BATTERED, ONLY SEEMINGLY

Defeats Turned into Victories of the Cross C. Doug Blair, 2011

MORE THAN CONQUERORS

A wonderful image is offered in Romans 8:

33Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God's elect? It is God that justifieth.

34Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us.

35Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or

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distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?

36As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.

37Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.

To be more than a conqueror. To get more than a battle won. To get the assurance of ongoing victories. This is the heritage of those taken up in a covenant of love with Jesus. Trials come and we are tempted to fret. "Oh, it looks as if I am going to go through that knothole again. I don't think I can stand it one more time. Last time I got around to the point of trusting in God, and He brought the deliverance in a way not quite anticipated. But I don't think that I can go through it again; don't think that I should have to. It just isn't fair!"

Have you ever heard yourself thinking or talking along this line? Has it not ultimately been proved to be a waste of adrenaline and a denial of His love and of the appropriateness of His plans for you?

The old evangelist R. W. Schambach gave a beautiful illustration of being more than a conqueror. He described a long drawn-out prize fight in boxing. Many rounds and many apparent swings in the advantage. Toe to toe; blow for blow. Finally in the tenth the one pugilist seems to receive a supernatural surge of determination, agility and punch power. A knockout to the cheers of the crowd! The belt. The ensuing press conference. The money prize.

And the weary fighter changes in the dressing room, takes his dream cheque home, and turns it over to his wife. Now SHE is more than a conqueror.

One gets the same impression in reading the Old Testament story of Ruth. The wealthy civic leader Boaz has been kind in harvest time to the sorry little Gentile widow. Her loving mother-in-law Naomi realizes that this man is near kinsman to the deceased husband and that God is at work in all these circumstances to give the woman a home and a name and honour and the laughter of children. Boaz is able to attend to legal matters at the gate before witnesses to bring it all to pass. Dear Ruth is more than a conqueror. It has all been done for her. (see also Deuteronomy 25: 5,6 and Ezekiel 16: 6-10)

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THROUGH THE KNOTHOLE

From Psalm 27:

11Teach me thy way, O LORD, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies.

12Deliver me not over unto the will of mine enemies: for false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty.

13I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.

14Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.

This is one of those scriptures which stands as a milestone in my spiritual experience. I clung to it as I went through the knothole.

I was still practicing law and I had been sued by two clients and their bank for solicitor's negligence. A lot of money at stake. Allegations that I had not advised them adequately of the risks of certain financing arrangements in a plan for apartment developments. They met with initial success, but then set-backs and the one partner left the country. The remaining one sought legal counsel from the big city and I cooperated with meetings and extensive disclosure from my files. All seemed positive but then two months later I was being sued.

A defense lawyer was assigned to me by the Law Society. He could see from my materials that I had given the men adequate advice and warnings before and during the venture. Nevertheless the legal proceeding would have to play itself out for a time. For about eighteen months I held on to the hopes given me while my colleagues in the chatty legal community in that small town whispered about "poor Doug".

The day finally arrived for our pre-trial discovery examinations and Hilary, pregnant at the time, insisted upon accompanying me to Toronto for this ordeal. Little Lauren came as well. As we left home the phone was ringing,

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but I suggested that we ignore it and get moving. Hilary drove and I rested. My attention was taken at a point by a little message magnet which my wife had stuck on the glove compartment. It displayed the final verse of Psalm 27. I pulled out my pocket Testament and looked it up. Imagine my surprise when the words appeared to describe my very condition and offer comfort!

Late finding a hotel. Late settling down for the night. The following morning Hilary planned to enjoy amenities at the hotel while I headed downtown. Big law firm. Prestigious reception area. I read my psalm over again twice. Somehow things were all going to work together for good. My Lawyer finally entered, his hand extended:

"Doug, I'm awfully sorry. I tried to reach you by phone last night but apparently you had left. The other parties have settled with us. You are completely off the hook. No claim. No costs. No more involvement. Congratulations."

Thank God. I tell you all of this to give glory to my Heavenly Father. I was just the little bird caught in the snare. Perhaps you are facing some dilemma. Cry out to Him. Take courage from His word. You also will be given "milestones".

DOSTOYEVSKY AND HIS TESTAMENT

He was found writing and circulating pamphlets against the czarist regime. Standing in front of a firing squad with other unfortunates, blindfolded. Waiting for that dreadful word, "Fire".

But instead rough hands pulled him away from the place of death, yanked off the blindfold. Reprieve! And a new order to make profit from these troublemakers in the work camps of Siberia. Ten years hard, cold labour.

Shocked and puzzled, Fyodor Dostoyevsky waited for his transport, wondering whether to thank God or Lady Luck. On the day of departure in the bustle of line-ups at the train, a woman placed a pocket New Testament

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in his hand, squeezed it, and gazed upon him briefly with eyes of hope. She was accompanied by another and together they whispered that he might examine it in his spare time. Then they were gone.

That Testament became his hiding place, his focus of good, of hope. With stolen hours and stolen candle light he studied the record of the Man of Mercy and meditated upon the heart and purposes of Christ. He read it to others. They engaged in dialogue which effectively transported them from the harshness and purposelessness of the camp. In his words: "One sees the truth more clearly when one is unhappy. And yet God gives me moments of perfect peace; in such moments I love and believe that I am loved; in such moments I have formulated my creed, wherein all is clear and holy to me. This creed is extremely simple: here it is. I believe that there is nothing lovelier, deeper, more sympathetic, more rational, more manly and more perfect than the Saviour. I say to myself with jealous love that not only is there no one else like Him, but that there could be no one."

Following his detention, which included five years military service, life was difficult. Family debts threatened to rob him of most of the profits of his writing. A gambling addiction. But a good wife and a constant communion with Christ were his consistent salvation. He resolved in many of his works of fiction to make use of Bible stories and to consider the merits of Christ and Christ-likeness. Go to his classics and see this illustrated: Crime and Punishment, The Idiot, The Brothers Karamazov. His topics were often suffering and the inequities of life.

To me it is a joy to consider that during the seventy-plus years of hard Communist experiment, including the suppression of Christian worship, these books were treasured in the households and libraries of the federation. It was, if you will, a long growing season of the wheat and the tares together and indistinguishable until the harvest began in 1989.

Imagine the scene in Crime and Punishment where the murderer has come to the harlot's poor and ill-lit apartment. Her bruised soul has taken comfort from the account of Christ and other unfortunates like herself. She draws out her Bible and reads to Raskolnikoff the story of the raising of Lazarus. He asks, 'Could there be such a thing? The raising of a dead man to new life and opportunity? I am dead.'

Leo Tolstoy, that famed author of War and Peace, Anna Karenina and

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Resurrection, himself a Christian, had the deepest admiration for Dostoyevsky and his works. It was as if the latter had found the pearl of great price in grace, undeserved favour with God. The former was stuck in the loop of legalism and pressing duty. He had never seen himself as a criminal saved for reasons known only to God.

From the deathbed of Dostoyevsky in 1881, a daughter, Aimee, relates some of the last words: "Have absolute faith in God and never despair of his pardon. I love you dearly, but my love is nothing compared with the love of God. Even if you should be so unhappy as to commit some dreadful crime, never despair of God. You are His children; humble yourselves before Him, as before your father; implore His pardon, and He will rejoice over your repentance, as the father rejoiced over that of the prodigal son."

THE CRUMBLING CLAN

I can tell you how He helped me.I can tell you what He said.I consider each day gifted.I have lost my greatest dread.

I embrace a broader family.I have dropped my trust in self.I am focused on the treasure,Which transcends all earthly wealth.

I would love to take you with me On this Christ-embracing trek;But I know just how the SpiritFirst must leave your plans a wreck.

And the brokenness He looks forSeems a weakling's lot to you.And that list of natural talents, He will, every one, subdue.

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It must rate a poor investmentWhile the game is still at hand,And the friends still pull the levers,And your house seems sure to stand.

But if Love once grabs the heart stringsAnd reveals the Cross in power,You may join the clan whose crumblingHas become their finest hour.

Are you sure that it won't happen?That this Gospel is a lie?Comes to mind another breaking,But the rebel, then, was I.

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WEDDED TO YOU

I was having real difficulty getting to sleep. Mind racing. Numerous topics of anxiety. Money. Job stress. Health issues in the family. Future and career for the children. It seemed as if I had to go over all of them before I would allow myself to sleep. Finally at about 3 A.M. I conked out.

I am usually a solid sleeper with few dreams. It was unusual therefore that I would be pulled out of sleep at about 5:15 A.M. In my spirit I heard the words,"I am wedded to you". I awoke. Not at all groggy, and began to contemplate what I had just heard. I felt remarkably refreshed.

Often I have joked with male friends about trying to get my head and heart around the concept of being part of the "Bride" of Christ. Women have little trouble warming up to the image of the perfect husband. Men often opt out with the concept of a team coach or military Captain who is with them in the fray. But no,we are Bride material!

Looking at my own wife, I know that I know we are knit as one. She could do nothing which would turn my affections away seriously. She is my closest experience of unconditional love. I will always put things in the best possible light concerning her. "Love thinketh no evil."

Recently some reading from the book of Job impressed me with the standing of man and wife before God. In the dialogue between God and Satan the enemy had been allowed to attack everything of Job's (children, servants, flocks, herds, beasts of burden, crops) but not his life. His wife lived because apparently God did see the two of them as an inseparable unit!

Now let us take this privileged position of spouse and apply it to the Bride of Christ. Joint heirs. Inseparable. Mutually submissive. Growing unity of thought and purpose. Yeah, I certainly want to be in on that!

And now perhaps I can read the comments of the old Scottish divines a little more comfortably. They were always seeing themselves in the context of the Beloved in the Song of Solomon or as Ruth in that delightful tale of marriage. Imagine hardy Scottish Covenanters heading to the wilds and resisting the King's dragoons to the death for the sake of truth and

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presbytery. Brides, or rather part of the Bride!

Grace now seems a little clearer. Many teachers have often told me that there is no effort on my part which would make God love me more: neither is there any error or stumbling which would make Him love me less. He is ravished by his Bride.

I leave you with the beautiful thought expressed by Naomi to Ruth in chapter three of that book:

18 Naomi said, "Sit back and relax, my dear daughter, until we find out how things turn out; that man isn't going to fool around. Mark my words, he's going to get everything wrapped up today." (The Message)

EXIT WITH CLEAR CONSCIENCE

The Son followed two guards up the steps, as the crowd jostled with renewed excitement. His right foot gave him some difficulty. Thanks to nine hours in the "boot". The day was sunny, and his cell-darkened eyes winced in the glare. The sea of faces before and beneath him showed a variety of expressions. Some there to gape with a strange sense of superiority at the coming spectacle of death. Some, from the despised conventicle, who lowered their heads 'neath caps and shawls, but made the appearance for show of respect.

The noose was affixed. The Sergeant inquired as to any intended last words from this hillside preacher; also combatant in the struggle against His Majesty's prescribed Church.

"Yes I most gladly speak in loving thanks and confidence toward all-worthy Christ my Saviour. He sees my short inconvenience. He finishes my dwelling near His side. All my springs are in Him. He has heard my heart's prayers for the budding once again of true religion in Scotland; of unharassed assembly; of pleasant discourse between loving shepherd and flock. He will not stay His hand too long. Dragoons' curses and muskets will

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soon be silenced. "I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day..."

The Sergeant motioned to the drummers to commence, so as to drown out the speaker and to heighten the sense of spectacle and deterrent. The noose cinched down. The hood. The final reading of the psalm. The yank of the lever. The rag doll dropped and stopped. The collective gasp.

But also the anguished cry of one senior voice. The Father broke ranks and bolted to the scaffold base. Nearly blinded by tears. With one leap he embraced the midriff of his struggling Son and held, whispering, "Go now, my blessed boy, my champion. Go to Jesus."

The added weight hurried things along.

COMES THE DARKNESS

Still comes the darknessTo the saint who yearns for God.To the one who walks in all he knows,Some times alone are trod.

Still comes the darkness,When he must leave earthly kin,When he must through pangs of conscience come Apart from all known sin.

Still comes the darkness,When all wickedness prevails;When the saint is made the laugh of men,The target of false tales.

Still comes the darkness,And it puzzles most to thinkThat his God who holds the answers

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Has fled to let him sink.

Still comes the darkness,When bereft of guiding light,He wonders, left at his wit’s endIf he heard scripture right.

Still comes the darkness,When the problems seem to grow;When the saint sees no clear remedy,And so must wait to know.

Still comes the darkness,And the saint has naught to claim,But that God who loves and lifted himWill not forget his name.

Still comes the darkness,As with Joseph, wrongly jailed.As with David to a cave pursued.And Jesus, cruelly nailed.

But this is Father’s shadowO’er the saint as God goes by.Cleft in the rock and ‘neath God’s hand,He need not wonder why.

The Father comes no closerThan in such times of pain;Then in a voice triumphant, cries:“Child, let’s be off again!”

PSALM 42: 4, 5When I remember these things, I pour out my soul in me: for I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept holyday. Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance.

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FRAGILE FLOWER IN INDIA

I knew of the name of Amy Carmichael from having read a number of her inspirational poems. I did not know of her solid Ulster Christian upbringing. Her repeated attempts to enter missionary work compromised by fragile health. Her ultimate settling in the Tinnevelly District of southern India. Her establishment of the orphanage and school known as the Dohnavur Institute. Her adoption, almost entirely, of Indian culture. Her rich sense of family, though remaining unmarried. The rescue of many very young local girls from the practice of Hindu temple prostitution and servitude. The thorough and seemingly strict program of lessons, chores and religious exercise. The frequency of disease and untimely death for the children. The number of rescues proving the diligence of their attending "angels" (fevers, delirium, choking accidents, cobras, returning influences of the old dark life). The falling accident which through complications rendered Amy bed-ridden for the final twenty years of her life. The change in assignment from meals, maintenance, lessons and admissions to writing, counselling and communing.

For all of this information and many more stirring words from Amy (1867-1951) I am indebted to Elizabeth R. Skoglund and her book Amma: The Life and Words of Amy Carmichael, 1994 Baker Book House Company.

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What profound questions were asked by the rescued children, girls and boys! Where do the dead go? Is it a place of comfort or confusion? What is love? Is it only that which was offered to me by Hindu masters? Does the God Christ have power to change my angry ways? Where are all the flowers, music, parades and excitement in your religion? Such were the challenges faced by Amma and her dedicated staff, many of whom were orphans at Dohnavur in the first instance.

The author Skoglund makes very clear the understanding which motivated Amy in rendering comfort, "to come alongside and strengthen". There was to be no coddling or leniency, no unconfessed sin, no missed Hour of Prayer. But there were occasions of fun involving music, crafts, readings, outings in nature, swimming and the celebration of each child's Coming Day (the day of admission, birthdays often remaining unknown).

Of comfort, Amy made the following comparison:

"Who can tell how the parakeelia plant of Central Australia can resist wind, frost, heat, and in a tract of country where there is no surface water, remain green after three years' drought; so green, so full of life-giving water that horses and cattle feeding upon it need no water. We have a wonderful God, the God of all comfort, who comforteth us in all our tribulations, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. He can turn the least of us into a parakeelia-or better, far better, for a parable cannot show everything, He can comfort us so that we know how to discover to others the parakeelia's secret Spring."

It is noteworthy that in preparing for her life of toil, hardship, care-giving, stamina and ultimate submission, Amy Carmichael drew heavily from the thoughts of Samuel Rutherford, Hudson Taylor, Geraldine Taylor, Charles Spurgeon, F. B. Meyer, H.C.G. Moule and Andrew Murray.

Closing now with one of her poems:

Thou art my Lord Who slept upon the pillow,Thou art my Lord Who calmed the furious sea;What matter beating wind and tossing billowIf only we are in the boat with Thee.

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Hold us in quiet through the age-long minuteWhile Thou art silent, and the wind is shrill;Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, art in it?Can the heart faint that resteth in Thy will? (Edges of His Ways, London, S.P.C.K. 1955)

I think yet one more would be appropriate:

Not that He doth explainThe mystery that baffleth; but a senseHusheth the quiet heart, that far, far henceLieth a field set thick with golden grain,Wetted in seedling days by many a rain.The End, it will explain.

HAST THOU NO SCAR?

Hast thou no scar?No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?I hear thee sung as mighty in the land;I hear them hail thy bright, ascendant star.Hast thou no scar?

Hast thou no wound?Yet I was wounded by the archers; spent,Leaned Me against a tree to die; and rentBy ravening beasts that compassed Me, I swooned.Hast thou no wound?

No wound? No scar?Yet, as the Master shall the servant be,And piercèd are the feet that follow Me.But thine are whole; can he have followed farWho hast no wound or scar? (Amy Carmichael)

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THE EARTH SANG

Sam, a friend, has a heart for seeing house churches mature in the region and for lending support to the persecuted Church. He has often spoken well of the Voice of the Martyrs ministry and has promoted prayer and financial support for the same.

He tells the remarkable story of a village of Chinese Christians faced with the relentless opposition of Mao and ultimately rounded up for humiliation, "re-indoctrination" or execution. The believers remained true to their exalted Head and were marched out of town to dig their own mass grave. Not a one wavered from his/her confidence in Christ.

The soldiers of enforcement were visibly shaken by what they were required to do to these gentle people. They ordered the group to go down into the pit, and to lie down on their backs, awaiting the shoveling-over process. Their pastor began to sing a treasured Gospel praise chorus of the fellowship. All the rest joined in, gaining a kind of supernatural confidence.

Their persecutors could not bear the pressure and the pathos of this moment. They hastened the burial process with the clanging of hurried spades. The singing continued as the worshipers disappeared from view. Now the very earth appeared to sing the praises of Jesus. The song became softer, gentler. Finally smothered.

In the years that followed many of those soldiers with spades took up the praises from the earth as their very song and hope.

Jesus said concerning His own martyrdom, "Except a seed fall into the ground and die, it will bear no fruit."

Again I am considering the prospect of present enemies becoming, with time and prayer, fellow members of the family of faith. With God all things are possible.

The present-day upsurge of vital Christianity in China is overwhelming!

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ROMAN DISPATCH

Marcus Lividius to the Regional Superintendent:

Hail Caesar!By usual courierAnd in the hand of scribeFlavius Sornom. Greetings.Wishing to report the Dispatching of a groupOf Christians-Traitorous.Infecting the Region of Mid-AppiaBy their pathetic communityAnd wicked teachingsOf an adverse king.Also wishing to reportUnfortunate deathOf Second-in-commandSergius Veritatus.Mid-winter Janus patrolOf Second District.

Encountered small village.Approximately thirty-five personsVarying in age and sex.Sparsely prepared for the cold.Foodstuffs largely dairy, coarse barley,Local plants, berries, tubers, fish salted.Limited fuel availableIn region around the lake.Evidences of their strangeAnd bloody sect:Crosses, fishes drawn on walls of huts.Ornate clay chalices,Parchments in possessionOf their Elder, purporting

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To convey holy wordsAnd directives of their “Saviour”.(A criminal, one Jesus of Nazareth, executedUnder justice of Pontius Pilate,Procurator, Judea,)Clearly an affront to Caesar,The one true God!Of course, we conducted usualExaminations for signs of hostility,Sedition, witchcraft,Trade with barbarians.

Assembled all in the Village compound.Demanded the standardAffirmation-loyalty to Caesar,Renunciation of their “Christ”.Group seemed totallyIn accord with submissions,Resistance voiced by their Elder.Elder chastised with the rod.Physically strong man- unflinching.Expressed his preparedness for death.Said his master had proved Victorious over death.(Strange words to the ears of a soldier!)“His master, the only way, The only truth, the only life.”Peculiar dogma.Assembly appeared mesmerized by his address.Commenced singing- harmonyHaunting, other-worldly.Whereupon my Second,Sergius Veritatus manifestedIrregular behaviour, suggestions of clemency.

(Had been notingChange in his outlook to duties,Since leave of absence at Rome.Something about an encounter

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With other of these mongrels,Gathering secretly, underground.Catacombs.Said he was investigatingTheir activities.Nothing came of it.)

So death was their boast?So, death they should face.Marched entire group Onto the lake ice.Frigid.Again demanded renunciation.Nothing.Additional waiting period.Threatened that as reward For their rebellion, they were to beStripped of clothing.Left to freeze, standing on the lake.Group huddled around their leader,And one senior couple- man and woman.Children surprisingly quiet.Gave the order.Twelve foot-soldiers, spears,Compelling the group to disrobe.Little resistance offered.Finally, one man broke.Ran before Sergius Veritatus, groveling.Words of allegiance, repudiation.Scarcely comprehensible.This evoked moans and wails From the group.Some tried to sing..

Veritatus immobile, silent,That troubled countenance again.Gave his sword to his junior.Removed his robe, breastplate,Marching leathers, tunic,Boots.

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Walking naked nowTo that group on the ice.Unsound mind, obviously.Refusing orders to rejoin ranks.Joining their number.Their only words:“Receive us now into glory.Jesus is Lord.”All frozen within the hour.Sergius Veritatus.Corpses dragged by horse.Village torched.Armour of Veritatus returned herewith,For his parents.He had been a good legionnaire. Hail Caesar!

EPITAPH

It seemed only natural to visit the little sea-side graveyard after having toured the Fishermen's Chapel. From the small hillock, neatly mown and dotted with stones, one could see to the left the quaint village of frame structures and ship-masts and housings at the docks. Straight ahead and to the right spread out the Atlantic like a large blue table-cloth not yet straightened and flattened for guests.

The smell of brine was only moderated by the blossoming trees lining the one side of the yard and occasional fresh bunches of flowers placed lovingly beside marker stones.

The inscriptions were full of the stories of life and families by the sea:

"Martha, loving mother of Nine. Wife to Caleb."

"Samuel, lost in the storm of 1922."

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"Brian, swept overboard on his second outing."

"Pastor Richard, a good shepherd."

"Sally, Isaac and Karen, tender plants harvested by cholera."

But one marker to the sea-ward side of the plot was particularly arresting. It suggested perhaps that the departed soul found himself in the village but not necessarily of the village:

SETH PARKER

"I have lived;I have sinned;I have repented; I have died;I rest;I shall rise again;I shall reign with Jesus."

Note: Final marker inscription taken from "Notes in My Bible" by D. L. Moody (Fleming Revell Publishers)

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LANGUISHING ON A BED OF SICKNESS

(Taken from the M'Cheyne Memoir by A. A. Bonar)

Accordingly, in company with our faithful Hebrew friend, Erasmus Caiman, we embarked; but as we lay off Cyprus, the fever increased to such a height, that he (Robert) lost his memory for some hours, and was racked with excessive pain in his head. When the vessel sailed, he revived considerably, but during three days no medical aid could be obtained. He scarcely ever spoke ; and only once did he for a moment, on a Saturday night, lift his languid eye, as he lay on deck ending the breeze, to catch a distant sight of Patmos We watched him with agonizing anxiety till we reached Smyrna and the village of Bouja. Though three miles off; yet for the sake of medical aid he rode to this village upon a mule after sunset, ready to drop every moment with pain and burning fever. But here the Lord had prepared for him the best and kindest help. The tender and parental care of Mr and Mrs Lewis, in whose house he found a home, was never mentioned by him but with deepest gratitude ; and the sight of the flowering jessamine, or the mention of the deep' green cypress, would invariably call up in his mind assjciations of Bouja and its inmates. He used to say it was his second birth-place.

During that time, like most of God's people who have been in sickness, he felt that a single passage of the Word of God was more truly food to his fainting soul than anything besides. One day his spirit revived, and his eye glistened, when I spoke of the Saviour's sympathy, adducing as the very words of Jesus, Psalm xli. 1—" Blessed is he that considereth the poor, the Lord will deliver him in time of trouble," &c. It seemed so applicable to his own case, as a minister of the glad tidings ; for often had he " considered the poor," carrying a cup of cold water to a disciple. Another passage, written for the children of God in their distress, was spoken to him when he seemed nearly insensible—" Call upon me in the day of trouble." This word of God was as the drop of honey to Jonathan.

He himself thus spoke of his illness to his friends at home: —" I left the foot of Lebanon when I could hardly see, or hear, or speak, or remember ; I felt my faculties going, one by one, and I had every reason to expect that I would soon be with my God. It is a sore trial to be alone and dying, in a foreign

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land, and it has made me feel, in a way that I never knew before, the necessity of having unfeigned faith in Jesus and in God. Sentiments, natural feelings, glowing fancies of divine things, will not support the soul in such an hour. There is much self-delusion in our estimation of ourselves when we are untried and in the midst of Christian friends, whose warm feelings give a glow to ours, which they do not possess in themselves." Even then he had his people in his heart. '; When I got better, I used to creep out in the evenings about sunset. I often remembered you all then. I could not write, as my eyes and head were much affected ; I could read but very little ; I could speak very little, for I had hardly any voice; and so I had all my time to lay my people before God, and pray for a blessing on them. About the last evening I was there, we all went to the vintage, and I joined in gathering the grapes." To Mr Somerville he wrote :—" My mind was very weak when I was at the worst, and therefore the things of eternity were often dim. I had no fear to die, for Christ had died. Still I prayed for recovery, if it was the Lord's will. You remember you told me to be humble among your last advices. You see God is teaching me the same thing. I fear I am not thoroughly humbled. I feel the pride of my heart, and bewail it." To his kind medical friend DrGibson, in Dundee, he wrote:—" I really believed that my Master had called me home, and that I would sleep beneath the dark green cypresses of Bouja till the Lord shall come, and they that sleep in Jesus come with him ; and my most earnest prayer was for my dear flock, that God would give them a pastor after his own heart."

When we met, after an eight days' separation, on board the vessel at Constantinople, he mentioned as one of the most interesting incidents of the week, that one evening, while walking with Mr Lewis, they met a young Greek and his wife, both of whom were believed to be really converted souls. It created a thrill in his bosom to meet with these almost solitary representatives of the once-faithful and much-tried native Church of Smyrna.

Meanwhile there were movements at home that proved the Lord to be he who " alone doeth wondrous things." The cry of his servant in Asia was not forgotten ; the eye of the Lord turned towards his people. It was during the time of Mr M'Cheyne's sore sickness, that his flock in Dundee were receiving blessing from the opened windows of heaven. Their pastor was lying at the gate of death, in utter helplessness. But the Lord had done this on very purpose; for he meant to show that he needed not the help of any : he could send forth new labourers, and work by new instruments, when it

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pleased him. We little knew that during the days when we were waiting at the foot of Lebanon for a vessel to carry us to Smyrna, the arm of the Lord had begun to be revealed in Scotland. On the 23d of July the great Revival at Kilsyth took place.

Mr W. C. Burns, the same who was supplying Mr M'Cheyne's place in his absence, was on that day preaching to his father's flock; and while pressing upon them immediate acceptance of Christ with deep solemnity, the whole of the vast assembly were overpowered. The Holy Spirit seemed to come down as a rushing mighty wind, and to fill the place. Very many were that day struck to the heart; the sanctuary was filled with distressed and enquiring souls. All Scotland heard the glad news that the sky was no longer as brass— that the rain had begun to fall. The Spirit in mighty power began to work from that day forward in many places of the land.

ONE SOWS, ANOTHER WATERS…

The man of God had made his plans.He’d crossed the rolling blue.His tent was raised.His posters out.And all the churches knew,That he was blessed with seed-faith powerAnd healing for the weak.And now Australia was his goal,A soul-harvest to seek.

But troubled times had hit the isle,As Labour made demands.Their pickets set.Their tempers raised.And now perhaps their plansWould take them “to the Yank’s church-show”,White-collars there to find.A ruffian bunch all dressed in blue,

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With foul-play on their mind.

Now those in suits and fancy hatsAlready held their place.The orchestraWas warming upTo play “Amazing Grace”.And backstage still, the man of GodWas praying with his crew.(The audience were getting loud.Was this what Aussies do?)

Then bursting in upon the prayer,A helper spoke with fear;That groups of men,Truckloads of them,Were standing in the rear.And searching ‘round for business folkWho set their work and wage.What now to do? Just call things off?The preacher took the stage.

The big tent was so quiet You could hear a small pin fall.The man of GodSpoke well-wishingTo visitors, one and all.The singers, leafing for the hymn,To set a joyful mood.But then, the crash, the curse, the crush;The platform rushed and “booed”.

The place of praise and promiseBecame a bedlam-den.As women screamed,And chairs were smashed,And men stood up to men.Then all around the seed-faith manThey formed a loyal guard,Which rushed him out the canvas flaps,

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And drove him from the yard.

Three nights they tried to quell the tideOf devilry and hate.That doubt might seeIntegrity,That mischief might abate.While outside, tabloids mocked the workAnd heckled healing grace.Were love and light and being rightIll-suited to this place?

The plane trip home, a troubled one,As souls were searched and pained.Had they been wrong?And missed God’s will?Had nothing good been gained?But back on Aussie soil, a move Of God’s own grace was stirring.As blue and white each saw their wrongs,Conviction was occurring.

A year would pass before a manOf slightly different sort,Would fly againTo Aussie-land,And gain a good report.As thousands flocked to Gospel rest,Their stress and strife all through.The telegram brought Billy’s news:“Dear Oral, our thanks to you!”

(A true account involving Oral Roberts and Billy Graham)

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LIFTED UP, BETTER TO SEE

It has come to this.In a way, I'm glad. The dank, dark daysIn the cell.My partner's constantRehearsal of our Foul-ups.The robbery gone badMidst the uprising.

So quicklyTo the street.Wooden beams thrustOn our backs.Rome's disgust shown,Block by block,Curses and floggings.Onlookers puzzled.Faces without mercy.

Out of town,The hill beneathGlowering skies.The "skull place"Where justice leers.The drop, the stretch,The pounded nails,The screaming shock.Crucified!

...Passing time Stupefies us.Another procession.Another wretch.With a following,No less.

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(No women wept for us.No rabbis scurrying.)Who comes to join?

He shares the pain,The taunts, the shame.His face is peace,His battered framePuts up no fight.What's that? His nameIs Jesus.Princely sort.I'm drawn to Him!

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RUBY-THROAT

I have never seen you.Those who have, sayPerhaps they didn’t.Only slight stirringOf the nectar bottle,Lily’s coronetOr orchard blossom.

Marvelous hoverer.Emerald tear-drop.Invisible wings And metronome tail.Persistent probeAnd blood-red throat.Searching the flower-beds.

Oh, tiny sugar sleuth,Oh, flashing zephyr,Flying to eat.Eating to fly.Ever humming your Tune from exotic lands.Airborne jewel of the sun.

When the bloom is off,When the days grow short,When the chill has come,When the hunt is sparse,Where comes the power?For your tropical quest?Two inches at a time?

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HE COMES NEAR

The church board of management meeting was just about concluded and I had promised to drive a friend home. He had some questions to ask the rector, and I suggested that I would wait quietly in the semi-lit sanctuary.

The day had been busy with the demands of a rookie law practice and I welcomed this small opportunity to coast and let my thoughts go free. In front of me were the stained glass windows, the choir stalls, the pews, Prayer Book, Prayer Book, Bible, Prayer Book...

My eye fixed on one old black "Holy Bible". Hadn't spent much time in that. But I knew the Church seasons, celebrations, polity, creeds and daily considerations as the People's Warden.

Friend was taking his time. I reached for the scriptures and by chance opened to the beginning of the epistle of James, purportedly the brother of Jesus, and one who hadn't taken Him very seriously at the beginning.

The letter seemed surprisingly practical - trials and victory, good deeds backing up confession, impartiality to one's fellow man, cautious use of the tongue, avoiding strife and envy, honesty in business, the Second Coming of Jesus, power in humility, prayer for healing, loving counsel...

Wow! This stuff was good. I finished the epistle, and still no friend. A Voice inside seemed to say, "Doug, it's all good. Keep on chewing." The process was taking tangible form.

Now, I am not telling you to get alone in some chilly sanctuary. Your experience in ways will be unique. I am suggesting however, that you ready yourself for a revelation as to how gentle, wise, practical and available the Heavenly Father truly is.

Consider Psalm 81:10I am the Lord thy God, which brought thee out of the land of Egypt: open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.

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A SOUL IN PERIL

Father, I pray for this dear man.He sees no need for your great plan.He little cares about our Jesus;Lives his life just as he pleases.Nothing shakes his self-reliance, Though it is but God-defiance..

When I try to share the Gospel,He just thinks it quite impossible,That a life without gross scandalWill be lost without Christ’s mantle.In his business, he is honest.In his family he is so blessed.

How can this fine civic heroBe convinced that he scores zeroOn your scale of righteous worth?Will you interrupt his mirth?Will you show his blackened heart?Will you pull his pride apart?

Sad to say, he does partakeOf a church you didn’t make.One which states that all find Heaven.One admitting worldly leaven.One where new birth truth is missing.One which makes the Cross a trite thing.

Please, dear Lord, assign your Spirit;Show him Hell, and make him fear it.Show him how in Adam’s fall,Sin crept into one and all.Sin, which exalts selfish purpose,Sin, which renders good deeds worthless.

I believe that by your Spirit

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You will make his conscience hear it.Interrupt his treadmill days.Show him scripture, power, praise!Plant a hunger, Lord, for your best.Over-rule his vain success quest.

He is frightened to examineThe extent of his faith’s famine.He distrusts what still confounds him.Show him how your love surrounds him.How your dear Son’s blood sufficed.How to find his life in Christ.

Precious Father, I can say naught, How his pardon must be blood-bought.He suspects my motives are wrong;So I pray to see him made strong.On my knees, I plead his case.Humble him, and show him grace.

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SO WHAT’S IN STORE?

Lately my thought have turned to the return of Jesus in triumph and judgment. The conquering King, whom the Hebrew people expected two thousand years ago, will finally take his rightful place on this planet. All nations will offer tribute.

Isaiah chapter 33 has never appeared to me before so clearly as a foreshadowing of Zion (Jerusalem) under King Jesus. Read the entire chapter and see the inevitable fate of the faithless, the thieving and the oppressor. Game over!

The portion which follows speaks of the inheritance of the redeemed. It will certainly be a new earth:

15-16The answer's simple: Live right, speak the truth, despise exploitation, refuse bribes, reject violence, avoid evil amusements.This is how you raise your standard of living! A safe and stable way to live. A nourishing, satisfying way to live.

17-19Oh, you'll see the king—a beautiful sight! And you'll take in the wide vistas of land.In your mind you'll go over the old terrors: "What happened to that Assyrian inspector who condemned and confiscated?And the one who gouged us of taxes? And that cheating moneychanger?"Gone! Out of sight forever! Their insolence nothing now but a fading stain on the carpet!No more putting up with a language you can't understand, no more sounds of gibberish in your ears.

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20-22Just take a look at Zion, will you? Centering our worship in festival feasts!Feast your eyes on Jerusalem, a quiet and permanent place to live.No more pulling up stakes and moving on, no more patched-together lean-tos.Instead, God! God majestic, God himself the place in a country of broad rivers and streams,But rivers blocked to invading ships, off-limits to predatory pirates.For God makes all the decisions here. God is our king. God runs this place and he'll keep us safe.

23Ha! Your sails are in shreds, your mast wobbling, your hold leaking.The plunder is free for the taking, free for all— for weak and strong, insiders and outsiders.

24No one in Zion will say, "I'm sick." Best of all, they'll all live guilt-free.

(Taken from "The Message" by Eugene Peterson)

DAS GOOD, DAS RILL GOOD

Yesterday on the Focus on the Family radio broadcast, I heard a wonderful testimony of fidelity in marriage. Robertson McQuilkin was happily married to Muriel, one whom he considered in every respect the perfect wife - in expressing affection, in preferring the other, in shouldering the burdens in partnership, in constant companionship, in endurance in testing.

Robertson had been appointed President of Columbia International University (Columbia, South Carolina). Muriel ably performed the functions of "first wife" on campus - entertaining, teaching young women's Bible

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groups, creating radio broadcasts, facilitating study for handicapped students. But in her 55th year memory obviously began to fade and early Alzheimer's quickly did its terrible work.

After 35 years of marriage, Robertson faced the decision of university responsibilities or intensive attention to his rapidly failing wife. He chose the latter and graciously insisted that it was an easy decision and no perceived hardship. Muriel had so lovingly cared for him in their first 35 years...For the final 10 years (1994-2004) Muriel was bed-ridden and unable to talk.

Robertson insists that there were rich lessons to be had from his wife even at that point. She could not talk or relate, only grunt occasionally her displeasure or quizzical humour. Still Robertson poured on the love, conversation and encouragement. One day in prayer he was provoked to ask God, "Is that what is going on with us Father? You gladly bestow the love, attention and help, and I offer only slight responses or none at all?" He believed that He had touched the Father's heart in an exceptional way. It was about irrevocable promises of love.

An interesting story was also told from a time when the two were still able to take slow-paced walks around their neighbourhood. Robertson had been somewhat down in spirits and had expressed in prayer something like the following: "Lord, ever since salvation I have been yours without reserve. I do not presume to ask your reasons for doing things, but you know, even a team coach who pulls a player to the bench will eventually give a hint as to his reasons. Now Lord, if you were ever prepared to give me a hint that would be OK".

The couple, while walking shortly thereafter, overtook an old drunken derelict. Obviously the man was watching them, as they were pacing slowly, holding hands, treasuring the time. The old boy caught up to them, stared straight at them and said, "Dass good. Dass rill good." He repeated himself, turned and staggered away.

"Lord, was that your answer, your hint through this poor, worn-out man?" The Spirit said yes.

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PASSION FLOWER

It's a beautiful thing to see. Five vivid petals, memorializing the five woundings of our Saviour's body, by forged metal and stabbing thorns.

Two hands, two feet, one brow, wounded for our transgressions.

But one day, meditating upon this, it came to me. There were other wounds. The mutilated back bearing the terrible signatures of scourging. The spear wound to the side, confirming that the victim had indeed died.

Perhaps a flower should have been chosen which presented seven vivid petals. Seven, the number of perfection, the perfectly accomplished work of redemption.

There are other messages in the additional two. Isaiah said in chapter 53 that "by His stripes (lashmarks) we are healed". Can we look for bodily healing in the atonement?

Physicians have commented that the issues of blood and water out of the spear-wound co-mingled, confirm an internal rupture which accompanies death and the breaking of a heart. This wonderful rabbi, Jesus, who spoke such glowing words of promise, who ministered comfort and healing to the afflicted, was truly human. He could hurt. He could die. He dwelt in our skin.

But then He arose to live ever more! And to be "in our corner".

Note: After posting this article I took another look at the picture. Another discovery! The flower has three pistols, wherein rests the reproductive power. A whispering of the Trinity perhaps?

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LOOK STILL

Look still for better yet.However good the way has been,However bright the paths.No crop has failed.Your sun still warms.You wonder, can it last?

Look still for better yet.Whatever dark night robs your sleep,Whatever chills the bone.The pains still come.They seem your lot.

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Unseen, unheard, alone.

Look still for better yet.The faith stands true; the promise sure;And Beulah Land is ours.With joy for all;Reversed, the Fall.And thorns replaced with flowers.

Look still for better yet.

ROMANS 8

16The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God: 17And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together. 18For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.

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