longer considered to be special people.

I feel pulled apart. Am I a pastor or a businessman?

Many clergy, the report said, “are conceiving a role for themselves like chief executive officers of a multi-level organization, where skilled laity are middle managers.”

A young man in one of our meetings in New York got up and thrilled the audience with his experience. "I want to tell you," he said, "that nine months ago a Christian came to my house and said he wanted me to become a Christian. He talked to me kindly and encouragingly, pointing out the error of my ways, and I become converted. I had been a hard drinker, but since that time I have not touched a drop of liquor. If anyone had asked who the most hopeless man in town was they would have pointed to me." To-day this man is the superintendent of a Sabbath-school. Eleven years ago, when I went to Boston, I had a cousin who wanted a little of my experience. I gave him all the help I could, and he became a Christian. He did not know how near death was to him: He wrote to his brother and said: "I am very anxious to get your soul to Jesus." The letter somehow went to another city, and lay from the 28th of February till the 28th of March--just one month. He saw it was in his brother's handwriting, and tore it open and read the above words. It struck a chord in his heart, and was the means of converting him. And this was the Christian who led this drunken man to Christ. This young man had a neighbor who had drank for forty years, and he went to that neighbor and told him what God had done for him, and the result was another conversion. I tell you these things to encourage you to believe that the drunkard can be saved.

John G. Wendel and his sisters were some of the most miserly people of all time. Although they had received a huge inheritance from their parents, they spent very little of it and did all they could to keep their wealth for themselves.

John was able to influence five of his six sisters never to marry, and they lived in the same house in New York City for 50 years. When the last sister died in 1931, her estate was valued at more than $100 million. Her only dress was one that she had made herself, and she had worn it for 25 years.

The Wendels had such a compulsion to hold on to their possessions that they lived like paupers. Even worse, they were like the kind of person Jesus referred to “who lays up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God” (Luke 12:21).

The Thames, flowing through London, was at low tide, causing the freighter to be anchored a distance from shore. The long plank, which led from the ship across the mud flats to the bank, suddenly began to jiggle precariously.

The smallish man who was carefully pushing his barrow across the plank from the freighter to the shore lost his balance and found himself tumbling into the muddy waters. A roar of laughter erupted from the dockers and from the tall worker on board ship, who had jiggled the plank.

The muddied man’s instinctive reaction was anger. The fall was painful; he was dripping wet and knee deep in muck. “This is your opportunity,” a voice whispered in his heart.

The victim, unknown to his tormentors, was a clergyman disguised as a docker in hopes of getting to know how the dockers felt, lived and struggled. Perhaps as he gained their confidence and made friends, he could tell them of the love of the Savior, who died to give them new life and hope and joy.

George Dempster came up laughing. A docker made his way to where Dempster had been dislodged, dropped some empty boxes into the slush and jumped down to help him out. “You took that all right,” he said as he helped Dempster clamber back to the boxes he had dropped. His accent was not that of a cockney. He was no ordinary docker.

Dempster told the story of this unusual docker in Finding Men for Christ. He recounted the ensuing events:

“Did I? Well, what’s the use of being otherwise?” I replied and followed this by a challenge.

“You haven’t been at this game long.”

“Neither have you,” he retorted.

“No! And I shan’t be at it much longer if I can help it. Tell me your yarn, and I’ll tell you mine.”

I was watching his face as well as I could with my eyes still half full of mud. He was trying to scrape some of the slime from me and meanwhile becoming almost as filthy as I was. We agreed to exchange yarns. I therefore proposed that we should adjourn to a coffee shop nearby and over a warm drink exchange the story of our experiences, and how we came to be “down under” life’s circumstances.

Along we journeyed through Wapping High Street, up Nightingale Lane to London Docks and so “To where I dossed” (slept). When we reached the Alley and I indicated the door he said, “Do they let beds here?” “Well,” I replied, “I sleep here, come in and see.” “Oh! I’ve often passed this place but did not know they put men up here.”

We entered and I instructed that a cup of coffee and something be brought for my friend, while I disappeared without explaining to anybody exactly how I came to be so inelegantly decorated. Mud baths had not yet become a prescribed treatment for certain human ailments, but never could such a remedy, however well prepared or appropriately prescribed, prove so effectual as this one. It had been involuntarily taken it is true, but for like results who would not undertake even such drastic treatment daily? “His ways are higher than our ways.” His permissions are all for somebody’s good, and in this instance the reason for His permission was not long unrevealed.

A hurried bath soon put me right. After donning my usual attire, while seeking Divine guidance I hastened to return. “Here we are, now for our yarns,” I began. He was staring in amazement and was for a few moments lost for reply.

“This is your yarn, is it? What do you do this for?” The first part of his question needed no reply, but I did not hesitate to answer the second. “To find you.” He looked perplexed as we sat gazing at each other; then dropping his eyes before my enquiring look, shook his head sadly and rose as if to depart. Restraining him I said cheerily: “Now, friend, a bargain is a bargain. Thank you for helping me out of the river and thus giving me the privilege of meeting you, but you promised, you know, and I want that story of yours. You can see mine.”

He was a tall, well-built man in middle life. There were indications beyond his speech that his years had not been spent in his present conditions and surroundings. His features gave evidence of intellect, and the obvious deterioration was recent. His expression was softening even as we stood facing each other. The previous callous demeanor was giving place to something finer. I pursued the question, feeling certain now that here was the purpose of my adventure..“Come now, tell me if I can be of help to you.”

Very decisively he answered at once, “No, you cannot.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve gone too far.”

As I prayed silently, presently he looked me squarely in the face as if measuring whether he could trust me and confide. No words came, so I continued. “Does it not appeal to you as a very remarkable thing,” I asked, “that we should be sitting here like this if you have really gone too far?”

No answer.

“Was it an accidental thing that I happened to get a job alongside you at that particular wharf this morning? Was it mere chance that those rascals chose me for their rather cruel joke? Is it pure coincidence that of all the crowd you should be the one to fish me out? Or—did Someone know where to find you and is even now answering someone else’s prayer for you?”

From the pocket he drew hastily two photographs. “These are mine,” he said, laying them gently upon the table. One was the picture of a fine-looking lady, the other bore the figures of two bonnie young girls of nearly equal age, obviously the daughters of the elder woman. I was looking closely at them when I heard a groan and then a sob as my friend again dropped his head upon his arms.

“Yours! And you here like this? Why?”

It was a sad story, but, alas, only too familiar. Bit by bit I got it from him; although several times with an almost fierce “it’s too late,” he would have left me.He was a fully qualified medical man with a fine record. He had married into a well-known family where there was no lack of money. Having conducted a splendid practice in the south of England, all went well for him for years. Two girls were born to them, and it was a happy home with a very wide circle of friends. But as so frequently happens, the allurements proved too strong for the man whose gifts and natural endowments made him a popular and welcome guest wherever he went. He was too busy to continue his regular attendance at church; gradually he ceased altogether and always had plenty of excuses to offer when his wife urged him to accompany her.

The girls were sent away to school where they were educated with a view to following a medical career, but he who should have been their guide and helper failed in his obligations because he had become addicted to drink

At first this fact was hidden, but the habit grew stronger until it mastered him. His practice as well as his home and family were neglected. This naturally led to great unhappiness and depression. In spite of the loving devotion and care of his wife and daughters, he went from bad to worse and finally decided to disappear. So by a number of subterfuges he effectually vanished from the world which knew him and became a wanderer.

After years of wandering in America and Canada, he returned to London. He had never been discovered; he had never communicated with his kin. Down, down he went, living the life of a casual hand, sometimes finding a job, sometimes literally begging for food. He slept out at night, often in lodging houses with those with whom he had nothing in common save a degraded and sinful way of life. When he could get drink, he took all he could obtain to drown his sorrows.

Once he was lodged in the Tower Bridge Police cells but was discharged and warned. He had simply been found “drunk and incapable,” and his identity had not been revealed. Now this thing had happened, and it could not be explained away by saying it was a coincidence. There was more in it than that. “Someone” had known where to find him. Suppose those three whom he had so shamefully deserted had been all the time praying for his recovery? Recovery that he had so foolishly resisted—so often longed for—so often dreamed of.

Suppose it were true that God was now “causing all things to work together for good to them”—those three—“that love Him”? Suppose that He was at this moment giving him another—possibly a last—chance to return

Such, he later admitted, were his thoughts, and he began to pray for himself. He had known in past days the comforts and consolations of worship. Now he began to pray very deeply and truly as he heard from a friend the old, old message. Presently he said calmly, “I see,” and kneeling by the table, he and I talked with God.

Never can I forget his prayer. At first the halting, stumbling petition of a brokenhearted repentant sinner who felt acutely two things. First, his base ingratitude to a merciful God Who had not cut him off in the midst of his sins, and then the cruelty of his conduct toward those who loved him on earth. As he confessed his feelings in these ways, he seemed to become capable of clearer utterance.

How long we thus communed I do not know, but we were both much moved as we stood to shake hands. I seemed to feel again his grip on mine as I now record these happenings.“And you will stand by me?”

“Yes,” I answered, “as well as another man can.”

“Then I’ll prove what Christ can do.”

We then fell to considering whether it would be advisable to write at once to his wife and tell her the news.

“No! Not yet. Please God we’ll try and improve matters before we do that. I must find out more about the position there first. There are the girls to think about. I must not spoil their careers. About now they must be in the midst of their exams. No! Please wait a while until by God’s help I am a little more like a father they need not be ashamed of—then!”

So we planned. With the aid of a friend who had influence in a certain large, well-known company, he was found a berth in the warehouse, packing drugs and chemicals..In a few weeks, the results were surprising. He was found to be so useful that a better paid job was offered him. Soon it was discovered that he knew a great deal about the

contents of the packets he was handling, and when he admitted that the work of a dispenser was not strange to him, he was again promoted.

It was then that he agreed to my suggestions to write to his wife and inform her that he was alive and well. Very carefully I wrote, telling her something of the events above recorded and suggesting that if she would like to see me on the matter I would gladly arrange to meet her.

A letter came back, breathing deep gratitude to God for His wonderful answer to prayer and for His mercy. An expression of appreciation for the human agency He had provided, and an explanation that the two daughters were facing some difficult hospital examinations. It would therefore, she thought, be best to defer any meeting until they were through. But would I please keep her informed of his progress. It was a wonderfully understanding and gracious letter considering all the circumstances.

I showed him the letter. He was deeply moved as he carefully and eagerly read it, then returning it to me he said quietly, “I must ask you to honor her wishes. Painful as delay is to me, I must submit. I deserve it and much more. Will you now pray with me that I may prove worthy of her confidence and their love?”

Six months passed, each day bringing continuous evidence of the “new birth” and of his loyalty to Christ. There was no wavering or falling back. Whatever struggles he had with the enemy, no one saw the least evidence of any weakness. In every way he was proving that he was “a new creature,” that “old things had passed away.

Two brief notes had come from the wife asking more details than my letters conveyed. I gladly told her all she desire to learn. Then one day there came a letter asking me to arrange a time for her to visit me. This was soon done, and without telling either of them what I had planned, I made my own arrangements. He was not informed of the impending visit but patiently awaited developments.

In due time the day arrived, and the wife kept her appointment. I instantly recognized the lady of the photograph, and to my intense delight she had brought her elder daughter with her. Both were much affected as I told them as much as I deemed needful of the facts. I felt it would be wise to leave the husband to give his own version of affairs.

Then, at a suitable moment, I said, “Would you like to see him at once?” I had not revealed to them that I had him in an adjoining room. But when the wife and daughter said eagerly together “Yes, please,” I opened the door and led them in to him. The lady had approached her husband with a smile of welcome and had kissed him; the daughter had put her arms about her father’s neck, and I heard just two words, “Dad, darling.”

It was no place for an outsider, so I made for my study and there lay the whole case again before the Father, asking that His will should be done. He heard and answered. For an hour I left them alone. Then he came to fetch me. His eyes were very red, and I thought he walked with a new and firmer step. No word was said, but he looked his deep gratitude as he beckoned me to return with him.

As I entered the room, the wife approached me with an eager look which spoke eloquently of the tense feelings she had. When, after a few moments, she found voice, it was to tell me that it had been arranged to await the second daughter’s examinations, which were just pending. This girl did not yet know the purport of her mother’s visit to London that day with the sister, who now told me on top of her own success in the exams, she was overjoyed at finding her father.

“Do dare not tell Margery yet. She is rather highly strung, and as Dad says, it might interfere with her progress. But won’t she be just delighted. You know she has never ceased praying for this.” So spake the daughter, still holding her father’s hand, as if unwilling to part again. It was a most affecting scene, and one felt that there was Another present, rejoicing with us. “If all goes well we shall, please God, make home again when Margery is through, and oh what a day that will be.”

The mother was now feeling the stress of it all and needed rest and refreshment. A happy little meal was prepared, and thanks were given to Him Who had thus brought His promises to fulfillment. But the best was yet to be. A happy home was restored.

In a certain south coast town, a place famous for its exhilarating air and for many of its citizens who have made history, there is held every Sunday afternoon a Bible class for young men. Sixty or more of the finest young fellows in that district meet week by week. It has been the birthplace of many splendid young Christians. Some of them have entered the Civil Service and today hold important positions at Whitehall, where I have had the joy of meeting them.

Coming one day along one of the corridors in the colonial office, I met a friend who said, “I’m very glad to see you today, because I promised that the next time you came this way I would ask you to come along with me and meet a man who wants to see you. He has another friend in the home office who also wants to meet you. Have you the time to do so?”

I assented and was led to the room indicated. Here was a man holding a responsible position who, upon being introduced, said, “I’m glad to meet you, sir, because I have an idea that you must be the gentleman of whom a very dear friend of mine often spoke. May I ask if you were acquainted with Dr. ______?”

“Yes indeed, I know him very well.”

“Then I guess you are the one of whom he spoke. I owe everything in life after my own parents to Dr. ______. He was a wonderful factor in the shaping of my career and that of many others. How did you come to know him, sir, if I may so question? And do you know his gifted family?”

Of course I could not tell him under what circumstances I had first met the doctor, the beloved physician who had sat in the leader’s chair of that Bible class Sunday by Sunday teaching youths the Way of Life, nor that it was he who had helped me out of the river that day when I had my involuntary mud bath.

In 1883 in Allentown, New Jersey, a wooden Indian—the kind that was seen in front of cigar stores—was placed on the ballot for Justice of the Peace. The candidate was registered under the fictitious name of Abner Robbins. When the ballots were counted, Abner won over incumbent Sam Davis by 7 votes.

A similar thing happened in 1938. The name Boston Curtis appeared on the ballot for Republican Committeeman from Wilton, Washington. Actually, Boston Curtis was a mule. The town’s mayor sponsored the animal to demonstrate that people know very little about the candidates. He proved his point. The mule won!

“Marathoner Loses by a Mustache.” So read the headline of a recent Associated Press story. It appeared that Abbes Tehami of Algeria was an easy winner of the Brussels Marathon—until someone wondered where his mustache had gone! Checking eyewitness accounts, it quickly became evident that the mustache belonged to Tehami’s coach, Bensalem Hamiani. Hamiani had run the first seven-and-a-half miles of the race for Tehami, then dropped out of the pack and disappeared into the woods to pass race number 62 on to his pupil. “They looked about the same,” race organizers said. “Only one had a mustache.” It’s expected that the two will never again be allowed to run in Belgium.

One day, as a minister sat in the office of his church to meet anyone who might have spiritual difficulties, only one person came. "What is your difficulty?" asked the minister. The man answered, "My difficulty is the ninth chapter of Romans, where it says, 'Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated.' " "Yes," said the minister, "there is great difficulty in that verse; but which part of the verse is difficult for you?" "The latter part, of course," said the man. "I cannot understand why God should hate Esau." The minister replied, "The verse has often been difficult, but my difficulty has always been with the first part of the verse. I never could understand how God could love that wily, deceitful, supplanting scoundrel Jacob."

All he ever really wanted in life was more. He wanted more money, so he parlayed inherited wealth into a billion-dollar pile of assets. He wanted more fame, so he broke into the Hollywood scene and soon became a filmmaker and star. He wanted more sensual pleasures, so he paid handsome sums to indulge his every sexual urge. He wanted more thrills, so he designed, built, and piloted the fastest aircraft in the world. He wanted more power, so he secretly dealt political favors so skillfully that two U. S. presidents became his pawns.

All he ever wanted was more. He was absolutely convinced that more would bring him true satisfaction. Unfortunately, history shows otherwise. He concluded his life emaciated; colorless; sunken chest; fingernails in grotesque, inches-long corkscrews; rotting, black teeth; tumors; innumerable needle marks from his drug addiction.

Howard Hughes died believing the myth of more. He died a billionaire junkie, insane by all reasonable standards.

During the Middle Ages there was a popular story which circulated about Martin of Tours, the saint for whom Martin Luther was named. It was said that Satan once appeared to St Martin in the guise of the Savior himself. St. Martin was ready to fall to his feet and worship this resplendent being of glory and light. Then, suddenly, he looked up into the palms of his hands and asked, “Where are the nail prints?” Whereupon the apparition vanished.

Theologians tell a story to illustrate how Christ’s triumph presently benefits our lives: Imagine a city under siege. The enemy that surrounds they city will not let anyone or anything leave. Supplies are running low, and the citizens are fearful. But in the dark of the night, a spy sneaks through the enemy lines. He has rushed to the city to tell the people that in another place the main enemy force has been defeated; the leaders have already surrendered. The people do not need to be afraid. It is only a matter of time until the besieging troops receive the news and lay down their weapons.

Similarly, we may seem now to be surrounded by the forces of evil -- disease, injustice, oppression, death. But the enemy has actually been defeated at Calvary. Things are not the way they seem to be. It is only a matter of time until it becomes clear to all that the battle is really over.

The Hashem ("the Name"-referring to God) for the Jew is the epitome of Holiness. That is why the devout Jew, when writing, spells God as G-D or Lord as L-rd, and why he pronounces the name Jehovah by the word Adonsi, or by Hashem and adds the words, "blessed be He." That is why the sefer scribe, the one copying the Torah Scroll, will take a new quill pen to write the name of God, and a new mix of ink. Before he writes that name, he must say, "I intend to write the name of God." If he does not, the page of the scroll is unfit and must be discarded. Likewise, if he is interrupted while writing the name or if he makes a mistake, the page is unfit.

The very name of God in the Old Testament Scriptures is the revelation of God.

When my father’s company hired a consultant to improve efficiency, he immediately called a meeting of all shop personnel. In stressing the importance of following a set plan of engineering procedures, he gave this analogy:

“You are on the Titanic, and it’s sinking. You find yourself on a lifeboat. It’s dark and hazy. Which direction would you row? Now, you’re in the same situation, but you have the ship’s navigator with you. Which way would you row? You’d row the way the navigator told you to, right?”

In the crowd there were murmurs of agreement until one man in the back piped up. “Well, I don’t know,” he said. “He already hit one iceberg!”

The great violinist, Nicolo Paganini, willed his marvelous violin to Genoa-the city of his birth-but only on condition that the instrument never be played. It was an unfortunate condition, for it is a peculiarity of wood that as long as it is used and handled, it shows little wear. As soon as it is discarded, it begins to decay.

The exquisite mellow-toned violin now has become worm-eaten in its beautiful case, valueless except as a relic. The moldering instrument is a reminder that a life withdrawn from service to others loses its meaning.

How well Jesus' strong emphasis upon service is illustrated! In order to retain our value and our worth and not degenerate into a worthless relic, we should serve and remain active.

"But whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minister. And whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant" (Mat 20:26-27).

On a cold winter day Thomas Carlyle was sitting near his fireplace when the door opened and the new pastor of a nearby church came in. After they had exchanged a few words, the young preacher asked the philosopher, "What do you think our community needs more than anything else?" Without hesitation Carlyle answered, "What our community needs more than anything else is a man who knows God experientially, not simply from what he has learned from others."

During the building of the Golden Gate Bridge over San Francisco Bay, construction fell badly behind schedule because several workers had accidentally fallen from the scaffolding to their deaths. Engineers and administrators could find no solution to the costly delays. Finally, someone suggested a gigantic net be hung under the bridge to catch any who fell. Finally in spite of the enormous cost, the engineers opted for the net. After it was installed, progress was hardly interrupted. A worker or two fell into the net but were saved. Ultimately, all the time lost to fear was regained by replacing fear with faith in the net.

The newborn child of gospel grace,

Like some fair tree when summer’s nigh,

Beneath Emmanuel’s shining face

Lifts up his blooming branch on high.

No fears he feels, he sees no foes,

No conflict yet his faith employs,

Nor has he learnt to whom he owes

The strength and peace his soul enjoys.

But sin soon darts its cruel sting,

And comforts sinking day by day,

What seem’d his own, a self-fed spring,

Proves but a brook that glides away.

When Gideon arm’d his numerous host,

The Lord soon made his numbers less;

And said, “Lest Israel vainly boast,

My arm procured me this success!”

Thus will He bring our spirits down,

And draw our ebbing comforts low,

That saved by grace, but not our own,

We may not claim the praise we owe.

“From this new cross has sprung a new philosophy of the Christian life; and from that new philosophy has come a new evangelical technique—a new type of meeting and new type of preaching. This new evangelism employs the same language as of the old, but its content is not the same, and the emphasis not as before.

“The new cross encourages a new and entirely different evangelistic approach. The evangelist does not demand abnegation of the old life before a new life can be received. He preaches not contrasts but similarities. He seeks to key into the public view the same thing the world does, only a higher level. Whatever the sin-mad world happens to be clamoring after at the moment is cleverly shown to be the very thing the gospel offers, only the religious product is better.

“The new cross does not slay the sinner; it re-directs him. It gears him to a cleaner and jollier way of living, and saves his self-respect...The Christian message is slanted in the direction of the current vogue in order to make it acceptable to the public.

“The philosophy back of this kind of thing may be sincere, but its sincerity does not save it from being false. It is false because it is blind. It misses completely the whole meaning of the cross.

The old cross is a symbol of DEATH. It stands for the abrupt, violent end of a human being. The man in Roman times who took the cross and started down the road has already said goodbye to his friends. He was not coming back. He was not going out to have his life re-directed; he was going out to have it ended. The cross made no compromise; modified nothing; spared nothing. It slew all of the man completely, and for good. It did not try to keep on good terms with the victim. It struck cruel and hard, and when it had finished its work, the man was no more.

“The race of Adam is under the death sentence. There is no commutation and no escape. God cannot approve any fruits of sin, however innocent they may appear, or beautiful to the eyes of men. God salvages the individual by liquidating him, and then raising him again to newness of life.

“That evangelism which draws friendly parallels between the ways of God and the ways of men is false to the Bible and cruel to the souls of its hearers. The faith of Christ does not parallel the world; it intersects it. In coming to Christ we do not bring our old life to a higher plane; we leave it at the cross....

“We, who preach the gospel, must not think of ourselves as public relations agents sent to establish good will between Christ and the world. We must not imagine ourselves commissioned to make Christ acceptable to big business, the press, or the world of sports, or modern entertainment. We are not diplomats, but prophets; and our message is not a compromise, but an ultimatum.”

In the early 1900s George Riddell acquired the sensational London newspaper The News of the World. Meeting British journalist Frederick Greenwood one day, Riddell mentioned that he owned a newspaper, told Greenwood its name, and offered to send him a copy. The next time they met, Riddell asked Greenwood what he thought of The News.

“I looked at it and then I put it in the wastepaper basket, “said Greenwood, “and then I thought, ‘If I leave it there the cook may read it,’ so I burned it.”

A distinguished French officer asked Washington's mother how she managed to rear such a splendid son. She replied, "I taught him to obey."

In Knowledge Of The Holy, A.W. Tozer attempts to reconcile the seemingly contradictory beliefs of God’s sovereignty and man’s free will:

“An ocean liner leaves New York bound for Liverpool. Its destination has been determined by proper authorities. Nothing can change it. This is at least a faint picture of sovereignty. “On board the liner are scores of passengers. These are not in chains, neither are their activities determined for them by decree. They are completely free to move about as they will. They eat, sleep, play, lounge about on the deck, read, talk, altogether as they please; but all the while the great liner is carrying them steadily onward toward a predetermined port. “Both freedom and sovereignty are present here, and they do not contradict. So it is, I believe, with man’s freedom and the sovereignty of God. The mighty liner of God’s sovereign design keeps its steady course over the sea of history.”

Douglas G. Gerrard

A circuit riding preacher entered one church building with his young son, and dropped a coin into the offering box in the back. Not many came that Sunday, and those who did didn’t seem too excited about what was said. After the service, the preacher and son walked to the back, and he emptied the box. Out fell one coin. The young boy said, “Dad, if you’d have put more in, you’d have gotten more out!”

An artist painted a picture of an old dilapidated barn. The barbed wire fence by the side of it was rusty and falling down. The door leaned drunkenly on hinges eroded by time and weather. It was a sad sight.

Some might call it "picturesque," but it was only a sad reminder of how temporary the things of life really are. Those who built it will not pass this way again. The things which were important to them are now only memories. The days of work and worry around this barn are long past. Life does not wait, and in its passing, "things" are left to rust and decay.

God has given us the means to correct this mistake of human weakness if we would only recognize it. He has given us "Sunday" in which to gather with those who share the dream of eternity with us; a time for reminding one another of things which do not ever swing on rusty hinges nor erode with time. He has offered us a constant audience with Him in prayer-a moment-by-moment opportunity to leave the temporary for the eternal.

Write out your prayers sometimes and see how much of the time you spend thanking God for and praying for the doors which hang on rusty hinges and how little time praising Him for the doors which open to things which "moth and rust" cannot corrupt.

It is not the multitude of hard duties, it is not constraint and contention that advance us in our Christian course. On the contrary, it is the yielding of our wills without restriction and without choice, to tread cheerfully every day in the path in which Providence leads us, to seek nothing, to be discouraged by nothing, to seek out duty in the present moment, to trust all else without reserve to the will and power of God. Fenelon

From this new cross has sprung a new philosophy of the Christian life; and from that new philosophy has come a new evangelical technique—a new type of meeting and new type of preaching. This new evangelism employs the same language as of the old, but its content is not the same, and the emphasis not as before.

The new cross encourages a new and entirely different evangelistic approach. The evangelist does not demand abnegation of the old life before a new life can be received. He preaches not contrasts but similarities. He seeks to key into the public view the same thing the world does, only a higher level. Whatever the sin-mad world happens to be clamoring after at the moment is cleverly shown to be the very thing the gospel offers, only the religious product is better.

The new cross does not slay the sinner; it re-directs him. It gears him to a cleaner and jollier way of living, and saves his self-respect...The Christian message is slanted in the direction of the current vogue in order to make it acceptable to the public.

The philosophy back of this kind of thing may be sincere, but its sincerity does not save it from being false. It is false because it is blind. It misses completely the whole meaning of the cross.

The old cross is a symbol of DEATH. It stands for the abrupt, violent end of a human being. The man in Roman times who took the cross and started down the road has already said good-bye to his friends. He was not coming back. He was not going out to have his life re-directed; he was going out to have it ended. The cross made no compromise; modified nothing; spared nothing. It slew all of the man completely, and for good. It did not try to keep on good terms with the victim. It struck cruel and hard, and when it had finished its work, the man was no more.

The race of Adam is under the death sentence. There is no commutation and no escape. God cannot approve any fruits of sin, however innocent they may appear, or beautiful to the eyes of men. God salvages the individual by liquidating him, and then raising him again to newness of life.

That evangelism which draws friendly parallels between the ways of God and the ways of men is false to the Bible and cruel to the souls of its hearers. The faith of Christ does not parallel the world; it intersects it. In coming to Christ we do not bring our old life to a higher plane; we leave it at the cross....

We, who preach the gospel, must not think of ourselves as public relations agents sent to establish good will between Christ and the world. We must not imagine ourselves commissioned to make Christ acceptable to big business, the press, or the world of sports, or modern entertainment. We are not diplomats, but prophets; and our message is not a compromise, but an ultimatum.”

A critic told a renowned evangelist, "Your preaching has put Christianity back one hundred years." The evangelist replied, "That's not back far enough. We must go back to the cross of Christ and to the 'faith which was once delivered to the saints.' "

It happened at the noonday luncheon of the local Rotary. The dishes had been cleared away, and the meeting had been called to order. After the reception of new members and the introduction of visitors, the chairman asked who of those present represented the oldest company in the community.

A young man in the back of the room hesitated a moment, then arose and said: "I believe I do, sir. I am a minister of the gospel. The company I represent was founded some 1,900 years ago. And I am happy to say that it is still flourishing." His announcement was greeted with applause, for none of those present was inclined to contradict him. He did, indeed, represent "the oldest company" in the community.

It was 19 centuries ago that the Founder of this "company" had said: "Upon this rock I will build My church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it" (Mat 16:18). How true the intervening centuries have proved His startling prediction to be! On every continent and on the islands of the seven seas, from East to West, from North to South, the company of Christ's redeemed have carried the message of salvation.

It was that "company" that the youn g minister represented-indeed, the oldest, grandest, and the largest to be represented at the meeting, a "company" that you can belong to by simple faith in Christ the Savior. We are "fellow" citizens with the saints and of the household of God, and are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief Cornerstone (Eph 2:19-20).

Three men, a surgeon, an engineer, and a politician, were arguing about whose profession was the oldest.

"Mine is," said the doctor. "Remember that Eve was carved out of Adam's rib."

"Admitted," said the engineer, "but remember that the earth was created out of chaos in six days. That obviously was an engineering job."

"Yes," said the politician, "but who created the chaos?"

In the Greek Islands, one can seek out the home of Hippocrates, the father of modern medicine. In the area, one can also find an olive tree, supposedly dating from his time. If this is so, this tree would then be some 2400 years old. The trunk of this tree is very large but completely hollow. The tree is little more than thick bark. There are a few long, straggling branches, but they are supported by sturdy wooden poles every few feet. It has an occasional leaf here and there and might produce a few olives each year.

In the fields around, however, are olive groves in many directions. The strong, healthy, young trees with narrow trunks are covered with a thick canopy of leaves, under which masses of olives can be found each year. The tree of Hippocrates can still be called an olive by nature, in that it still shows the essential unique characteristics, but it has long since ceased to fulfill an olive’s function. Tourists file up to inspect this ancient relic, having some link to a dim history, but the job of the olive tree passed long ago to many successions of replanted trees. Do you know any churches (or even people) like the tree of Hippocrates? The form is there, but the function is not. They have stopped reproducing and are satisfied just being big, or having a noble history. - Keith Copley

A young man who was studying medicine could not accept the doctrine of the supernatural birth of Jesus Christ. He went to a preacher who reasoned with him but left him in greater perplexity than ever. When he had finished his medical studies, he went to practice medicine in a rural community. One Sunday he decided to go and hear a backwoods preacher, not thinking for a moment that such a man could change his viewpoint on the virgin birth of Jesus Christ. But this humble preacher knocked more skepticism out of the doctor in half an hour than he had accumulated in all his years of medical school. He said, "If anybody here is troubled about the mystery of God becoming man, I want to take you back to the first chapter of Genesis and the first verse. 'In the beginning God....' " He looked down into the audience very searchingly. The doctor was so self-conscious that he felt the speaker was looking directly at him. Then the preacher continued, "My brother, let me ask you this: Do you believe God was in the beginning? That is to say, that before the beginning began, God was? Somebody had to be, to start things off. Science tells us how things evolve and grow, but not how they first started." The doctor whispered to himself, "Yes, I believe that." "Now," the preacher said, "if you believe that God was before the beginning, you believe the only mysterious thing of this universe." "If I believe that, God knows I could believe anything else in the world," thought the doctor to himself. His conclusion that memorable morning was, "I went to college and traveled through the mysteries of the theory of reproduction and cell formation, and now I realize that I was just a common fool; that if God was in the beginning, that was the one supreme mystery of all mysteries of this mysterious universe of God."

Hide not thy talent in the earth,

However small it be;

Its faithful use, its utmost worth,

God will require of thee.

His own, which He hath lent on trust,

He asks of thee again;

Little or much, the claim is just,

And thine excuses vain.

Go, then, and strive to do thy part,

Though humble it may be;

The ready hand, the willing heart,

Are all heaven asks of thee.

- William Cutler

Steve Lyons will be remembered as the player who dropped his pants.

He could be remembered as an outstanding infielder ... as the player who played every position for the Chicago White Sox ... as the guy who always dove into first base ... as a favorite of the fans who high fived the guy who caught the foul ball in the bleachers. He could be remembered as an above-average player who made it with an average ability.

But he won’t. He’ll be remembered as the player who dropped his pants on July 16, 1990.

The White Sox were playing the Tigers in Detroit. Lyons bunted and raced down the first-base line. He knew it was going to be tight, so he dove at the bag. Safe! The Tiger’s pitcher disagreed. He and the umpire got into a shouting match, and Lyons stepped in to voice his opinion.

Absorbed in the game and the debate, Lyons felt dirt trickling down the inside of his pants. Without missing a beat he dropped his britches, wiped away the dirt, and ... uh oh ...twenty thousand jaws hit the bleachers’ floor.

And, as you can imagine, the jokes began. Women behind the White Sox dugout waved dollar bills when he came onto the field. “No one,” wrote one columnist, “had ever dropped his drawers on the field. Not Wally Moon. Not Blue Moon Odom. Not even Heinie Manush.” Within twenty-four hours of the “exposure,” he received more exposure than he’d gotten his entire career; seven live television and approximately twenty radio interviews.

“We’ve got this pitcher, Melido Perex, who earlier this month pitched a no-hitter,” Lyons stated, “and I’ll guarantee you he didn’t do two live television shots afterwards. I pull my pants down, and I do seven. Something’s pretty skewed toward the zany in this game.”

Fortunately, for Steve, he was wearing sliding pants under his baseball pants. Otherwise the game would be rated “R” instead of “PG-13.”

Now, I don’t know Steve Lyons. I’m not a White Sox fan. Nor am I normally appreciative of men who drop their pants in public. But I think Steve Lyons deserves a salute.

I think anybody who dives into first base deserves a salute. How many guys do you see roaring down the baseline of life more concerned about getting a job done than they are about saving their necks? How often do you see people diving headfirst into anything?

Too seldom, right? But when we do ... when we see a gutsy human throwing caution to the wind and taking a few risks ... ah, now that’s a person worthy of a pat on the ... back.

So here’s to all the Steve Lyons in the world.

Source unknown

Difficult Passages in the Epistles, R. Stein, Baker, 1988, p. 116

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Commenting on Barabbas, Donald Grey Barnhouse wrote, “He was the only man in the world who could say that Jesus Christ took his physical place. But I can say that Jesus Christ took my spiritual place. For it was I who deserved to die. It was I who deserved that the wrath of God should be poured on me. I deserved the eternal punishment of the lake of fire. He was delivered up for my offenses. He was handed over to judgment because of my sins…. Christ was my substitute. He was satisfying the debt of divine justice and holiness. That is why I say that Christianity can be expressed in the three phrases: I deserved hell; Jesus took my hell; there is nothing left for me but His heaven.” - D. C. E.

A general may defeat all his enemies on the battlefield yet be unable to defeat his critics at home. He may be able to control the men under him and yet be unable to control himself. He may be victor in the eyes of men, yet defeated in the estimation of God. And he may congratulate himself that no one has been able to stand up against him, yet he will go down at last before man's final enemy, death.

Thus, all men's victories are partial in this life. Even the victory over sin and evil that the regenerated believer has in Christ is at best incomplete. Only one Man has ever conquered sin and death completely and defeated all His enemies.

The story is told of a girl who turned her back on her widowed mother who had worked so hard to bring her up, and left home without telling her mother where she was going. Night after night the mother waited for the girl, but she did not come back. In her perplexity and sorrow the mother went to her pastor to ask his help. He suggested that she have some pictures taken of herself and bring them to him, which she did. Then he asked her what message she wanted to send her lost girl. In tears the mother said, "All I want to tell her is 'Come back.' " "Write that on each picture," said the minister, and then he proceeded to send these pictures to places of amusement in other large towns which he felt the daughter was most likely to frequent. He requested that the picture be posted on the bulletin board where it could be easily seen. One night, the daughter came to one of these places and was attracted by something familiar about the picture on the bulletin board. Little did she imagine that it could be her mother's picture. She came closer to it, and there it was-her own mother, looking much older than when she had left. Then she saw what was written on it, "Come back," and knew it was addressed to her. She could not proceed with her plans for that night. With a heart burning with remorse, she went back to her room, packed her clothes, and took the first train home. Arriving in the early hours of the morning, she was surprised to find the door of the little apartment open; in she went. There was her mother in tears, not sleeping, but sitting up, praying for her prodigal daughter. She threw her arms around her, and the first thing she asked when she could speak was, "Mother, why did you leave the door open?" "Oh, Louise, the door has never been closed since the day you left. I left it open all the time expecting your return. I didn't want you to find it shut when you came back."

The Order of the Mustard Seed had three guiding principles, namely:

1. Be kind to all people.

2. Seek their welfare.

3. Win them to Christ.

A little child whose father and mother had died, was taken into another family. The first night she asked if she could pray, as she used to do. They said "Oh yes." So she knelt down, and prayed as her mother taught her and when that was ended she added a little prayer of her own: "Oh God, make these people as kind to me as father and mother were." Then she paused and looked up, as if expecting the answer, and added: "Of course He will." How sweetly simple was that little one's faith she expected God to "do," and, of course, she got her request.

Two influential preachers, Charles Spurgeon and Joseph Parker, occupied pulpits in London during the 19th century. On one occasion, Parker commented about the poor condition of children admitted to Spurgeon’s orphanage. It was reported to Spurgeon, however, that Parker had criticized the orphanage itself. Being a man of fiery temperament, Spurgeon blasted Parker from his pulpit. That attack, printed in the newspaper, became the talk of the town. Londoners flocked to Parker’s church the next Sunday to hear his rebuttal. “I understand Dr. Spurgeon is not in his pulpit today, and this is the Sunday they use to take an offering for the orphanage,” Parker said. “I suggest we take a love offering here for the orphanage.” The crowd was delighted; ushers had to empty the collection plates three times. Later that week, there was a knock at Parker’s study. It was Spurgeon. “You know, Parker, you have practiced grace on me,” he said. “You have given me not what I deserved; you have given me what I needed.”

Perhaps he sometimes slipped a bit-

Well, so have you.

Perhaps some things he ought to quit-

Well, so should you.

Perhaps he may have faltered-

Why, all men do, and so have I.

You must admit, unless you lie,

That so have you.

Perhaps if we would stop and think,

Both I and you,

When painting someone black as ink,

As some folks do;

Perhaps if we would recollect,

Perfection we would not expect,

But just a man halfway correct,

Like me and you.

When F. B. Meyer was pastoring Christ Church in London, Charles Spurgeon was preaching at Metropolitan Tabernacle, and G. Campbell Morgan was at Westminster Chapel. Meyer said,

“I find in my own ministry that supposing I pray for my own little flock, ‘God bless me, God fill my pews, God send me a revival,” I miss the blessing; but as I pray for my big brother, Mr. Spurgeon, on the right-hand side of my church, ‘God bless him’; or my other big brother, Campbell Morgan, on the other side of my church, ‘God bless him’; I am sure to get a blessing without praying for it, for the overflow of their cups fills my little bucket.”

Two taxidermists stopped before a window in which an owl was on display. They immediately began to criticize the way it was mounted. Its eyes were not natural; its wings were not in proportion with its head; its feathers were not neatly arranged; and its feet could be improved. When they had finished with their criticism, the old owl turned his head ... and winked at them.

Think about the oyster. It takes a grain of sand and turns it into a beautiful pearl. Too often we are just the opposite—we take pearls and turn them into grains of sand.

The American painter, John Sargent, once painted a panel of roses that was highly praised by critics. It was a small picture, but it approached perfection. Although offered a high price for it on many occasions, Sargent refused to sell it. He considered it his best work and was very proud of it. Whenever he was deeply discouraged and doubtful of his abilities as an artist, he would look at it and remind himself, “I painted that.” Then his confidence and ability would come back to him.

Over 2,000 years ago a young Greek artist named Timanthes studied under a respected tutor. After several years the teacher’s efforts seemed to have paid off when Timanthes painted an exquisite work of art. Unfortunately, he became so enraptured with the painting that he spent days gazing at it.

One morning when he arrived to admire his work, he was shocked to find it blotted out with paint. Angry, Timanthes ran to his teacher, who admitted he had destroyed the painting. “I did it for your own good. That painting was retarding your progress. Start again and see if you can do better.”

Timanthes took his teacher’s advice and produced Sacrifice of Iphigenia, which is regarded as one of the finest paintings of antiquity.

Brian J. Waldrop relates this slice of life:

"Flipping through the channels of my TV the other morning, I stopped to watch a painter skillfully painting a dese rt landscape. As the man proceeded to color the canvas in deep browns, reds, and yellows, the picture really started to look good. I felt that the painter ought to stop. To me, the picture looked complete.

"As I was thinking those very words, I cringed to see the artist add a dark blackish color of paint to the canvas. As I had feared, the dark blob looked awkward and out of place. But as the man continued to add texture and other colors to the blob it began to take shape. When the painter was finished, the part of the picture that I thought was ruined looked great! It was exactly what the painting needed to make it beautiful and complete.

"As I sat there watching the program that day, I was really surprised to find myself cringing at many of the moves the artist made with his brush. I got to thinking how typical this is of my Christian life. Many times in my life, after much struggling and hardship, I have come to a place where I am comfortable. As I am basking in the goodness of the Lord, God has chosen to institute a change I neither expected nor wanted. During this time I cry out, 'No, Lord, You are ruining the picture!'But often, as I allowed God to continue His work on the canvas of my life, to my surprise the picture would begin to look pretty good. Finally, I would thank Him for the addition or subtraction to my life.

"There have been times, however, that the change never looked good to me and perhaps never will. During these times I must remember that God is still painting. The picture has not been completed yet. I must travel on in faith knowing that when I see Him face to face, my painting will be beautiful.

"In the meantime, I can take comfort knowing that every situation, though it may be ugly and bad, is paint that the Master Craftsman can use for good.

"Paul stated it this way, 'And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose' (Rom 8:28 NIV).

"Lord Jesus, take my life and create a masterpiece!"

In her poem “The Parable of Tomorrow,” Ruth Gibbs Zwall offers this description of the Savior’s leading:

“I looked at the mountain. ‘It is too hard, Lord,’ I said; ‘I cannot climb.’

‘Take My hand,’ He whispered; ‘I will be your strength.’

I saw the road, ‘It is too long, Lord,’ I said; ‘so rough and long.’

‘Take My love,’ He answered; ‘I will guard your feet.’

I looked at the sky. ‘The sun is gone,’ I said; ‘already the way grows dark.’

‘Take the lantern of My Word,’ He whispered; ‘that will be light enough.’

We climbed. The road was narrow and steep, but the way was bright.

And when the thorns reached out, they found His hand before they touched my own.

And when my path grew rough,

I knew it was His love that kept my feet from stumbling.

Then I grew very tired. ‘I can go no farther, Lord,’ I said.

He answered, ‘Night is gone.

Look up, My child.’ I looked and it was dawn. Green valleys stretched below.

‘I can go on alone now,’ I said—and then I saw the marks.

‘Lord, Thou art wounded. Thy hands are bleeding. Thy feet are bruised.

Was it for me?’

He whispered, ‘I did it gladly.’

Then I fell at His feet. ‘Lord, lead me on,’ I cried.

‘No road too long, no valley too deep, if Thou art with me.’

We walk together now and shall forever!”

Another poll sheds light on this paradox of increased religiosity and decreased morality. According to sociologist Robert Bellah, 81 percent of the American people also say they agree that “an individual should arrive at his or her own religious belief independent of any church or synagogue.” Thus the key to the paradox is the fact that those who claim to be Christians are arriving at faith on their own terms -- terms that make no demands on behavior. A woman named Sheila, interviewed for Bellah’s Habits of the Heart, embodies this attitude.

“I believe in God,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I went to church. But my faith has carried me a long way. It’s ‘Sheila-ism.’ Just my own little voice.”

He is the King of kings, the radiance of His glory, the Lord of the spaceless, fabulous, infinite universe, omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, unspeakable holy, dwelling in light, unapproachable, changeless ... and yet He condescended to be enclosed in lowly human flesh, to be born a despised Judean, in a filthy stable, in the womb of a simple Israeli woman and without fanfare or pomp.

He came unto His own, and His own received Him not.

The loftiest and most exalted became the embodiment of humility and simplicity.

The richest became the poorest that the poor might become rich.

He came out of dry ground to become a fruitful vine.

He feasted with publicans and sinners that they might not starve in their sin.

He starved for 40 days in the wilderness that we might feast on the impeccable Bread of Life.

He taught us to love our enemies, to do good to those who treat us badly.

He emptied Himself that we might be filled.

Mighty conquerors with vast armies and terrible weapons have sought in vain to subdue the world—He conquered a vast kingdom with simple weapons of agape.

The Lion became the Lamb that sheep might become shepherds.

His heart was broken that He might bind up the broken-hearted.

- His body was crushed that we might be made whole.

We come into the world to live; He came to die.

The purest One was called illegitimate, blasphemer, winebibber, glutton and impostor by guilty sinners.

The Lord of lords became a lowly servant to serve the pitiful needs of mankind.

The Man of Sorrows acquainted with the depths of grief became the joy of the world.

He was rejected that we might be accepted.

He was bruised that we may be healed.

He was condemned that we might be justified.

He was judged that we would not be judged.

He was deserted for a time by the Father that we might find access to the Father.

He died as the innocent One that the guilty might be declared innocent.

By grasping life we die; through death we find life.

Glory to the Lamb, the Paradox of God.

An item in the May 2, 1985, Kansas City Times reminds us of a story you may be able to use in an evangelistic message. The item had to do with the attempt by some fans of O. Henry, the short-story writer, to get a pardon for their hero, who was convicted in 1898 of embezzling $784.08 from the bank where he was employed.

But you cannot give a pardon to a dead man. A pardon can only be given to someone who can accept it. Now, for the story.

Back in 1830 George Wilson was convicted of robbing the United States Mail and was sentenced to be hanged. President Andrew Jackson issued a pardon for Wilson, but he refused to accept it. The matter went to Chief Justice Marshall, who concluded that Wilson would have to be executed. “A pardon is a slip of paper,” wrote Marshall, “the value of which is determined by the acceptance of the person to be pardoned. If it is refused, it is no pardon. George Wilson must be hanged.”

For some, the pardon comes too late. For others, the pardon is not accepted.

A magician working a cruise ship had a pet parrot who was constantly ruining his act. The bird would say to the audience, “He has the card in his pocket,” or “The card’s up his sleeve,” or “It went through a hole in his top hat.” One day there was a huge explosion and the ship sank. The parrot and the magician, both dazed and bruised, found themselves together on a piece of wreckage. For four days the parrot stared at the magician. Finally, the parrot said, “Okay, I give up. What did you do with the ship?”

You see them driving around most urban areas and even venturing out in small town USA. Their destinations are automotive garages and any other place of business that uses tools. Most of the vehicles are large vans or panel trucks and carry such logos as "Snap-On Tools," or "Matco."

What if it were the job of these drivers to rush from place to place tightening, untightening and doing all the actual mechanical repairing of the vehicles? Imagine the mechanics in these shops calling on the tool man every time they needed a bolt tightened or a screw adjusted, sitting around waiting for them to arrive and do the work. It is a comical scene based on the ridiculous; hundreds of mechanics waiting for the help of few exhausted and distraught tool men.

The truth of the matter is, these tool men in their vans only provide the tools. It is the mechanics who do the work.

Sometimes we in the local church can actually get caught up in a similar comedy of errors. A church can look to their pastor as the one whom they hire to do their ministry for them. A pastor can also be at fault for allowing himself to be like the misguided tool man trying to do it all himself.

The truth of the matter is, in God's economy of work in the local church it is the individual people in the congregation who are called by God to do the bulk of the ministry. The pastor's job is to equip them for their ministry.

From valley to valley out over the hilltops,

From sunshine to fog like the darkest of night;

So we follow the Lord down life’s winding pathway,

And walk much by faith and little by sight.

‘Twould be easy to see were His presence like lightning,

And easy to hear if like thunder His voice;

But He leads in the quiet by the voice of the Spirit,

And we follow in love for we’ve made Him our choice.

The path that we tread by the cross is o’er shadowed,

And the glory at times by pain is made dim;

Temptations assail and the spirit grows weary,

Yet we’re ever sustained by the vision of Him.

The years of our lives be they few or be many,

Will soon pass away as dreams of the night;

Then we’ll step through the portals on eternity’s morning,

And greet Him in glory as faith turns to sight.

Richard L. Baxter

What good will it do the farmer to be angry at the plants because they are later in yielding fruit than he thinks they should be? It won't affect the plants. It is not in his power to ripen fruits at his pleasure. Therefore, as the farmer exercises patience and long-suffering waiting for the earth to yield her fruit, so should we in waiting for the presence of the Lord.

A rich man decided to take up fishing. He bought the most expensive equipment and bait, but he caught nothing. He passed by a farmboy who had an old stick and a rusty hook but had caught a big string of fish. "How did you manage to catch so many, when I couldn't catch a single one?" he asked. "Oh," said the boy, "I try to keep out of sight so the fish won't see me. Perhaps you show yourself too much."

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!”

I think that I shall never see

A church that's all it ought to be:

A church whose members never stray

Beyond the strait and narrow way;

A church that has no empty pews,

Whose pastor never has the blues,

A church whose deacons always deak,

And none is proud, and all are meek;

Where gossips never peddle lies,

Or make complaints or criticize;

Where all are always sweet and kind,

And all to others' faults are blind.

Such perfect churches there may be,

But none of them are known to me.

But still, we'll work, and pray, and plan

To make our own the best we can.

-Author Unknown

In May 1924, a shocked nation learned two young men from Chicago, Richard Leopold and Nathan Loeb, had killed 14-year-old Bobbie Franks. What made the crime so shocking, and made Leopold and Loeb household names, was the reason for the killing. The two became obsessed with the idea of committing the “perfect murder,” and simply picked young Franks as their victim.

They were sentenced to life imprisonment, but Leopold was killed in a prison brawl in 1936. Claiming he wanted “a chance to find redemption for myself and to help others,” Nathan Loeb became a hospital technician at his parole in 1958. He died in 1971.

1. After hundreds of years the perfect pastor’s been found. He is the church elder who’ll please everyone.

2. He preaches exactly 20 minutes and then sits down.

3. He condemns sin, but never steps on anybody’s toes.

4. He works from 8 in the morning to 10 at night, doing everything from preaching sermons to sweeping.

5. He makes $400 per week, gives $100 a week to the church, drives a late model car, buys lots of books, wears fine clothes, and has a nice family.

6. He always stands ready to contribute to every other good cause, too, and to help panhandlers who drop by the church on their way to somewhere.

7. He is 36 years old, and has been preaching 40 years.

8. He is tall on the short side, heavy-set in a thin sort of way, and handsome.

9. He has eyes of blue or brown, (to fit the occasion) and wears his hair parted in the middle - left side, dark and straight, right side, brown and wavy.

10. He has a burning desire to work with the youth, and spends all his time with the senior citizens.

11. He smiles all the time while keeping a straight face, because he has a keen sense of humor that finds him seriously dedicated.

12. He makes 15 calls a day on church members, spends all his time evangelizing non-members, and is always found in his study if he is needed.

Unfortunately he burnt himself out and died at the age of 32.

“The Scriptures indicate that evil has been permitted by God in order that His justice might be manifested in its punishment and His grace in its forgiveness (Rom. 9:22,23). Thus the existence of evil is a reminder of the fact that the universe is designed not for the production of happiness among rational creatures but for the manifestation of the manifold perfections of God.”

Is he willing to prevent evil, but not able? then he is impotent.

Is he able, but not willing? then he is malevolent.

Is he both able and willing? whence then is evil?

David Hume

A young skeptic said to an elderly lady, "I once believed there was a God, but now, since studying philosophy and mathematics, I am convinced that God is but an empty word." "Well," said the lady, "I have not studied such things, but since you have, can you tell me where this egg comes from?" "Why, of course, from a hen," was the reply. "And where does the hen come from?" "Why, from an egg." Then the lady inquired, "Which existed first, the hen or the egg?" "The hen, of course," rejoined the young man. "Oh, then a hen must have existed without having come from an egg?" "Oh, no, I mean that one egg existed without having come from a hen." The young man hesitated: "Well, you see-that is-of course, well, the hen was first!" "Very well," said she, "who made that first hen from which all succeeding eggs and hens have come?" "What do you mean by all this?" he asked. "Simply this: I say that He who created the first hen or egg is He who created the world. You can't explain the existence even of a hen or an egg without God, and yet you wish me to believe that you can explain the existence of the whole world without Him!" Thus the old lady's common sense sent the young man's philosophy packing. Everything finite must have had a beginning. But the important issue is, what is behind every finite beginning? Is it self-begun, or is there an infinite and eternal mind, a personality, behind it, the same personality which is behind every finite beginning? This personality John chooses to call ho Logos, "the Word."

An evangelist, wanting to comfort someone who had just accepted the Lord, said to him, "You see how even a publican was accepted when he cried for mercy." "Ah," said the man, "but I have been a greater sinner than a publican: I have been a Pharisee!"

A heathen philosopher, on being asked the question, "What and where is God?" desired two days in which to prepare an answer. Partly pressed with the difficulties of the subject itself, and partly encumbered and confounded by polytheistic prejudices, he doubled and redoubled the time. When required to state the reason for his delay, he acknowledged, "It is a question in which my insufficient reason is lost. The oftener I ask myself, 'What is God?' the less able I am to answer." How much more are you unable to reason why the omnipotent God, in order to save your soul, had to become man in the person of Jesus Christ and die on a cross. That is beyond reasoning, but it is within grasp of one's experience.

The photographer for a national magazine was assigned to get photos of a great forest fire. Smoke at the scene hampered him and he asked his home office to hire a plane. Arrangements were made and he was told to go at once to a nearby airport, where the plane would be waiting. When he arrived at the airport, a plane was warming up near the runway. He jumped in with his equipment and yelled, “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

The pilot swung the plane into the wind and they soon were in the air.

“Fly over the north side of the fire,” yelled the photographer, “and make three or four low level passes.”

“Why?” asked the pilot.

“Because I’m going to take pictures,” cried the photographer. “I’m a photographer and photographers take pictures!”

After a pause the pilot said, “You mean you’re not the instructor?”

An elderly widow, restricted in her activities, was eager to serve Christ. After praying about this, she realized that she could bring blessing to others by playing the piano. The next day she placed this small ad in the Oakland Tribune: “Pianist will play hymns by phone daily for those who are sick and despondent—the service is free.” The notice included the number to dial. When people called, she would ask, “What hymn would you like to hear?”

Within a few months her playing had brought cheer to several hundred people. Many of them freely poured out their hearts to her, and she was able to help and encourage them.

In Robert Louis Stevenson's story of a storm, he describes a ship caught off a rocky coast, threatening death to all on board. When terror among the passengers was at its worst, one man more daring than the rest, making the perilous passage to the pilot-house, saw the pilot lashed to his post with his hands on the wheel, turning the ship little by little into the open sea. When the pilot beheld the ghastly white, terror-stricken face of the man, he smiled, and the man rushed to the deck below shouting, "I have seen the face of the pilot and he smiled. All is well." The sight of that smiling face averted panic and converted despair into hope.

My friends, there is one spot on earth where the fear or Death, of Sin, and of Judgment, need never trouble us, the only safe spot on earth where the sinner can stand--Calvary. Out in our western country, in the autumn, when men go hunting, and there has not been rain for many months, sometimes the prairie grass catches fire. Sometimes, when the wind is strong, the flames maybe seen rolling along, twenty feet high, destroying man and beast in their onward rush. When the frontiersmen see what is coming, what do they do to escape? They know they cannot run as fast as that fire can run. Not the fleetest horse can escape it. They just take a match and light the grass around them. The flames sweep onwards they take their stand in the burnt district and are safe. They hear the flames roar as they come along they see death bearing down upon them with resistless fury, but they do not fear. They do not even tremble as the ocean of flame surges around them, for over the place where they stand the fire has already past and there is no danger. There is nothing for fire to burn. And there is one spot all earth that God has swept over. Eighteen hundred years ago the storm burst on Calvary the Son of God took it into his own bosom, and now, if we take our stand by the Cross, we are safe for time and eternity.

I read that when a terrible plague came to ancient Athens, people there committed every horrible crime and engaged in every lustful pleasure they could because they believed that life was short and they would never have to pay any penalty.