Topic : Luke

Resource

• The Pauline Circle, F. F. Bruce, Eerdmans, 1985, p. 35

Resource

• John The Baptizer, Bible Study Guide by C. Swindoll, p. 1

Resource

• Biblical Sermons, H.W. Robinson, Baker, 1989, p. 133

Don’t Pray for a Life of Convenience

Thanking God for the good things He has given us comes pretty easy. But thanking Him for an enduring “inconvenience” can be difficult.

Moira MacLachlan (a pen name) experienced a shattering, life-altering event when she was raped and became pregnant. Because of her decision to raise the child, there would be a daily reminder of this violent disruption of life.

Moira cautiously likens her situation to Mary’s unexpected pregnancy. She writes, “This world considers any disruption of its thoroughly detailed preparation for a life of convenience a rational excuse for unbridled anguish and rebellion. To [the world], the thankful prayer I raise to God for the radical explosion that took place in my life is akin to insanity. The disruptions in the plans of Mary and me served to bring us both to the same conclusion: Sometimes God’s purpose in shattering the peace in our lives is to remind us that He has a purpose for everything.” Moira thanks God for her beautiful child, and concludes, “Don’t pray for a life of convenience, you might get it—and wouldn’t that be too bad'

Our Daily Bread, December 20, 1996

Great Mathematician

Karl Friedrich Gauss, considered one of the greatest mathematicians of all time, first showed his precocious ability at age nine when he was admitted to an arithmetic class. The teacher gave what appeared to be a complicated problem, which in reality could be solved by the use of a simple formula. Although he had never been taught the formula, young Gauss handed in his slate within seconds. For an hour he sat idly by while his classmates labored. When all of the slates were in, Gauss’s was the only one with the right answer. The stunned teacher was so impressed that he bought Gauss the best available math textbook and did what he could to advance the boy’s progress.

Today in the Word, MBI, 12-28-91

Resource

• Christlike, Barry Applewhite, p. 39

Dissident Soviet Jew

Anatoli Shcharansky, a dissident Soviet Jew, kissed his wife goodbye as she left Russia for freedom in Israel. His parting words to her were, “I’ll see you soon in Jerusalem.” But Anatoli was detained and finally imprisoned. Their reunion in Jerusalem would not only be postponed, it might never occur. During long years in Russian prisons and work camps Anatoli was stripped of his personal belongings. His only possession was a miniature copy of the Psalms. Once during his imprisonment, his refusal to release the book to the authorities cost him 130 days in solitary confinement.

Finally, twelve years after parting with his wife, he was offered freedom. In February 1986, as the world watched, Shcharansky was allowed to walk away from Russian guards toward those who would take him to Jerusalem. But in the final moments of captivity, the guards tried again to confiscate the Psalms book. Anatoli threw himself face down in the snow and refused to walk on to freedom without it. Those words had kept him alive during imprisonment. He would not go on to freedom without them.

From Discipleship Journal, Issue #43 (1988), p. 24

Rejection Can Be Irreparable

As far as we know, Christ never returned to Nazareth. Rejection can be irreparable, final. God never sends anyone to hell. It is a chosen state. Having pursued it through life, God finally lets us have it our way.

Bruce Larson, Luke, p. 92-3

A Local Boy

The return of the local-boy-made-good is not always the triumph that legend has it. Around the turn of the century there was a young man named James Lewis Kraft who was a clerk in Ferguson’s general store at Fort Erie, Ontario, across the Niagara River from Buffalo. Kraft had been born on a farm near there. He was obviously a good clerk, appreciated by his employer, because he was making $150 a month—a good salary in those days.

A neighboring storekeeper, a man named Land, remembered him very well. Years later, when Kraft revisited the Land store on a trip home, the elderly proprietor identified him with every sign of pleasure. A good deal of water had gone over the falls during that interval. James Kraft had founded the Kraft Cheese Company in Chicago. The company’s products had reached practically every grocery store in the U.S.A. and adjacent Canada as well. Millions of dollars in advertising had etched the Kraft name into public consciousness, and J.L. Kraft had every expectation that neither the name nor the products had bypassed the admiring attention of his old friend.

But Land merely said, “Why, hello, Lew. Haven’t seen you for years. You still clerkin’ up at Ferguson’s?”

It couldn’t, as the saying goes, have happened to a nicer guy. For J.L. Kraft was a humble man, even though he built a multi-million-dollar business.

Bits & Pieces, July 21, 1994, pp. 19-21

Resource

• A.T. Robertson, A Minister..., p. 44

Resource

• The Other Jesus, L.J. Ogilvie, Word, 1986, pp. 198ff

Resource

• C. Swindoll, Living Above the Level of Mediocrity, p. 119

Resource

• Someone Who Beckons, p. 56

Resource

• C. Swindoll, Living Above the Level of Mediocrity, p. 166

Resource

• The Other Jesus, L.J. Ogilvie, Word, 1986, p. 34

Flowers D.O.A.

Flowers are a thing of beauty and an expression of sentiment which may mean, “I love you,” “Get well,” or “My condolences.” In keeping with the cynical spirit of our age, a new venture called Flowers of Extinction will deliver buds and petals guaranteed to be dead upon arrival. The offensive gift is designed as a way to get even with former bosses, jilting lovers, or whomever you would like to insult with revenge. It may sound like a clever retort, but it won’t meet with Christ’s approval. “Do good to them which hate you,” Jesus said (Luke 6:27). Has someone wronged you? Do you feel bitter about the injustice of a friend? I have a suggestion. Instead of scheming for a way to return evil for evil, love your enemies and former friends. Why not send them flowers? Instead of Flowers of Extinction, make your peace offering a Bouquet of Distinction.

Source unknown

Sacrificial Giving

Christians should give sacrificially to help people in need. That’s what Henry Richards did when he brought the gospel to the people of Banza Mateke. Each day he would translate and explain 10 verses from the book of Luke. When he came to the 6th chapter, he hesitated because most of his followers were very poor, and might misunderstand the 30th verse. He said that Jesus’ words illustrate a principle and had to be interpreted in the light of other Scriptures. But they took them literally and quickly asked for almost everything Richards owned. Without hesitation he gave them what they requested. Soon, his most cherished possessions were in their hands. After talking among themselves, the people concluded that Mr. Richards was truly a man of God, for they had never seen anyone so self-sacrificing. One by one they came and returned what he had given them. Because of his willingness to give up everything, the missionary’s work bore much fruit.

Now, Scripture never condones selfishness and indolence, but encourages hard work and personal responsibility (2 Th. 3:10). For this reason we must be discerning when people ask for help, lest shysters become prosperous and saints become paupers. Yet our Lord’s teaching is clear: when anyone has a genuine need, we who are His followers must be generous and never allow greed or a love for things to keep us from giving assistance.

Source unknown

Resource

• Swindoll, Growing Strong, p. 155 (You get out of life what you put into it; example: an echo)

College Students

Many years ago two young men were working their way through Stanford University. At one point their money was almost gone, so they decided to engage the great pianist Paderewski for a concert and use the profits for board and tuition. Paderweski’s manager asked for a guarantee of $2000. The students worked hard to promote the concert, but they came up $400 short. After the performance, they went to the musician, gave him all the money they had raised, and promised to pay the $400 as soon as they could. It appeared that their college days were over. “No, boys, that won’t do,” said the pianist. “Take out of this $1600 all your expenses, and keep for each of you 10 percent of the balance for your work. Let me have the rest.”

Years passed. Paderewski became premier of Poland following World War I. Thousands of his countrymen were starving. Only one man could help - the head of the U.S. Food and Relief Bureau. Paderewski’s appeal to him brought thousands of tons of food. Later he met the American statesman to thank him. “That’s all right,” replied Herbert Hoover. “Besides, you don’t remember, but you helped me once when I was a student in college.”

Source unknown

Good Action Brings Good Fortune

Baron De Rothschild once posed before an artist as a beggar. While the artist, Ary Scheffer, was painting him, the financier sat before him in rags and tatters holding a tin cup. A friend of the artist entered, and the baron was so well disguised that he was not recognized. Thinking he was really a beggar, the visitor dropped a coin into the cup.

Ten years later the man who gave the coin to Rothschild received a letter containing a bank order for 10,000 francs and the following message: “You one day gave a coin to Baron de Rothschild in the studio of Ary Scheffer. He has invested it and today sends you the capital which you entrusted to him, together with the compounded interest. A good action always brings good fortune. Signed, Baron de Rothschild.”

Bits & Pieces, February 4, 1993, p. 24

Earthquake-Proof Hotel

The great architect Frank Lloyd Wright was given the challenge of building the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo, one of the most earthquake-prone cities in the world. Wright’s investigation showed that a solid foundation could be “floated” on a sixty-foot layer of soft mud underlying the hotel, which would provide a shock-absorbing but solid support for the immense building. Shortly after the hotel was completed it withstood the worst earthquake in fifty-two years, while lesser buildings fell in ruins around it.

Today in the Word, March, 1989, p. 6

The Company President

Imagine, if you will, that you work for a company whose president found it necessary to travel out of the country and spend an extended period of time abroad. So he says to you and the other trusted employees, “Look, I’m going to leave. And while I’m gone, I want you to pay close attention to the business. You manage things while I’m away. I will write you regularly. When I do, I will instruct you in what you should do from now until I return from this trip.”

Everyone agrees. He leaves and stays gone for a couple of years. During that time he writes often, communicating his desires and concerns. Finally he returns. He walks up to the front door of the company and immediately discovers everything is in a mess—weeds flourishing in the flower beds, windows broken across the front of the building, the gal at the front desk dozing, loud music roaring from several offices, two or three people engaged in horseplay in the back room. Instead of making a profit, the business has suffered a great loss. Without hesitation he calls everyone together and with a frown asks, “What happened? Didn’t you get my letters?”

You say, “Oh, yeah, sure. We got all your letters. We’ve even bound them in a book. And some of us have memorized them. In fact, we have ‘letter study’ every Sunday. You know, those were really great letters.” I think the president would then ask, “But what did you do about my instructions?” And, no doubt the employees would respond, “Do? Well, nothing. But we read every one! “

Charles Swindoll, Living Above the Level of Mediocrity, p. 242

Artist Andrew Wyeth

Nat Wyeth, engineer and inventor, on his brother, artist Andrew Wyeth:

Andy did a picture of Lafayette’s quarters near Chadds Ford, Pa., with a sycamore tree behind the building. When I first saw the painting, he wasn’t finished with it. He showed me a lot of drawings of the trunk and the sycamore’s gnarled roots, and I said, “Where’s all that in the picture?” “It’s not in the picture, Nat,” he said. “For me to get what I want in the part of the tree that’s showing, I’ve got to know thoroughly how it is anchored in back of the house.”

I find that remarkable. He could draw the tree above the house with such authenticity because he knew exactly how the thing was in the ground.

Kenneth A. Brown, Inventors at Work

Ye Call Me Master

Ye call Me Master and obey me not,
Ye call Me Light and see me not,

Ye call Me way and follow me not
Ye call Me Life and desire me not,

Ye call Me wise and acknowledge me not,
Ye call Me fair and love me not,

Ye call Me rich and ask me not,
Ye call Me eternal and seek me not,

Ye call Me gracious and trust me not,
Ye call Me noble and serve me not,

Ye call Me mighty and honor me not,
Ye call Me just and fear me not,

If I condemn you, blame me not.

Resource, July/August, 1990

Repeating a Name

We might miss the strength of these statements (Matt 7:21-23 and here) unless we realize that repeating a person’s name is a Hebrew expression of intimacy. When God speaks to Abraham at Mount Moriah, as he is about to plunge the knife into the breast of Isaac, He says, “Abraham, Abraham.” Or when God encourages Jacob in his old age to take the trip to Egypt, He says, “Jacob, Jacob” (Genesis 22:11, 46:2). Compare the call of Moses from the burning bush: “Moses, Moses,” or the call of Samuel in the night, “Samuel, Samuel” (Exodus 3:4; 1 Sam 3:10). Or consider David’s cry of agony, “Absalom, Absalom,” and Jesus’ cry of desolation on the cross, “My God, my God.” (2 Samuel 18:33; Matt 27:46). When Jesus confronted Martha, when He warned Peter, and when He wept over Jerusalem—in each case we find the word repeated for intimacy’s sake (Luke 10:41; 22:31; Matt 23:37).

Some pretend to have a deep relationship with Christ, but this claim is not borne out in their lives. There are many who say, “Lord, Lord,” while in fact they live in contempt for Christ’s commandments. “If you love me, you will obey what I command,” said Jesus (John 14:15).

Tabletalk, April, 1990, p. 18

The Governor’s Mother

Dorothy Lawsom McCall, mother of Oregon’s late governor Tom McCall, was an energetic matriarch, not content to live vicariously through her son’s achievements. She published two books after she was 80, announced for governor herself at 85 and had a lifelong love affair with the telephone that involved just about everybody in public power.

Naturally no one got more of her attention than her celebrated son. Despairing of his privacy, Tom McCall at last got an unlisted number and “forgot” to give it to her. He reckoned not, however, that he was dealing with his mother.

Word came one time while he was having his usual noon swim at the YMCA: The White House is calling. Awed and dripping, McCall picked up the phone. “Tom,” a soft, south-Texas voice said, “this is Lyndon. I’ve just been talking to your mother.”

Source unknown

Homework Assignment

Amy Carter brought home one Friday night a homework assignment while her father was still President. Stumped by a question on the Industrial Revolution, Amy sought help from her mother. Rosalynn was also fogged by the question and, in turn, asked an aide to seek clarification from the Labor Department. A “rush” was placed on the request since the assignment was due Monday.

Thinking the question was a serious request from the Prez himself, a Labor Department official immediately cranked up the government computer and kept a full team of technicians and programmers working overtime all weekend at a reported cost of several hundred thousand dollars. The massive computer printout was finally delivered by truck to the White House on Sunday afternoon and Amy showed up in class with the official answer the following day. But her history teacher was not impressed. When Amy’s paper was returned, it was marked with a big red “C.”

Source unknown

The Storms of Life

No Christian is immune from the storms of life. When we come by faith to Christ and experience the transforming power of His grace, we are not automatically guaranteed that we will be free from difficulty and trial. Yet we are assured of God’s abiding presence and mighty power to calm our fears and hold us secure in time of trouble.

A seagoing captain commanded a passenger ship that was sailing from Liverpool, England, to New York. His family was on board with him. One night when everyone was asleep, a squall unexpectedly swept over the waters and tossed the ship violently, awakening the passengers. They were all terribly afraid because of the storm. The captain’s little 8-year-old girl was also awakened. “What’s the matter?” cried the frightened child. Her mother told her that a sudden storm had struck the ship. “Is Father on deck?” she asked. “Yes, Father’s on deck,” came the encouraging answer. Hearing this, the little girl snuggled back into her bed and in a few moments was sound asleep. The winds still blew and the waves still rolled, but her fears were calmed because her father was at the helm.

Source unknown

Resource

• God sends none away empty but those who are full of themselves.

Resource

• Zane Hodges, The Hungry Inherit, p. 63

Resources

• Christ At The Crossroads, C. Swindoll, 1991, p. 63
• Christlike, Barry Applewhite, p. 57

The Cricket

Two men were walking down 5th Avenue in New York. One said, “I hear a cricket.” “How in the world can you hear a cricket with all this commotion?” He explained that he was a naturalist, and trained to hear such things. To prove his point, he reached into his pocket, took out a fifty-cent piece and dropped it on the pavement. 10 people stopped dead.

Source unknown

Loaves and Fishes

“What parable do you like best?” the Sunday School teacher asked her class. “The one,” replied the pupil, “about the multitude that loafs and fishes.”

Source unknown

Who Do You Say I Am'

Jesus said unto them, “Who do you say I am?” And they replied, “You are the eschatological manifestation of the ground of our being, the kerygma in which we found the ultimate meaning of our interpersonal relationship.”

And Jesus said, “Come again?”

Source unknown

Your Cross

If you’re not going to carry your cross, don’t make the trip. - James Dobson

Christ’s Call To Discipleship, J.M. Boice, Moody, 1986, pp. 35ff

Who Is Greatest

Whenever there is trouble over who is the greatest there is trouble over who is the least. That is the crux of the matter for us, isn’t it? Most of us know we will never be the greatest; just don’t let us be the least.

Richard J. Foster, Christianity Today, January 7, 1983

Hudson Taylor

The accuracy of Jesus’ statement about Mary of Bethany is proven every time we talk about her act of devotion. What she did is still “spoken of, for a memorial of her.” Her outpouring of love for Jesus, which was demonstrated when she anointed Him with oil, has been remembered down through the centuries to this very day.

In Yorkshire, England, during the early 1800s, two sons were born to a family named Taylor. The older one set out to make a name for himself by entering Parliament and gaining public prestige. But the younger son chose to give his life to Christ. He later recalled, “Well do I remember, as in unreserved consecration I put myself, my life, my friends, my all, upon the altar. I felt I was in the presence of God, entering into covenant with the Almighty.” With that commitment, Hudson Taylor turned his face toward China and obscurity. As a result, he is known and honored on every continent as a faithful missionary and the founder of the China Inland Mission (now known as Overseas Missionary Fellowship). for the other son, however, there is no lasting monument. He became known simply as “the brother of Hudson Taylor.” - P.R.V.

Our Daily Bread

No Neutrality

In 9:50 those not against the disciples and their work will not lightly speak evil of Christ. It isn’t ours to forbid any work done, however imperfectly, in Christ’s name. In 11:23 neutrality now becomes an impossibility.

Life and Times of Jesus, Book 4, p. 118

Renounce

1. Renounce possession of things as primary (vv.57,58).

2. Renounce procrastination by putting Christ first (vv.59,60).

Jesus gives us the test of genuine discipleship in Luke 9:57-62. If we are to follow Him fully, we must:

3. Renounce all other priorities (v.61).

4. Renounce all thought of not persevering (v.62).

If we do this, Jesus promises that whosoever will lose his life for His sake shall find it. - H.G.B.

The Other Jesus, L.J. Ogilvie, Word, 1986, pp. 70ff

In the Bottle

In a small art studio I observed the works of an artist who portrays western scenes and people. An unfinished sketch on his easel reminded me of the story of a boy who sat at his mother’s desk, drawing a picture. Using a fountain pen and a bottle black ink, he exhibited considerable talent in sketching a picture of a dog. But he stopped drawing before giving the dog a tail. When his mother noticed the picture, she asked, “Where is the tail?” Looking up, he explained, “It’s still in the bottle.”

Our Daily Bread

The Good Samaritan

I overheard a story that has had a powerful effect on my understanding of just how hardened Christian people can become in order to protect themselves from seeing the engulfing hurt and need.

One semester, a seminary professor set up his preaching class in an unusual way. He scheduled his students to preach on the Parable of the Good Samaritan and on the day of class, he choreographed his experiment so that each student would go, one at a time, from one classroom to another where he or she would preach a sermon. The professor gave some students ten minutes to go from one room to the other; to others he allowed less time, forcing them to rush in order to meet the schedule. Each student, one at a time, had to walk down a certain corridor and pass by a bum, who was deliberately planted there, obviously in need of some sort of aid.

The results were surprising, and offered a powerful lesson to them. The percentage of those good men and women who stopped to help was extremely low, especially for those who were under the pressure of a shorter time period. The tighter the schedule, the fewer were those who stopped to help the indigent man. When the professor revealed his experiment, you can imagine the impact on that class of future spiritual leaders. Rushing to preach a sermon on the Good Samaritan they had walked past the beggar at the heart of the parable.

We must have eyes to see as well as hand to help, or we may never help at all. I think this well-known poem expresses it powerfully:

I was hungry and you formed a humanities club
to discuss my hunger.
Thank you.

I was imprisoned and you crept off quietly
to your chapel to pray for my release.
Nice.

I was naked and in your mind you debated the
morality of my appearance.
What good did that do'

I was sick and you knelt and thanked God for
your health.
But I needed you.

I was homeless and you preached to me of the
shelter of the love of God.
I wish you’d taken me home.

I was lonely and you left me alone to pray for me.
Why didn’t you stay?

You seem so holy, so close to God; But I’m still
very hungry, lonely, cold, and still in pain.
Does it matter'

Anonymous

Resource

• Tell it to the Church, p. 13

Loving God

Swami Shivananda, a famous swami in India used to tell his disciples: “Kill the mind and then, and then only, can you meditate.” The Christian position is, “Thou shalt love the Lord they God with all thy mind”—the intellectual nature; “with all thy heart”—the emotional nature; “with all thy soul”— the willing nature; and “with all thy strength”—the physical nature. The total person is to love him—mind, emotion, will, strength. But the “strength” might mean the strength of all three. Some love him with the strength of the mind and the weakness of the emotion —the intellectualist in religion; some love him with the strength of emotion and the weakness of the mind—the sentimentalist in religion; some love him with the strength of the will and the weakness of emotion—the man of iron who is not approachable. But loving God with the strength of the mind, the strength of the emotion, the strength of the will—that makes the truly Christian and the truly balanced and the truly strong character.

Ordering Your Private World, G. McDonald, p. 103

Which Was a Neighbor'

A certain woman driving alone from Washington to Richmond, ran over a spike which punctured her tire and left her stranded. In distress, she raised the hood of her car and tied a scarf to the door handle; then she locked the doors and sat in the car praying for the Lord to send help.

By chance there came a limousine with a bumper sticker that read, “Smile, God Loves You.” When the occupants saw the stranded woman, they passed by in the far lane without even smiling.

Also, there came a sports car with a CB radio and a bumper sticker saying, “Honk If You Love Jesus.” The driver passed by in the far lane without even honking or using his CB to tell the highway patrol about the woman’s dilemma.

A certain workman, when he saw the raised hood and scarf, come to the spot where the woman was, with compassion. He stopped his old pickup, which had no bumper stickers, crossed the four-lane highway and offered to change the tire.

The woman tried to pay the workman, but he refused the money saying, “If my wife were stranded on the highway, I’d want some good Samaritan to stop and help her out.” And again he crossed the four-lane highway, got into his bumper-stickerless truck, smiled and honked at her, and went on his way to work. Which now of these three was a neighbor unto her that had a flat'

Eastside Christian, Clarksville, Ind.

The Law

Lawyer: I’d keep the Law if I could, but I can’t because it’s unclear.

Neighbor: I see a need, recognize it, am able to meet it, and respond to it.

Source unknown

The Beggar

On 9-8-82 I saw a man, Jimmy Packer, outside a Safeway store, asking for $1 for wine. Usually I’d brush by or give him a quarter to rid myself of the nuisance, but I told him, “I need to run an errand. If you’re still here in 5 minutes and want to dry out, I’ll take you to a 24-hour house where they can help you. He was. I did.

John Underhill, Spokane, WA

Mother of the Salvation Army

Catherine Booth was the “mother” of the Salvation Army. “Wherever Catherine Booth went,” said Campbell Morgan, “humanity went to hear her. Princes and princesses merged with paupers and prostitutes.”

One night, Morgan shared in a meeting with Mrs. Booth; and a great crowd of “publicans and sinners” was there. Her message brought many to Christ.

After the meeting, Morgan and Mrs. Booth went to be entertained at a fine home; and the lady of the manor said, “My dear Mrs. Booth, that meeting was dreadful”

“What do you mean, dearie?” asked Mrs. Booth.

“Oh, when you were speaking, I was looking at those people opposite to me. Their faces were so terrible, many of them. I don’t think I shall sleep tonight!”

“Why, dearie, don’t you know them?” Mrs. Booth asked; and the hostess replied, “Certainly not!”

“Well, that is interesting,” Mrs. Booth said. “I did not bring them with me from London; they are your neighbors!”

Source unknown

The Accident

Fred and Marlene Nichols stopped at a service station near Mobile, Alabama to ask directions. Suddenly, a truck without brakes flew across the highway and crashed into their car. Mrs. Nichols was severely injured. Needing to go with his wife to the hospital, but unsure what to do about their car and belongings, Mr. Nichols heard a stranger’s reassuring words and felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. The man told Mr. Nichols to go ahead, he would stay with the couple’s car. Looking at the man, Mr. Nichols instantly recognized him. “You’re Bobby Knight.” “I am,” the man replied, “but we won’t talk about that now.”

Fresh from guiding his Indiana University basketball team to the 1987 collegiate championship in New Orleans, and en route to Atlanta to receive a coach-of-the-year award, Knight laid aside his honored position and became a servant to a couple in need.

Today in the Word, April 16, 1992

The Good Part

Martha was gently rebuked by Jesus, not because she worked hard to prepare His dinner but because she neglected a more important concern. She had been so busy making a perfect meal that she failed to nourish her soul with the spiritual food Mary was receiving through fellowship with Him. The fact that Martha was anxious about her work indicates that her priorities had gotten out of line. Mary, however, had “chosen that good part,” which would not be taken away from her (v. 42).

An unknown author has captured the lesson of Luke 10 in these poetic words:

Martha in the kitchen, serving with her hands,
Occupied for Jesus with her pots and pans.
Loving Him, yet fevered, burdened to the brim,
Careful, troubled Martha, occupied for Him.

Mary on the footstool, eyes upon her Lord,
Occupied with Jesus, drinking in His word.
This one thing was needful, all else strangely dim;
Loving, resting Mary, occupied with Him.

So may we, like Mary, choose the better part:
Resting in His presence, hands and feet and heart;
Drinking in His wisdom, strengthened by His grace;
Waiting for the summons, eyes upon His face.

When it comes, we’re ready, spirit, will, and nerve;
Mary’s heart to worship, Martha’s hand to serve;
This the rightful order, as our lamps we trim:
Occupied WITH Jesus, then occupied FOR Him!”

Our Daily Bread

Resource

• A.T. Robertson, Greek N.T., p. 56

The Privilege of Prayer

A comment by Robert A. Cook, president of The King’s College in New York, renewed my appreciation for the privilege of prayer. Speaking at the Moody Bible Institute, Cook said that the day before, he had been at a gathering in Washington and had talked with Vice President George Bush. Two hours later he spoke briefly with President Ronald Reagan. Then smiling broadly, Cook told us, “But that’s nothing! Today I talked with God!”

Our Daily Bread

Long Stretches Tire Us

These two Scripture verses prompted someone to write, “One secret of a happy Christian life is living by the day. It’s the long stretches that tire us. But really, there are no long stretches. Life does not come to us all at once. Tomorrow is not ours; but when it does come, God will supply both daily bread and daily strength.”

As Pastor Philip Doddridge was walking along the street one day, he was feeling depressed and desolate, for something had happened to burden his heart. Passing a small cottage, he heard through the open door the voice of a child reading the words found in Deuteronomy 33:25, “.as your days, so shall your strength be.” The Holy Spirit used that truth to bolster his sinking morale. He was encouraged not to look too far ahead, but just to go on living for the Lord from moment to moment in the consciousness that God would care for him.

Apparently D.L. Moody also learned that secret, for he said, “A man can no more take in a supply of grace for the future than he can eat enough today to last him for the next 6 months, nor can he inhale sufficient air into his lungs with one breath to sustain life for a week to come. We are permitted to draw upon God’s store of grace from day to day as we need it!”

God never gives His strength in advance, so let’s stop crossing bridges before we come to them. The Heavenly Father will graciously supply our every need - one day at a time!

Don’t try to bear tomorrow’s burdens with today’s grace.

Our Daily Bread, December 30, 1985

Resource

• The Other Jesus, L.J. Ogilvie, Word, 1986, pp. 130ff
• Life and Times of Jesus, Book 4, p. 118

No Neutrality

In [Luke] 9:50 those not against the disciples and their work will not lightly speak evil of Christ. It isn’t ours to forbid any work done, however imperfectly, in Christ’s name. In 11:23 neutrality now becomes an impossibility.

Life and Times of Jesus, Book 4, p. 118

A Terrible Deathbed

I once read of a man who bought a luxurious house and filled it with expensive and spectacular furnishings. After taking a friend on a tour through its many spacious rooms, the owner of the mansion asked proudly, “Well, what do you think of it?” He expected to hear lavish praise, so he was stunned when his quest responded, “It is gorgeous; but to be perfectly frank, things like this make a deathbed terrible.”

Our Daily Bread

All Mine

George W. Truett, a well-known pastor, was invited to dinner in the home of a very wealthy man in Texas. After the meal, the host led him to a place where they could get a good view of the surrounding area.

Pointing to the oil wells punctuating the landscape, he boasted, “Twenty-five years ago I had nothing. Now, as far as you can see, it’s all mine.” Looking in the opposite direction at his sprawling fields of grain, he said, “That’s all mine.” Turning east toward huge herds of cattle, he bragged, “They’re all mine.” Then pointing to the west and a beautiful forest, he exclaimed, “That too is all mine.”

He paused, expecting Dr. Truett to compliment him on his great success. Truett, however, placing one hand on the man’s shoulder and pointing heavenward with the other, simply said, “How much do you have in that direction?” The man hung his head and confessed, “I never thought of that.”

Our Daily Bread, October 24, 1992

How Much Land Does a Man Need'

Leo Tolstoy once wrote a story about a successful peasant farmer who was not satisfied with his lot. He wanted more of everything. One day he received a novel offer. For 1000 rubles, he could buy all the land he could walk around in a day. The only catch in the deal was that he had to be back at his starting point by sundown. Early the next morning he started out walking at a fast pace. By midday he was very tired, but he kept going, covering more and more ground. Well into the afternoon he realized that his greed had taken him far from the starting point. He quickened his pace and as the sun began to sink low in the sky, he began to run, knowing that if he did not make it back by sundown the opportunity to become an even bigger landholder would be lost. As the sun began to sink below the horizon he came within sight of the finish line. Gasping for breath, his heart pounding, he called upon every bit of strength left in his body and staggered across the line just before the sun disappeared. He immediately collapsed, blood streaming from his mouth. In a few minutes he was dead. Afterwards, his servants dug a grave. It was not much over six feet long and three feet wide. The title of Tolstoy’s story was: How Much Land Does a Man Need?

Bits and Pieces, November, 1991

Money Is the Goal

College students know what they want. Money. According to a survey conducted by the American Council on Education in 1987, 75 percent of the 200,000 incoming freshmen who were polled felt that being well-off financially is either an “essential” or a “very important” goal. And 7l percent said the key reason they were going to college was so they could get high-paying jobs when they graduate. There’s something else: The percentage of freshmen who thought it was vital to develop a meaningful philosophy of life was at an all-time low—only 39 percent.

C. Swindoll, Living Above the Level of Mediocrity, p. 152

Philip Parham tells the story of a rich industrialist who was disturbed to find a fisherman sitting lazily beside his boat. “Why aren’t you out there fishing?” he asked.

“Because I’ve caught enough fish for today,” said the fisherman.

“Why don’t you catch more fish than you need?’ the rich man asked.

“What would I do with them?”

“You could earn more money,” came the impatient reply, “and buy a better boat so you could go deeper and catch more fish. You could purchase nylon nets, catch even more fish, and make more money. Soon you’d have a fleet of boats and be rich like me.”

The fisherman asked, “Then what would I do?”

“You could sit down and enjoy life,” said the industrialist.

“What do you think I’m doing now?” the fisherman replied as he looked placidly out to sea.

Our Daily Bread, May 18, 1994

The Key

An English clergyman was called to the death-bed of a wealthy parishioner. Kneeling beside the dying man the pastor asked him to take his hand as he prayed for his upholding in that solemn hour, but he declined to give it. After the end had come, and they turned down the coverlet, the rigid hands were found holding the safe key in their death grip. Heart and hand, to the last, clinging to his possessions, but he could not take them with him.

Moody’s Anecdotes, pp. 12-13

Misers

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).

Daily Walk, June 2, 1993

Bedtime Bread

God promises that He will provide the basics of life—food and clothing. Once we have accepted this, we have laid the foundation for genuine contentment.

In his book “God’s Psychiatry,” Charles L. Allen tells this story: “As World War II was drawing to a close, the Allied armies gathered up many hungry orphans. They were placed in camps where they were well-fed. Despite excellent care, they slept poorly. They seemed nervous and afraid. Finally, a psychologist came up with the solution. Each child was given a piece of bread to hold after he was put to bed. This particular piece of bread was just to be held—not eaten. The piece of bread produced wonderful results. The children went to bed knowing instinctively they would have food to eat the next day. That guarantee gave the children a restful and contented sleep.”

Source unknown

Resource

• A.T. Robertson, Greek N.T., p. 54

Resource

• The Other Jesus, L.J. Ogilvie, Word, 1986, pp. 104ff

Resource

• "Evangelical Preaching," Charles Simeon, p. 113

Resource

• Christlike, Barry Applewhite, p. 77

They Took God’s Glory

What did King Nebuchadnezzar of ancient Babylon and Nikolai Ceausescu of present-day Romania have in common? Both were ruthless dictators who fell after boldly exalting themselves.

Nebuchadnezzar brazenly declared that he had built the great city of Babylon by his own power and for the honor of his majesty (Dan. 4:30). God humbled him by driving him into the wilderness with a mental illness.

Ceausescu, after years of cruelly persecuting Christians and killing all potential threats to his power, instructed the National Opera to produce a song in his honor that included these words: “Ceausescu is good, righteous, and holy.” He wanted this song to be sung on his 72nd birthday on January 26, 1990, but on December 25, 1989, he and his wife were executed. Although his overthrow was part of the anticommunist revolution that swept through eastern Europe, many Christians see his sudden downfall as an act of God. One Romanian, Peter Dugulescu, said that it was “because he took for himself the glory of God.”

Our Daily Bread, August 2, 1992

Resource

• Tales of the Neverending, Mark Littleton, Moody, 1990, p. 101

Resource

• Charles C. Ryrie, So Great Salvation, (USA: Victor Books, a Division of Scripture Press, 1989), pp. 74ff

Baby’s Blessing

It occurred in Northern Virginia, probably on his last visit there. A young mother brought her baby to him to be blessed. He took the infant in his arms and looked at it and then at her and slowly said, “Teach him he must deny himself.”

Robert E. Lee, Douglas Southall Freeman, in Lee, quoted in Charles Swindoll, Living Above the Level of Mediocrity, p.54

The Parable of the Prodigal Pig

There was a man who had two son
And loved them for they were his own.
The younger said, “Dad, I want my estate,
I think that I’m now fully grown.”

The son left home, went far away,
And spent all he had living high.
A famine then hit and low and behold,
He found himself in a pigsty.

The young man soon came to himself.
He turned to a piggy and said,
“Let’s get out of here and go to my dad.
He’ll see that we’re warm and well-fed.”

The father saw them from afar.
He ran and received them with glee.
He kissed his son, gave the pig a big hug,
And washed them as clean as can be.

He tied a bow around pig’s neck,
And placed a gold ring in his nose.
The father put shoes upon his son’s feet
And gave him a new set of clothes.

Both son and pig sat down to eat.
The boy became full as a tick.
But each time the food was passed to the pig
He cried out, “I’m gonna be sick!

There’s no way I can eat this stuff.
The lack of mud’s drying my skin.
The ring in my nose is just killing me.
I’m going back home to my pen.”

A son may run from his father,
Waste all to try making it big.
He will not stay in the pigsty because
A son is a son, not a pig.

Take care how you judge another,
‘Cause they appear good or look bad.
The one clean may be pig on his way home,
The muddy one, running to dad.

From a story told by J. Vernon McGee

Comparisons

Source unknown

For All Who Knew the Shelter of the Fold

For all
who knew the shelter of The fold,
its warmth and safety
and The Shepherd’s care,
and bolted;
choosing instead to fare
out into the cold,
the night;
revolted
by guardianship,
by Light;
lured by the unknown;
eager to be out
and on their own;
freed
to water where they may,
feed where they can,
live as they will;
till
they are cured,
let them be cold,
ill;
let them know terror;
feed
them with thistle,
weed,
and thorn;
who chose
the company of wolves,
let them taste
the companionship wolves give
to helpless strays;
but, oh! let them live—
wiser, though torn!
And wherever,
however, far away
they roam,
follow
and
watch
and keep
Your stupid, wayward, stubborn
sheep
and someday
bring them Home!

Prodigals and Those Who Love Them, Ruth Bell Graham, 1991, Focus on the Family Publishing, p. 15

Fleeing From You

Fleeing from You,
nothing he sees
of Your preceding
as he flees.

Choosing his own path
how could he know
Your hand directs
where he shall go.

Thinking he’s free,
“free at last,”
unaware that Your hand
holds him fast.

Poor prodigal!
seeking a “where” from
“whence,”
how does one escape
Omnipotence'

Waiting for darkness
to hide in night,
not knowing, with You
dark is as light.

Based on Psalm 139:7-12 in light of Luke 15. Prodigals and Those Who Love Them, Ruth Bell Graham, 1991, Focus on the Family Publishing, p. 38

The Prodigal Daughter

It seemed to the other elders that Lachlan Campbell dealt hard with young people, especially those who had gone astray, but they learned one evening that his justice at least had no partiality.

One elder, Burnbrae, said afterward that Lachlan “looked like a ghost comin’ in at the door.” But Lachlan sat in silence in the shadow, and no one marked the agony on his face till the end.

“If that is all the business, moderator, I must to bring a case of discipline before the Session, and ask them to do their duty,” Lachlan began.

“It is known to me that a young woman who has been a member of this church has left her home and gone into the far country. There will be no use in summoning her to appear before the Sessions, for she will never be seen again in this parish. I move that she be cut off from the roll, and her name is—” Lachlan’s voice broke, but in an instant he recovered. “Her name is Flora Campbell.”

Carmichael the minister confessed later he was stricken dumb, and that Lachlan’s ashen face held him with an awful fascination. It was Burnbrae who first found a voice: “Moderator, this is a terrible calamity that has befallen our brother, and I’m feelin’ as if I had lost a little one o’ my own, for a sweeter lassie dina cross our kirk (church) door. None o’ us want to know what has happened or where she has gone, and not a word o’ this will cross our lips. Her father’s done more than could be expected o’ mortal man, and now we have our duty. “It’s not the way o’ this Session to cut off any member o’ the flock at a stroke, and we will not begin with Flora Campbell. I move, moderator, that the case be left to her father and yourself, and our neighbor may depend on it that Flora’s name and his will be mentioned in our prayers, every mornin’ and night till the good Shepherd o’ the sheep brings her home.”

Burnbrae paused and then, with tears in his voice—men do not weep in the Scottish glen of Drumtochty—added, “With the Lord there is mercy, and with Him is plenteous redemption.”

The minister took the old man’s arm, led him into the manse (minister’s home) and set him in the big chair by the study fire. “Thank God, Lachlan, we are friends now; tell me about it as if I were your son and Flora’s brother.”

The father took a letter from an inner pocket with a trembling hand:

Dear Father,

When this reaches you I will be in London and not worthy to cross your door. Do not be always angry with me, and try to forgive me, for you will not be troubled any more by my dancing or dress. Do not think that I will be blaming you, for you have been a good father to me, and said what you would be considering right, but it is not easy for a man to understand a girl. Oh, if I had my mother, then she would have understood me and I would not have crossed you.

Forget poor Flora’s foolishness, but you will not forget her, and maybe you will still pray for me. Take care of the geraniums for my sake, and give milk to the lamb that you called after me. I will never see you again, in this world or the next, nor my mother.(Here the letter was much blotted.) When I think that there will be no one to look after you, and have the fire burning for you on winter nights, I will be rising to come back.

But it is too late, too late. Oh, the disgrace I will be bringing on you in the glen.

Your unworthy daughter, Flora Campbell

“This is a fiery trial, Lachlan, and I cannot even imagine what you are suffering,” said the minister. “But do not despair, for that is not the letter of a bad girl. Perhaps she was impatient and has been led astray. But Flora is good at heart, and you must not think she is gone for ever.”

Lachlan groaned, the first sound he had made, and then he tottered to his feet. “You are kind, Master Carmichael, and so was Burnbrae, and I will be thankful to you all, but you do not understand. Oh no, you do not understand.”

Lachlan caught hold of a chair and looked the minister in the face. “She has gone, and there will be no coming back. You would not take her name from the roll of the church, and I will not be meddling with that book. But I have blotted out her name from my Bible, where her mother’s name is written and mine. She has wrought confusion in Israel and in an elder’s house, and I have not daughter. But I loved her, she never knew how I loved her, for her mother would be looking at me from her eyes.”

The minister walked with Lachlan to the foot of the hill on which his cottage stood. After they had shaken hands in silence, the minister watched the old man’s figure in the cold moonlight till he disappeared into the forsaken home, where the fire had gone out on the hearth, and neither love nor hope was waiting for a broken heart.

The railway did not think it worthwhile to come to Drumtochty, and the glen was cut off from the lowlands by miles of forest, so manners retained the fashion of the former age. Six elders, besides the minister, knew the tragedy of Flora Campbell and never opened their lips.

Mrs. Macfadyen, who was Drumtochty’s newspaper and understood her duty, refused to pry into this secret. The pity of the glen went out to Lachlan, but no one even looked a question as he sat alone in his pew or came down on a Saturday afternoon to the village shop for his week’s provisions.

“It makes my heart weep to see him,” Mrs. Macfadyen said one day. “So bowed an’ distracted, him that was so tidy and firm. His hair’s turned white in a month, and he’s away to nothin’ in his clothes. But least said is soonest mended. It’s not right to interfere wi’ another’s sorrow. We must just hope that Flora’ll soon come back, for if she does not, Lachlan’ll no be long wi’ us. He’s sayin’ nothin’, and I respect him for it; but anybody can see his heart is breakin.’”

Everyone was helpless till Marget Howe met Lachlan in the shop and read his sorrow at a glance. She went home to Whinnie Knowe in great distress. “I was woesome to see the old man gathering his bit things wi’ a shaking hand, and speaking to me about the weather, and all the time his eyes were saying, ‘Flora, Flora.’ “It’s laid on me to visit Lachlan, for I’m thinking our Father didna comfort us without expecting that we would comfort other folk.”

When Marget came round the corner of Lachlan’s cottage, she found Flora’s plants laid out in the sun and her father watering them on his knees. One was ready to die. He was taken unawares, but in a minute he was leading Marget in with hospitable words: “It’s kind of you to come to an old man’s house, Mistress Howe, and it’s a very warm day. You will not care for spirits, but I am very good at making tea.”

Marget spoke at once: “Master Campbell, you will believe that I have come in the love of God and because we have both been afflicted. I had a son, and he is gone; you had a daughter, and she is gone. I know where George is an am satisfied. I think your sorrow is deeper than mine.”

“Would to God that she was laying in the kirkyard; but I will not speak of her,” Lachlan answered. “She isn’t anything to me this day. See, I will show you what I have done, for she has been a black shame to her name.”

He opened the Bible, and there was Flora’s name scored with wavering strokes, but the ink had run as if it had been mingled with tears.

Marget’s heart burned within her at the sight, and she would hardly make allowance for Lachlan’s blood and theology. “This is what you have done, and you let a woman see your work. You are an old man, and in sore travail, but I tell you before God, you have the greater shame. Just twenty years o’ age this spring, and her mother dead. No woman to watch over her, and she wandered from the fold, and all you can do is to take her out o’ your Bible. Woe is me if your Father had blotted out our names from the Book o’ Life when we left His house. But He sent His Son to seek us, an’ a weary road He came. I tell you, a man would not leave a sheep to perish as you have cast off your own child. You’re worse than Simon the Pharisee, for Mary was not kin to him. Poor Flora, to have such a father.”

“Who will be telling you that I was a Pharisee?” cried Lachlan, quivering in every limb and grasping Marget’s arm.

“Forgive me, Lachlan, forgive me. It was the thought o’ the misguided lassie carried me, for I did not come to upbraid you.”

But Lachland had sunk into a chair and had forgotten her. “She has the word, and God will have smitten the pride of my heart, for it is Simon that I am,” he said. “I was hard on my child, and I was hard on the minister, and there is none like me. The Lord has laid my name in the dust, and I will be angry with her. But she is the scapegoat for my sins and had gone into the desert. God be merciful to me, a sinner.”

So Marget knew it would be well with Lachlan yet, and she wrote this letter:

My dear Lassie,

You know that I was always your friend, and I am writing this to say that your father loves you more than ever and is wearing out his heart for the sight o’ your face. Come back, or he’ll die through want o’ his born.The glen is bright and bonny now, for the purple heather is on the hills, and down below the golden corn, wi’ bluebell and poppy flowers between. Nobody will ask you where you’ve been or anything else; there’s not a child in the place that’s not wearying to see you; and, Flora, lassie, if there will be such gladness in our wee glen when you come home, what think you o’ the joy in the Father’s house? Start the very minute you get this letter; your father bids you come, and I’m writing this in place o’ your mother.

Marget Howe

Marget went out to tend the flowers while Lachlan read the letter, and when he gave it back, the address was written in his own hand.

He went as far as the crest of the hill with Marget and watched her on the way to the post office till she was only a speck on the road. When he went back into his cottage, the shadows were beginning to fall, and he remembered it would soon be night.

“It is in the dark that Flora will be coming, and she must know that her father is waiting for her.” He cleaned and trimmed a lamp that was kept for show and had never been used. Then he selected from his books Edwards’s Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, and on it he laid the large family Bible out of which Flora’s name had been blotted. This was the stand on which he set the lamp in the window, and every night its light shone down the steep path ascending to Flora’s home.

It was only by physical force and strength of personalities that the Kildrummie passengers could get on the train at the junction, and the Drumtochty men were always the last to capitulate. They watched the main line train disappear in the distance, then broke into groups to discuss the cattle sale, while Peter Bruce, the baggage handler, drove his way through their midst with large pieces of luggage and abused the passengers by name without respect of persons:

“It’s most aggravatin,’ Drumsheugh, that you all stand there complainin’ about the prices, as if you were a poor cottage body that had sold her a cow, and us twelve minutes late. Man, get into your carriage.”

“Peter’s in an awful excitement tonight,” Drumsheugh responded. “You would think he was a mail guard to hear him speak.”

Peter escaped this winged shaft, for he had detected a woman in the remote darkness. “Woman, what are you stragglin’ about there for out o’ a body’s sight? I near set off without you.”

Then Peter recognized her face, and his manner softened of a sudden. “Come away, lassie, come away; I didna know you at the moment, but I heard you had been vistin’ in the south. The third car is terrible full with the Drumtochty lads; you will maybe be as handy in our second car.”

And Flora Campbell stepped in unseen. Between the junction and Kildrummie, Peter was accustomed to wander along the bootboard, collecting tickets and identifying passengers. He was generally in fine trim on the way up and took ample revenge for the insults of the departure. But it was supposed that Peter had taken Drumsheugh’s withering sarcasm to heart, for he attached himself to the second car that night and was invisible to the expectant third till the last moment.“You’ve had a long journey, Miss Campbell, and you must be nearly done with tired; just you sit still till the passengers get away, and the good wife and me would be proud if you took a cup o’ tea wi’ us before you started home. I’ll come for you as soon as I get the train emptied and my little chores finished.

Peter hurried up to his cottage in such haste that his wife came out in great alarm. “Na, there’s nothin’ wrong; it’s the opposite way this night. You remember Flora Campbell, that left her father, and none o’ the Drumtochty folk would nay anything about her. Well, she’s in the train, and I’ve asked her up to rest, and she was glad to come, poor thing. So give her a hearty welcome, woman, and the best in the house, for ours will be the first roof she’ll be under on her way home.”

Mary Bruce’s hand sent a thrill to Flora’s heart: “Now I count this real kind o’ you, Miss Campbell, to come in without ceremony, and I’d be terrible pleased if you would do it any time you’re travelin.’ The rail is ordinarily fatiguin,’ and a cup o’ tea will set you up.” And Mary had Flora in the best chair and was loading her plate with homely dainties.

No one can desire a sweeter walk than through a Scottish pine wood in late September. Many a time on market days Flora had gone singing through these woods, plucking a posy of wild flowers and finding a mirror in every pool; but now she trembled and was afraid.

The rustling of the trees in the darkness, the hooting of an owl, the awful purity of the moonlight in the glades, were to her troubled conscience omens of judgment. Had it not been for the kindness of Peter and Mary Bruce, which was a pledge of human forgiveness, there would have been no heart in her to dare that woods, and it was with a sob of relief she escaped from the shadow and looked upon the old glen once more.

Beneath her ran the little river, spanned by its quaint, old bridge; away on the right the parish kirk peeped out from a clump of trees; halfway up the glen, the village lay surrounded by patches of corn; and beyond were the moors with a shepherd’s cottage that had her heart.

Marget had written to Flora for her dead mother, but no one could speak with authority for her father. She knew the pride of his religion and his iron principles. If he refused her entrance, it would have been better for her to have died in London.

A turn of the path brought her within sight of the cottage, and her heart came into her mouth, for the kitchen window was ablaze with light. One moment she feared Lachlan might be ill, but in the next she understood, and in the greatness of her joy, she ran the rest of the way.

When she reached the door, her strength had departed, and she was not able to knock. But there was no need, for the dogs, who never forget nor cast off, were bidding her welcome with short, joyous yelps of delight, and she could hear her father feeling for the latch, which for once could not be found, and saying nothing but “Flora, Flora.”

She had made up some kind of speech, but the only word she could now say was “Father,” for Lachlan, who had never even kissed her all the days of her youth, clasped her in his arms and sobbed out blessings over her head, while the dogs licked her hands with their soft, kindly tongues.

“It is a pity you don’t speak Gaelic,” Flora later said to Marget. “It is the best of all languages for loving. There are fifty words for darling, and my father will be calling me every one that night I came home.” Lachlan was so carried with joy, and firelight is so hopeful, that he had not seen the signs of sore sickness on Flora’s face. But the morning light undeceived him, and he was sadly dashed.

“You will be very tired after your long journey, Flora, and it is good for you to rest. There is a man in the village I am wanting to see, and he may be comin’ back with me.” Then Lachlan went to his place of prayer and lay on the ground and cried, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, and spare her for Thy servant’s sake. Take her not till she has seen that I love her. Give me time to do her kindness for the past wherein I oppressed her. Turn away Thy judgment on my hardness, and let not the child suffer for her father’s sins.”

Then he arose and hastened for the doctor. It was afternoon before Dr. MacLure could come, but the very sight of his face, which was as the sun in its strength, let light into the room where Lachlan sat at the bedside holding Flora’s hand and making woeful pretense that she was not ill. “Well, Flora,” said the doctor, “you’ve got back from your visit, and I tell you we’ve missed you most terrible. I doubt the south county folk have been feeding you over well, or maybe it was the town air. It never agrees with me.”

Flora put an arm around her father’s neck and drew down his face to hers, but the doctor was looking the other way.

“Don’t worry about medicine,” the doctor said. “Just give her plenty o’ fresh milk and plenty o’ air. There’s no livin’ for a doctor with this Drumtochty air; it has not an equal in Scotland. There’s the salt o’ the sea and the cooler air o’ the hills and the smell o’ the heather and the bloom o’ many a flower in it. A puff on Drumtochty air would bring back a man from the gates o’ death.”

“You have made two hearts glad this day, Dr. MacLure,” said Lachlan outside the door, “and I am calling you Barnabas.”

When Marget came, Flora told her the history of her letter: “It was a beautiful night in London, but I will be thinkin’ that there is no living person caring whether I die or live, and I was considering how I could die.

“It is often that I have been alone on the moor, and no one within miles, but I was never lonely. I would sit down beside a brook, and the trout would swim out from below a stone, and the cattle would come to drink, and the birds would be crying to each other, and the sheep would be bleating. It is a busy place, a moor, and a safe place, too, for there is not one of the animals will hurt you. No, the big highlanders will only look at you and go away to their pasture.

“But it is weary to be in London and no one to speak a kind word to you, and I will be looking at the crowd that is always passing, and I will not see one kind face, and when I looked in at the lighted windows, the people were all sitting round the table, but there was no place for me.“Then a strange thing happened, as you will be considering. It is good to be a Highlander, for we see visions. You maybe know that a wounded deer will try to hide herself, and I crept into the shadow of a church and wept. Then the people and the noise and the houses passed away like the mist on the hill, and I was walking to the kirk with my father, and I saw you all in your places, and I heard the Psalms, and I could see through the window the green fields and the trees on the edge of the moor. And I saw my home, with the dogs before the door, and the flowers I had planted, and the lamb coming for her milk, and I heard myself singing and awoke. “But there was singing, oh yes, and beautiful, too, for the dark church was now open. There was a service in the church, and this was the hymn: ‘There is a fountain filled with blood.’

“So I went in and sat down at the door. The sermon was on the prodigal son, but there is only one word I remember: ‘You are not forgotten or cast off,’ the preacher said. ‘You are missed.’ And then he would come back to it again, and it was always ‘missed, missed, missed.’

“Sometimes he would say, ‘If you had a plant, and you had taken great care of it, and it was stolen, would you not miss it?’ And I was thinking of my geraniums and saying yes in my heart.

“And then he would go on: ‘If a shepherd was counting his sheep, and there was one short, does he not go out to the hill and seek for it?’ “And I saw my father coming back with that lamb that had lost its mother. “My heart was melting within me, but the minister was still pleading, ‘If a father had a child, and she left her home and lost herself in the wicked city, she will still be remembered in the old house, and her chair will be there.’ “And I saw my father alone with the Bible before him, and the dogs laying their heads on his knee, but there was no Flora.

“So I slipped out into the darkness and cried ‘Father,’ but I could not go back, and I knew not what to do. But this was ever in my ear, ‘missed,’ and I was wondering if God was thinking of me. “‘Perhaps there may be a sign,’ I said and went back to my room and saw the letter. “It was not long before I was on the train, and all the night I held your letter in my hand, and when I was afraid, I read, ‘Your father loves you more than ever,’ and I would say, ‘This is my warrant.’ Oh, yes, and God was very good to me, and I did not want for friends all the way home.”

“But there is something I must be telling,” said Lachlan, coming in, “and it is not easy.” He brought over the Bible and opened it to the family register where his daughter’s name had been marked out. Then he laid it down before Flora and bowed his head on the bed. “Will you ever be able to forgive your father?”

“Give me the pen, Marget.” Flora wrote for a minute, but Lachlan never moved.

When he lifted his head he read:

Flora Campbell
Missed April 1873
Found September 1873

Adapted from Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush by Ian Maclaren, (Dodd, Mead and Company, 1895). Quoted in Prodigals and Those Who Love Them, Ruth Bell Graham, 1991, Focus on the Family Publishing, pp. 51-63

Finding Men for Christ

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 tormenters, 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 wander 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 desired 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.

Slightly altered from Finding Men for Christ by George Dempster, (London: Hodder & Stroughton, 1935). Quoted in Prodigals and Those Who Love Them, Ruth Bell Graham, 1991, Focus on the Family Publishing, pp. 85-94

No One Is Hopeless

When I first began to work for God in Chicago a Boston businessman was converted there and stayed three months, and when leaving he said to me that there was a man living on such a street in whom he was very much interested, and whose boy was in the high school, and he had said that he had two brothers and a little sister who didn’t go anywhere to Sabbath School, because their parents would not let them. This gentleman said, “I wish you would go round and see them.”

I went, and I found that the parents lived in a drinking saloon, and that the father kept the bar. I stepped up to him and told him what I wanted, and he said he would rather have his sons become drunkards and his daughter a harlot than have them go to our schools. It looked pretty dark, and he was very bitter to me, but I went a second time, thinking that I might catch him in a better humor. He ordered me out again. I went a third time and found him in better humor. He said, “You are talking too much about the Bible. I will tell you what I will do; if you teach them something reasonable, like ‘Paine’s Age of Reason,’ they may go.”

Then I talked further to him, and finally he said, “If you will read Paine’s book, I will read the New Testament.”

Well, to get hold of him I promised and he got the best of the bargain. We exchanged books, and that gave me a chance to call again and talk with that family.

One day he said, “Young man, you have talked so much about church, now you can have a church down here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, I will invite some friends, and you can come down here and preach to them; not that I believe a word you say, but I do it to see if it will do us chaps any good.”

“Very well,” I said, “now let us have it distinctly understood that we are to have a certain definite time.”

He told me to come at 11 o’clock, saying, “I want you to understand that you are not to do all the preaching.”

“How’s that?”

“I shall want to talk some, and also my friends.”

I said, “Supposing we have it understood that you are to have 45 minutes and I fifteen; is that fair?”

He thought that was fair. He was to have the first 45 and I the last 15 minutes.

I went down, and the saloonkeeper wasn’t there. I thought perhaps he had backed out, but I found the reason was that he had found that his saloon was not large enough to hold all his friends, and he had gone to a neighbor’s, whither I went and found two rooms filled. There were atheists, infidels, and scoffers there. I had taken a little boy with me, thinking he might aid me. The moment I got in they plied me with all sorts of questions, but I said I hadn’t come to hold any discussion; that they had been discussing for years and had reached no conclusion. They took up the 45 minutes of time talking and the result was there were no two who could agree.

Then came my turn. I said, “We always open our meetings with prayer; let us pray,” I prayed, and thought perhaps someone else would pray before I got through. After I finished the little boy prayed. I wish you could have heard him. He prayed to God to have mercy upon those men who were talking so against His beloved Son. His voice sounded more like an angel’s than a human voice. After we got up, I was going to speak, but there was not a dry eye in the assembly. One after another went out, and the old man I had been after for months—and sometimes it looked pretty dark—came and, putting his hands on my shoulder with tears streaming down his face, said, “Mr. Moody, you can have my children go to your Sunday School.”

The next Sunday they came, and after a few months the oldest boy, a promising young man then in the high school, came upon the platform, and with his chin quivering and the tears in his eyes, said, “I wish to ask these people to pray for me; I want to become a Christian.”

God heard and answered our prayers for him. In all my acquaintances I don’t know of a man whom it seemed more hopeless to reach. I believe if we lay ourselves out for the work there is not a man but can be reached and saved. I don’t care who he is, if we go in the name of our Master, and persevere until we succeed, it will not be long before Christ will bless us, no matter how hard their heart is. “We shall reap if we faint not.”

Moody’s Anecdotes, pp. 84ff

Find Someone Who Has Fallen

I remember the first good Samaritan I ever saw. I had been in this world only three or four years when my father died a bankrupt, and the creditors came and swept away about everything we had. My widow mother had a cow and a few things, and it was a hard struggle to keep the wolf from the door. My brother went to Greenfield, and secured work in a store for his board, and went to school. It was so lonely there that he wanted me to get a place so as to be with him, but I didn’t want to leave home. One cold day in November my brother came home and said he had a place for me. I said that I wouldn’t go, but after it was talked over they decided I should go. I didn’t want my brothers to know that I hadn’t the courage to go, but that night was a long one.

The next morning we started. We went up on the hill, and had a last sight of the old house. We sat down there and cried. I thought that would be the last time I should ever see that old home. I cried all the way down to Greenfield. There my brother introduced me to an old man who was so old he couldn’t milk his cows and do the chores, so I was to do his errands, milk his cows and go to school. I looked at the old man and saw he was cross. I took a good look at the wife and thought she was crosser than the old man. I stayed there an hour and it seemed like a week.

I went around then to my brother and said: “I am going home.”

“What are you going home for?”

“I am homesick,” I said.

“Oh well, you will get over it in a few days.”

“I never will,” I said. “I don’t want to.”

He said, “You will get lost if you start for home now; it is getting dark.”

I was frightened then, as I was only about ten years old, and I said, “I will go at daybreak tomorrow morning.”

He took me to a shop window, where they had some jackknives and other things, and tried to divert my mind. What did I care for those old jackknives? I wanted to get back home to my mother and brothers; it seemed as if my heart was breaking.

All at once my brother said, “Dwight, there comes a man that will give you a cent.”

“How do you know he will?” I asked.

“Oh! he gives every new boy that comes to town a cent.”

I brushed away the tears, for I wouldn’t have him see me crying, and I got right in the middle of the sidewalk, where he couldn’t help but see me, and kept my eyes right upon him. I remember how that old man looked as he came tottering down the sidewalk. Oh, such a bright, cheerful, sunny face he had! When he came opposite to where I was he stopped, took my hat off, put his hand on my head, and said to my brother: “This is a new boy in town, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, he is; just came today.”

I watched to see if he would put his hand into his pocket. I was thinking of that cent. He began to talk to me so kindly that I forgot all about it. He told me that God had an only Son, and He sent Him down here, and wicked men killed Him, and he said He died for me. He only talked five minutes, but he took me captive. After he had given me this little talk, he put his hand in his pocket and took out a brand new cent, a copper that looked just like gold. He gave me that; I thought it was gold, and didn’t I hold it tight! I never felt so rich before or since.

I don’t know what became of that cent; I have always regretted that I didn’t keep it; but I can feel the pressure of the old man’s hand on my head today. Fifty years have rolled away, and I can hear those kind words ringing yet. I never shall forget that act. He put the money at usury; that cent has cost me a great many dollars. I have never walked up the streets of this country or the old country but down into my pocket goes my hand, and I take out some money and give it to every forlorn, miserable child I see. I think how the old man lifted a load from me, and I want to lift a load from some one else.

Do you want to be like Christ? Go and find some one who has fallen, and get your arm under him, and lift him up toward heaven. The Lord will bless you in the very act. May God help us to go and do like the good Samaritan!

Moody’s Anecdotes, pp. 10-12

Edith

One day a little girl returned home from church and was asked by her mother what the preacher had said. She replied, “He talked about Edith,” her little sister. “What do you mean?” asked the mother. “He said, ‘He receiveth sinners, and Edith with them too.’“ There’s truth there. “He receiveth sinners, and (my name) with them too!

Source unknown

Resource

• The Other Jesus, L.J. Ogilvie, Word, 1986, pp. 182ff

Who Cares'

• "Who in heaven cares about the lost? Everyone!"

Source unknown

Seven R’s

1. A request “Give me” (v.12)

2. A rebellion “Took his journey” (v.13)

3. A retribution “And he began to be in want” (v.14)

4. A reflection “He came to himself” (v.17)

5. A resolution “I will arise and go to my father” (v.18)

6. A repentance “I have sinned against heaven” (v.21)

7. A restoration “Bring forth the best robe and put it on him” (v.22)

Living Dangerously, S. Briscoe, Zondervan, 1968, pp. 59ff

The Tramp

Evangelist J. Wilbur Chapman recounted a testimony given by a man in one of his meetings. The man said, “I got off at the train depot one day as a tramp. For a year I had begged on the streets. Badly in need of food, I touched a man on the shoulder and said, ‘Mister, please give me a dime.’ As soon as I saw his face, I recognized my aging father.

“Don’t you know me?’ I asked.

Throwing his arms around me, he cried, ‘Oh, my son, I have found you at last! All I have is yours!’

Think of it—I was a tramp who begged for 10 cents from a man I didn’t know was my father, when for 18 years he had been looking for me to give me all he possessed!”

Our Daily Bread, November 12, 1992

The Photo

Longing to leave her poor Brazilian neighborhood, Christina wanted to see the world. Discontent with a home having only a pallet on the floor, a washbasin, and a wood-burning stove, she dreamed of a better life in the city. One morning she slipped away, breaking her mother’s heart. Knowing what life on the streets would be like for her young, attractive daughter, Maria hurriedly packed to go find her. On her way to the bus stop she entered a drugstore to get one last thing. Pictures. She sat in the photograph booth, closed the curtain, and spent all she could on pictures of herself. With her purse full of small black-and-white photos, she boarded the next bus to Rio de Janiero.

Maria knew Christina had no way of earning money. She also knew that her daughter was too stubborn to give up. When pride meets hunger, a human will do things that were before unthinkable. Knowing this, Maria began her search. Bars, hotels, nightclubs, any place with the reputation for street walkers or prostitutes. She went to them all. And at each place she left her picture—taped on a bathroom mirror, tacked to a hotel bulletin board, fastened to a corner phone booth. And on the back of each photo she wrote a note. It wasn’t too long before both the money and the pictures ran out, and Maria had to go home. The weary mother wept as the bus began its long journey back to her small village.

It was a few weeks later that young Christina descended the hotel stairs. Her young face was tired. Her brown eyes no longer danced with youth but spoke of pain and fear. Her laughter was broken. Her dream had become a nightmare. A thousand times over she had longed to trade these countless beds for her secure pallet. Yet the little village was, in too many ways, too far away. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes noticed a familiar face. She looked again, and there on the lobby mirror was a small picture of her mother. Christina’s eyes burned and her throat tightened as she walked across the room and removed the small photo. Written on the back was this compelling invitation. “Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, it doesn’t matter. Please come home.” She did.

Max Lucado, No Wonder They Call Him the Savior, Multnomah Press, 1986, pp. 158-9

Parable in the Key of F

Francis the Foolish felt a filial fondness for his flawless, fastidious father, Ferdinand the Fourth. Over one February fortnight, Francis, feeling footloose and frisky, forced his fond father to fork over five hundred forty-five farthings, then fled his father’s fertile fief. Fleeing to foreign fields, Francis finally frittered away his fortune on females, feasting, firkins of foaming ale, and fickle, freeloading friends. Fleeced by those fiendish fellows of the fleshpots, and facing failure and famine, Francis finally found himself flinging feed to fowl in a filthy farmyard as a farmhand. Footsore and famished, he fain would have filled his famished frame with filched food but found it fit only for a footman.

“Fie!” flared Francis. “My father’s flunkies fare far finer!” Fortunately, the frazzled and forlorn fugitive finally faced facts. Frustrated by failure and filled with foreboding, he fled forthwith to his faraway family. Falling fatigued at his father’s feet, Francis feebly phrased his feelings. “Father,” he fumbled, “I’ve flunked—and fruitlessly forfeited family favor. Forgive me!”

The far-sighted father, forestalling future family fissures, flagged his flunkies, “Fetch a fatling from the flock and fix a feast for Francis! Fall to! Faster! ”Frederick the fetulant, Francis’ fiesty, fault-finding brother, frowned upon his father’s forgiveness of Frances’ former philandering. “Flog the foolish flounder!” he fumed. But the faithful father felt that Francis’ former foibles should be freely forgiven.

“Filial fidelity is what fathers are for, Frederick,” said Ferdinand, his feelings freely flowing. “Forsooth! The fugitive is found, so what forbids festivity? Fly the flags freely, amid fifes, fiddles, and fanfare. Fling a feast!” Francis, face flushed, foreswore frippery forevermore by forcing his frame into a friar’s frock.

Fini

Source unknown

Two Kinds of Sin

“The elder brother is the dark contrast which heightens the glowing picture of the repentant prodigal. When we look at sin, not in its theological aspects but in its everyday clothes, we find that it divides itself into two kinds. We find there are sins of the body and sins of the disposition; or, more narrowly, sins of the passions, including all forms of lust and selfishness, and sins of the temper. The prodigal is the instance in the New Testament of sins of passion; the elder brother of sins of temper. One scholar did a careful analysis of the ingredients that went into that one spiteful speech. They were jealousy, anger, pride, uncharitableness, cruelty, self-righteousness, sulkiness, touchiness, and doggedness.

Let us carefully read our hearts, lest there be any trace of this spirit in us when others are pressing into the kingdom with joy.”

Source unknown

Polite Salesman

Faithfulness in duties we think are of minimal importance proves our readiness for larger tasks. Charles M. Schwab told of a prosperous man who started out in his youth as a poorly paid helper in a department store.

One rainy day when business was slow, the employees gathered in a corner to discuss the current baseball situation. When a woman came in, wet and bedraggled from the weather, they all continued talking except this young fellow. Quickly he walked over to the customer and asked courteously, “What can I show you, madam?” He promptly got the merchandise she requested and explained its features in a pleasant manner.

A short time later, the firm received a letter from this lady ordering complete furnishings for a large estate overseas. “I want to be assisted by the polite clerk who waited on me a few weeks ago,” she wrote. The head of the company responded by saying that the one she asked for was young and inexperienced, so the manager would be sent instead.

But when her reply came, it stated that she wanted the person she had designated and no other. So the courteous employee was sent to advise in furnishing a famous Scottish palace, for the customer had been none other than Mrs. Andrew Carnegie!

Our Daily Bread

Duke of Willington

Godfrey Davis, who wrote a biography about the Duke of Willington, said, “I found an old account ledger that showed how the Duke spent his money. It was a far better clue to what he thought was really important than the reading of his letters or speeches.”

How we handle money reveals much about the depth of our commitment to Christ. That’s why Jesus often talked about money. One-sixth of the gospels, including one out of every three parables, touches on stewardship. Jesus wasn’t a fundraiser. He dealt with money matters because money matters. For some of us, though, it matters too much.

Our Daily Bread, August 26, 1993

Donald Trump

Early in 1989, when Trump’s bank account was still bulging, a writer asked Trump the inevitable question about what horizons were left to conquer.

“Right now, I’m genuinely enjoying myself,” Trump replied. “I work and I don’t worry.” “What about death?” the writer asked. “Don’t you worry about dying?” Trump dealt his stock answer, one that appears in a lot of his interviews. “No,” he said. “I’m fatalistic and I protect myself as well as anybody can. I prepare for things.” This time, however, as Trump started walking up the stairs to have dinner with his family, he hesitated for a moment. “No,” he said finally, “I don’t believe in reincarnation, heaven or hell—but we go someplace.” Again a pause. “Do you know,” he added, “I cannot, for the life of me, figure out where.”

Donald Trump, investor and businessman.

Quoted in Pursuit magazine in an adaptation from the book What Jesus Would Say, by Lee Strobel, 1994, Zondervan

How Many Times'

The Pharisees said the law required that you forgive another person three times. Therefore Peter wanted to know if he should go beyond even that and forgive up to a “perfect” seven times.

Today in the Word, March 1989, p. 17

Resource

• John Gilmore, Probing Heaven, Key Questions on the Hereafter, (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1989, p. 95.

Remember Lot’s Wife

This is obviously one of the shortest verses in the Bible, and in it Jesus is commanding us to remember someone whose name we never knew! Neither her name, nor anything she ever said or did is recorded in Scripture, and yet the Lord wants us to remember her. There is one exception to the above statement, of course, and this is the key. When God tried to save Lot and his family from the fiery destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, “his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt” (Genesis 19:26).

This strange miracle—whether it was an instantaneous chemical transmutation, or a sudden burial by erupting bodies of salt, or a gradual petrifaction process as her body was buried and later transformed in a fall of volcanic ash—really happened, for the Lord Jesus thus confirmed it, as He did the destruction of Sodom, itself (Luke 17:28,29)! The reason why He commands us to remember it and profit by its lesson is given in the next verse: “Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; and whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it” (Luke 17:33).

This same paradoxical formula is given by Christ in very similar terminology no less than five other times in the four gospels (Matthew 10:39; 16:25; Mark 8:35; Luke 9:24; John 12:25), a fact which surely indicates its preeminent importance.

Therefore, one should remember Lot’s wife, whenever he or she is tempted to hang on to a comfortable life style in a wicked world. Lot, himself, was a rather worldly minded believer, but when he consented to flee the doomed city, his wife lagged “behind him,” and kept “looking back,” grieving over the imminent loss of her material comforts and high social position among her ungodly neighbors. Finally, the Lord’s longsuffering patience was ended, and her carnal desire to save her old life caused her to lose her whole life. “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul (same Greek word as ‘life’)?” (Matthew 16:26).

The instruction for us is clear and pointed. “They which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him which died for them, and rose again” (2 Corinthians 5:15). HMM.

In this short verse, Jesus is commanding us to remember someone whose name we never knew! Nothing she ever said or did (with one exception) is recorded in Scripture, and yet the Lord wants us to remember her. When God tried to save Lot and his family from the fiery destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, “his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt” (Genesis 19:26).

This strange miracle—whether it was an instantaneous chemical transmutation, or a sudden burial by erupting bodies of salt, or a gradual petrifaction process as her body was buried and later transformed in a fall of volcanic ash—really happened, and the Lord Jesus thus confirmed it, as He did the destruction of Sodom itself (Luke 17:28, 29)! The reason why He commands us to remember it and profit by its lesson is given in the next verse: “Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; and whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it” (Luke 17:33).

Therefore, one should “remember Lot’s wife,” whenever he or she is tempted to hang on to a comfortable life style in a wicked world. Lot, himself, was a rather worldly-minded believer, but when he consented to flee the doomed city, his wife lagged “behind him,” and kept “looking back,” perhaps grieving over the imminent loss of her material comforts and high social position among her ungodly neighbors. Finally, the Lord’s longsuffering patience was ended, and her carnal desire to save her old life caused her to lose her whole life. “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul (same Greek word as ‘life’)?” (Matthew 16:26).

The instruction for us is clear and pointed: “They which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him which died for them, and rose again” (2 Corinthians 5:15). HMM

Days of Praise, August 10, 1992

Resources

• Issues and Answers in Jesus’ Day, C. Swindoll, p. 122
• Too Busy Not To Pray, Bill Hybels, IVP, pp. 16ff

The Tombs

In his book Great Themes of the Bible, Louis Albert Banks told of the time D.L. Moody visited a prison called “The Tombs” to preach to the inmates. After he had finished speaking, Moody talked with a number of men in their cells. He asked each prisoner this question, “What brought you here?” Again and again he received replies like this: “I don’t deserve to be here.” “I was framed.” “I was falsely accused.” “I was given an unfair trial.” Not one inmate would admit he was guilty. Finally, Moody found a man with his face buried in his hands, weeping. “And what’s wrong, my friend?” he inquired. The prisoner responded, “My sins are more than I can bear.” Relieved to find at least one man who would recognize his guilt and his need of forgiveness, the evangelist exclaimed, “Thank God for that!” Moody then had the joy of pointing him to a saving knowledge of Christ—a knowledge that released him from his shackles of sin.

What an accurate picture of the two contrasting attitudes spoken of in Jesus’ parable of the Pharisee and the publican! As long as the sinner claims innocence and refuses to acknowledge his transgressions before the Lord, he does not receive the blessings of redemption. But when he pleads guilty and cries out, “Lord, be merciful to me a sinner,” he is forgiven. God’s pardon is available to everyone, but it is experienced only by those who admit guilt and trust Christ. To be “found,” a person must first recognize that he is “lost.”

Our Daily Bread

Two Approaches

I. The Prideful Approach

A. The Pharisee’s prayer showed he was self-centered

B. The Pharisee’s prayer showed he was conceited.

C. The Pharisee’s prayer showed his morality was based on negatives.

D. The Pharisee’s prayer showed his worship was based on externals.

II. The Penitent Approach

A. The publican’s prayer showed he was humble before God and man.

B. The publican’s prayer showed he was more aware of his own sins than those of others.

C. The publican’s prayer showed he was not concerned about obtaining material wealth.

D. The publican’s prayer showed he was conscious of his standing before God.

J. Michael Shannon, Port Richey, Florida

I’m Guilty

The story is told that one day Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, visited a prison and talked with each of the inmates. There were endless tales of innocence, of misunderstood motives, and of exploitation. Finally the king stopped at the cell of a convict who remained silent. “Well,” remarked Frederick, “I suppose you are an innocent victim too?” “No, sir, I’m not,” replied the man. “I’m guilty and deserve my punishment.” Turning to the warden, the king said, “Here, release this rascal before he corrupts all these fine innocent people in here!”

Our Daily Bread

Proud of Our Humility

Paul W. Powell once observed, “Pride is so subtle that if we aren’t careful we’ll be proud of our humility. When this happens our goodness becomes badness. Our virtues become vices. We can easily become like the Sunday School teacher who, having told the story of the Pharisee and the publican, said, ‘Children, let’s bow our heads and thank God we are not like the Pharisee!’“

Today in the Word, March 1989, p. 38.

Resources

• The Holiness of God, R.C. Sproul, pp. 118ff
• So Great Salvation, Charles Ryrie, Victor Books, 1989, pp. 81ff

Resource

• Charles C. Ryrie, So Great Salvation, (USA: Victor Books, a Division of Scripture Press, 1989), pp. 81ff

Hide and Seek

Rabbi Baruck’s grandson Jechiel was playing hide-and-seek with another child. Jechiel hid and waited for his friend to search for him. He waited a long time, and finally left his hiding place. His playmate was nowhere to be found. Now Jechiel realized that his friend had not even bothered to look for him. With tears in his eyes he came running to his grandfather. Then Rabbi Baruck also began to weep and said, “That is the way God acts: I hide, but nobody wants to look for me.”

Gebhard Maria Behler, “What is God’s Game?” in A Treasury of Catholic Digest

Dark Days

John Kennedy used this story in so many of his speeches. It concerned Colonel Davenport, the speaker of the Connecticut House of Representatives in another century.

In the days before Connecticut became a state, an incident occurred there that has become known as “the dark day.” Suddenly thick darkness —probably the result of an abnormal atmospheric condition—blotted out the sunlight. The colonial legislature was in session at the time, and some of its members concluded that the day of judgment had come. The cry went forth, “It is the day of judgment! Let us go home and get ready!” However, an old church deacon who was in the legislature stood up and said, “Brethren, it may be the day of judgment—I do not know. the Lord may come. But when he does, I want Him to find me at my post, doing my duty up to the very last moment. Mr. Speaker, I move that candles be brought in and that we get on with the business of the colony.”

The Master gave us simple instructions to occupy till He comes. I, too, prefer to be found doing my duty and not to default every time some howler of calamity sound the siren. Jesus would not ask me to “occupy” were it His knowledge that I must be smothered by the unleashing of a nuclear inferno. Dark days do not always mean judgment.

Source unknown

Little Things

How necessary it is to remind ourselves that success in life often depends upon little things. This is especially true in a day when so many people are afflicted with what we might call “the greatness syndrome.”

The saintly Horatius Bonar, reflecting on this subject, realized that the little things can either make or break the Christian. He wrote, “A holy life is made up of a multitude of small things. It is the little things of the hour and not the great things of the age that fill up a life like that of the apostles Paul or John, or David Brainard, or Henry Martyn. Little words, not eloquent speeches or sermons; little deeds, not miracles or battles, or one great heroic effort or martyrdom, make up the true Christian life. It’s the little constant sunbeam, not the lightning, the waters of Siloam that go softly in their meek mission of refreshment, not ‘the waters of the rivers great and many’ rushing down in torrent, noise, and force, that are the true symbols of a holy life.”

Bonar then warned against the “little evils, little sins, little inconsistencies, little weaknesses, little foibles, little indulgences of self and of the flesh, little acts of indolence or indecision, or slovenliness or cowardice, little equivocations or aberrations from high integrity, little bits of covetousness, little indifferences to the feelings or wishes of others, little outbreaks of temper, or crossness, or selfishness or vanity.”

Our Daily Bread

A Talent

• A talent is a trust, not mine but God’s
• A talent is a test, future responsibility is tied to present faithfulness. Use it, or lose it!

Source unknown

The Peanut

George Washington Carver once asked God to tell him about the universe. According to Carver, the Lord replied, “George, the universe is just too big for you to understand. Suppose you let Me take care of that.” Humbled, he replied, “Lord, how about a peanut?” The Lord said, “Now, George, that’s something your own size. Go to work on it and I’ll help you.” When Carver was done studying the peanut, he had discovered over 300 products that could be made with that little bit of God’s universe.

Source unknown

Kind Hotel Clerk

One stormy might many years ago an elderly couple entered the lobby of a small hotel and asked for a room. The clerk explained that because there were three conventions in town, the hotel was filled. “But I can’t send a nice couple like you out in the rain at 1 o’clock in the morning,” 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 manager who should be the boss of the best hotel in the United States. Maybe someday I’ll build one for you.” The clerk smiled, amused by the older man’s “little joke.”

A few years passed. Then one day the clerk received a letter from the elderly man, recalling that stormy night, and asking him to come to New York for a visit. 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 just built for you to manage.”

“You must be joking,” said the clerk. “I most assuredly am not,” came the reply.

“Who—who are you?” stammered the other.

“My name is William Waldorf Astor.” That hotel was the original Waldorf-Astoria, and the young clerk who became its first manager was George C. Boldt.

Our Daily Bread

Resource

• Someone Who Beckons, p. 74

Resource

• A.T. Robertson, Greek N.T., p. 92

The Treasury

In Shekalim 6:5 it is said that “there were thirteen horn-shaped chests in the Temple,” i.e. receptacles for contributions. Each was labeled for specific contributions and evidently set up on the Court of the Women, where all contributors were in public view. It is at these trumpet-shaped chests, which Mark and Luke call “the treasury,” that the widow of Mark 12:41-42 and Luke 21:1-2 contributed her “mites.”

Exegesis and Exposition, Vol. 3, # 1 (Fall, 1988), p. 47

Benefactors

Jesus alluded to the Seleucidae and the Ptolemies when He said that the kings of the Gentiles call themselves “benefactors,” for the Greek word euergetes (benefactor) was one of their titles. The masses over which they ruled paid taxes to them and prostrated themselves before them, but they would have done the same for any other master. (Also made claims to be deity).

New Testament Survey, Merrill Tenney, p. 19

Resources

• Christlike, Barry Applewhite, p. 119
• Christ At The Crossroads, C. Swindoll, 1991, p. 89

Resource

• Evangelism, A Biblical Approach, M. Cocoris, Moody, 1984, p. 33

Resource

• Bibliotheca Sacra, 135:540:323

The Veil

In Shekalim 8:5 the dimensions of the curtain of the Temple are given. This is interesting in light of the gospel account of the rending of the veil upon Christ’s death (Matt. 27:51, Mark 15:38; Luke 23:45). There is some question as to which veil the gospels are referring to, the outer veil separating the sanctuary from the forecourt or the inner veil separating the Holy Place from the Holy of Holies. The same question could be asked regarding the curtain of Shekalim 8:5, but according to Blackman it is the inner curtain of Exodus 26:31 (n. 1). According to Mishnah 5 the thickness of the curtain was “one handbreadth,” which Blackman calculates as 3.65 inches. The tearing of a curtain that thick is a divine sign, one designed to show that God was finished with temple worship; Christ and His church are the new temple. Only in Christ do people meet God. And the rending of the veil was a portent of the temple’s impending destruction.

D.A. Carson, Matthew, pp. 580-81; Lane, Mark, p. 574) from Exegesis and Exposition, Vol. 3, No 1 (Fall, 1988) p. 47.

Resource

• Christlike, Barry Applewhite, p. 131

Resource

• Ask Him Anything, L.J. Ogilvie, Word, 1981, pp. 136ff

Resource

• Issues and Answers in Jesus’ Day, C. Swindoll, p. 20

Resources

• A. T. Robertson, Greek N.T., pp. 33-9
• Christ At The Crossroads, C. Swindoll, 1991, p. 150

Two Friends

It happened, on a solemn eventide,
Soon after he that was our surety died,
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined,
The scene of all those sorrows left behind,

Sought their own village, busied, as they went,
In musings worthy of the great event:
They spake of him they loved, of him whose life,
Though blameless, had incurred perpetual strife,

Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
A deep memorial graven on their hearts.
The recollection, like a vein of ore,
The farther traced, enriched them still the more;

They thought him and they justly thought him, one
Sent to do more than He appeared t’have done;
To exalt a people, and to place them high
Above all else, and wondered he should die.

Ere yet they brought their journey to an end,
A Stranger joined them, courteous as a friend,
And asked them, with a kind engaging air,
What their affliction was, and begged a share.

Informed, he gathered up the broken thread,
And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said,
Explained, illustrated, and searched so well
The tender theme, on which they chose to dwell,

That reaching home, “The night,” they said, “is near,
We must not now be parted, sojourn here.”
The new acquaintance soon became a guest,
And welcome at their simple feast,

He blessed the bread, but vanished at the word,
And left them both exclaiming, “Twas the Lord!
Did not our hearts feel all he deigned to say,
Did they not burn within us by the way?”

William Cowper, The Walk to Emmaus

The Great Physician and Counselor

Read the story of the walk to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35) and see Jesus the great physician and counselor at work. Here were two people in a very distressed state, unable to think straight.

First of all Jesus asked questions: he got them to talk, established a relationship, and so made them receptive to what he had to say. His opening gambit drew from Cleopas only rudeness (people who are hurt often react in this way), but he persisted and they shared their trouble. In this way healing was able to begin.

Second, he explained the Scripture, showing them that what had been puzzling them—the death of the one whom they thought would redeem them by ending the Roman occupation—had actually be prophesied centuries before as God’s way of redeeming, in the sense of ending the burden and bondage of sin.

Finally, he revealed his presence. “Stay with us” they had said to him on reaching Emmaus. In the deepest sense he did, even after they ceased to see him. What a blessing for them that they were given to hospitality! What they would have missed had they not been!

Jesus is still the great physician and counselor today. We shall receive his healing as we tell him our trouble, let him minister to us from Scripture, and ask him to assure us that as we go through what may feel like fire and flood, he goes with us and will stay with us till the road ends.

Your Father Loves You by James Packer, Harold Shaw Publishers, 1986, page for May 12

Christ’s Appearances

It is interesting that Christ’s first two appearances after His resurrection, were to women. The fourth and most extended appearance was His visit with Cleopas and another unnamed disciple (Luke 24:13-35). None of these people were His apostles, but all were among His most devoted followers. This intimate conversation described becomes even more touching when we suddenly realize that the disciple with Cleopas was his wife! We gather this from the following list. “Now there stood by the cross of Jesus His mother, and His mother’s sister, Mary, the wife of Cleopas, and Mary Magdalene” (John 19:25). The one who walked home with Cleopas that day, and who shared their dinner with the Lord, could have been none other than his wife. Cleopas took the lead in the conversation, but both obviously were devoted disciples, through concerned and confused over the death of their Master.

Strangely, however, “their eyes were holden that they should not know Him,” even though they could say later: “Did not our heart burn within us while He talked with us by the way, and while He opened to us the Scriptures?” (Luke 24:16,32). Recognition finally came when, “as He sat at meat with them, He took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them: (Luke 24:30). Probably, as He offered them the bread they saw the scars in His hands, and knew in their hearts that none but Jesus bore such scars!

And so with us. When we suddenly realize the Lord Jesus died for us, and rose again, our lives also are forever changed, like those of Cleopas and his beloved wife.

Source unknown

Some years ago, a very good friend of mine, Dr. E. Myers Harrison, gave a missionary message that I cannot forget. It was to a small group of people, but I will never forget the sermon. Dr. Harrison is now at home with the Lord, but he was a great servant of God and a great missionary statesman. He said that each of us as Christians must hear what God has to say. There is he command from above: "Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature? (Mark 16:15). Have you heard that? I've heard people say, "But God wants our church to be different. We're not supposed to have a missionary program.? I don't believe that. I believe the command from above is given to every Christian and to every assembly that God has raised up.

Then there is the cry from beneath. Remember the rich man who died and woke up in hell and begged for someone to go and tell his brothers? (see Luke 16). "I pray thee, therefore, father, that thou wouldest send him to my father's house (for I have five brethren), that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into this place of torment? (vv. 27,28). There is the cry from beneath. If you and I could hear the cries of people in a lost eternity right now, we'd realize how important it is to get the Gospel out. There's the command from above. Have you heard it? There's the cry from beneath. Have you heard it?

Then, according to Dr. Harrison, there is the call from without. Acts 16:9 says, "Come over into Macedonia, and help us.? People around us are saying, "Please come to help us!" So much money, time and energy is being spent on routine church matters in America when there is a whole world to reach for Christ! We face so many open doors!

Something Happens When Churches Pray, W. Wiersbe, pp. 102-3