DAS CHOICH

Worship Services that Stand Out in Memory C. Doug Blair, 2012

Gospel Piano

A matchless joyCrossed his face,As he pulled out the piano bench,Cracked the spine of the hymnal,Cracked his fingers for good measure,And, after one long breath,Looked around the parlourFor harmony helpers;To begin.

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Sunday evening serviceHad been a special one.Visitors were welcomed;And invited to shareAny words of encouragement.Pastor’s wife had readThe scripture portion:Something from Colossians,Christ, by whom all things consist.

She always managed To make the Word of GodSound conversational,Personal, promising.Truly, God’s love- letterTo the heart of each listener.Elder Jamieson led us in prayer:“Larger hearts, Lord; greater challenges,Greater assurances through the blood of Jesus.”

Pastor’s son told usOf his recent travel.Church conference in Halifax.One free night out.The restaurant, the old manIn the corner booth.The gentle inclusion of himIn their conversation. His past losses;And the light of Christ dawning gently.

The message had been delivered with power:“The Two Shortest Verses”.“Jesus wept.” “Rejoice evermore.” The Gospel reduced to four words. What an exchange! His tears- our joy.How the preacher could illustrate the story.

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Such atmosphere, insight, encouragement;Weaving it all together.

And now, the “seventh-inning stretch”.Making our way to the parlour My favourite part, hearty choruses,Gathered around Sandy’s piano.Word was, it had had itsFifteenth re-tuning.The soul-focus of manyA crisp Christmas, bright Easter,Baptism and Thanksgiving.

Sandy was its fourthMaster of the Ivories.Ruddy, compact, middling-height,Powerful forearms and grasp.Joyful lover of the Cross,Pentecost, the Lord’s Table, Healing.Friend of many a hurting one.Visitor when the chips were down.Showing Christ in shoe-leather.

For the first few pieces,It seemed as if Madge’s beautifulSoprano carried us through.Then came “Power in the Blood”,“He is All You Need”, “Jesus Set Me Free.”.(Friends catching on now with gusto.Sandy’s power and flair evident.)“He’s Coming Back on a Silver Cloud of Glory”.“Leaning on the Everlasting Arms”.

The change came with Barry’s tenor solo:“It Matters to Him About You”The emotion soon flowed from the group.

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Uninhibited, sincere, thankful.Individual voices lost in the blend.“There is Room at The Cross for You”,“Amazing Grace”, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus”,“He Was There All the Time”Sandy’s final notes lifted the hall in magic.

Thus it was for five years of college.That small town in the valley.My brother and I walking home,‘Neath the stars, message and musicAnd ministry glowing in our hearts.Then graduation, and I to my students, And he to the Christless poor Across the sea.And each with a “parlour piano.”

Oh, I’ll Be Alright Chile

Recently I was reminded of all the good Gospel music enjoyed in the 80's with the signature of Andrae Crouch on it. It was a time when we lived close to Detroit and frequently went over for concerts or revival meetings. Names such as Swaggart, Copeland, Cerullo, Price, Bonnke, Jenkins, Grant, Schambach.

Crowds were always of mixed colour and mixed expression. It was a learning time of comparative worship. We timid little Canadians were received warmly. Our teenage recollections of the race riots in the 60's evaporated under the sun of the Son.

I remember one crusade in particular at Cobo Hall where the praise was rich and unashamed. Hilary and I could hear a delightlful alto voice close behind us joining in all the songs without hesitation and with interspersed exclamations of "Praise ya Lode, Thank ya Jesus." At a break in the meeting

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we had a pleasant conversation with this black grandmother in her upper 70's. She was a frequent attender and familiar with many of the evangelists. Clearly she knew her Bible and she knew her Jesus.

After the "seventh inning stretch" the meeting continued for another hour or so and we lost sight of our new acquaintance until dismissal with the milling crowds exiting to the riverside streets of Detroit. She was standing by a pillar out front and "was jes goin' to wait for her grandson for a ride". All alone. Late at night. Dark city streets. Crowds of strange people. Clutching her purse.

"I be awright. The Lode is here. Thank you for carin'. See you folks again mebbe. God bless."

Her sort of testimony given wherever and to whomsoever, with that fragrance of love, calm, sincerity and faithful expectation beats all the hype which the mega-churches pile onto the record of Jesus to coax an altar call or enthusiastic round of worship.

Psalm 63

(When David was in the wilderness of Judea and separated from the House of God)

1O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is;

2To see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary.

3Because thy lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee.

4Thus will I bless thee while I live: I will lift up my hands in thy name. 5My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips:

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6When I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches.

7Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.

8My soul followeth hard after thee: thy right hand upholdeth me.

9But those that seek my soul, to destroy it, shall go into the lower parts of the earth.

10They shall fall by the sword: they shall be a portion for foxes.

11But the king shall rejoice in God; every one that sweareth by him shall glory: but the mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped.

Stately

He was, perhaps the most handsome man I had ever met. Closing in on sixty. Straight, direct brown eyes. Long braid. Aboriginal. He reminded me of a younger version of Chief Dan George of movie fame. The lines in his tanned face spoke of character; the eyes, of years of gentle assessment of his fellow men.

I was a young lawyer on duty counsel at Provincial Criminal Court giving people "off-the-hip" advice on their first court appearance. This gentleman was accompanied by his grand-daughter who had had an unfortunate encounter with the Wallaceburg police. He had arranged her bail. A Saturday night of drinking had led to public disturbance and abusive language to the attending constables.

I learned that the young woman had been roughly handled in custody, cuffed and made to fall down a flight of stairs en route to the lock-up. Now she just hung her head in embarrassment while grandfather told the story.

He paused and looked directly at me with incredulous, pained eyes as if to

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say, "Is this the Law? I cannot excuse the child's behaviour. It only goes to add fuel to the sad stereotype. But do decent folk do this in response?"

I cannot remember how the short hearing went thereafter. I can only remember the handsome, questioning face.

Months later a young enterprising aboriginal farmer from Walpole Island named Bruce came into my office with a problem. His grandmother had died. He could not find a funeral parlour to arrange the final tribute. He and his father presented me with particulars of a lucrative wetlands maize operation in the hope that I could help make the pitch to a mortician. My phone calls and a visit left me with the impression that Wallaceburg business folk were totally disinclined to engage with "those people from the Island". "After all, I must have known what they were like".

Well, I didn't...It was probably the following summer that Hilary and little Lauren and I went to a small white clapboard church on the Island (formerly Anglican) where revival was underway. A husband and wife evangelistic team were there from Detroit with a couple of spirited musicians. There in a small gathering of red, white and black we experienced one of the richest times of worship and ministry which we can remember, with the peeper frogs joining in from the marsh out back.

New friends were made. The Body was edified. Jesus was honoured. Tribes and tongues were represented in unity. The only place where multi-culturalism will ever work. Around His throne. (Revelation 5)

Front Row Spot

I had watched this minister on television. Wandering around his auditorium. Singing the old "blood songs". Approaching eager old women in wheel chairs. Smiling. Nodding. Yanking them up onto their feet. I suspected a set up.

But the scriptures did talk of a God who heals, and of a Jesus who was the

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same yesterday, today and forever. We wanted to see such power in action.

We were late for the meeting. Complications. We were ushered to the very back of the auditorium. Standing room only. "Oh, that's just great. What will we see from way back here?"

But shortly into the praise, the evangelist commented that there was much too much wasted room at the front beneath the platform. "Could some chairs be rounded up from the next meeting hall and brought up here. Those people shouldn't have to stand at the back."

That included us! Now we were right up under his nose. The wandering preacher addressed and relieved neck aches, back aches, head aches, hearing handicaps, but I was not yet impressed.

There was however a stately old black woman in a wheel chair. I saw her full on and thought that she would be a probable "plant". But her face only manifested pleasure at the worship and genuine happiness for the others who received a blessing.

Our six year old Lauren was getting a little restless so we allowed her to stand and pace a bit at the end of our row. Next the minister headed toward our daughter, smiling, and shrugging his shoulders, as if to ask of her, "What's next little darlin'?"

Lauren pointed to this elderly woman in the chair. He nodded and turned toward her. She registered a modest smile of surprise. What followed was an undeniable gracious act of God's mercy. I am convinced of that.

A younger woman about five heads away from my wife began to cry. Her grandmother was the one now doing the walking. Now pushing the minister around in the chair. The grand-daughter had gotten separated from the elder, and had found herself coming to the same last-minute seats with us.

There may be a great deal of wishful thinking at such meetings. Strong power of suggestion. (I totally dismiss the mass hypnosis theory.) Occasionally crank ministers. But when honest, prevailing, reverent faith comes "under the roof" mighty things can still happen.

That "faith as a grain of mustard seed" was not large. It was simply

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unmixed, unadulterated, the "God kind of faith" (Mark 11:22-26)

May God get the glory.

One Fine Anglican Woman

Hilary and I were somewhat apprehensive about this visit to London to University Hospital. Her father Charlie had had a serious downturn in alertness. Alzheimer's. He had fallen and hurt himself. It looked as if the arrangements for him in the old family home, with daily house-care, were coming to a close.

For years there had been an awkwardness in my wife's relationship with her father over matters of religion. We had left the Anglican Church for something considered to be more evangelical. Charlie saw it all as fanaticism.

A stop at the north end of London at a coffee shop. Hilary had to use the ladies' room. She seemed to take an inordinate amount of time, but then appeared all smiles. Apparently she had struck up a conversation with another woman. Common interests of home-schooling, church activities. This woman was Anglican. She had assured my wife that there were good and legitimate things going on in that way of worship. Sincere, seeking Bible courses. Exciting new approaches to the Holy Spirit. Her own rector had had an Acts 2 experience and was becoming much freer in manifestation and in exercise of power. Apparently, relationship with Jesus was replacing religion.

They had parted with that woman suggesting that she would pray for Hilary's hospital visit and family members. (Other siblings would be present also. Difficult decisions were going to be made.)

Before we drove off, the woman was knocking at our car door: "I said that I would pray, but why don't we agree together right now?" She got into the back seat. Cordial introductions exchanged.

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What followed was some of the most heartfelt and accurate prayer that I had ever experienced. Jesus was truly in our midst! Thanks to this woman's compassion and obedience, two travelers heading to an uncertain visit were given comfort and courage.

God bless the Anglicans. He is blessing them.

Note: Charlie died within the following week. But that day Hilary was radiant. Her Dad even allowed her to pray with him. Salvation came up in the prayer.

Options for Old Ears…Any Ears

He had said something to the effect that you can't take it with you. All the praises of those in your circle will one day amount to nothing. He read a disturbing portion of Psalm 49, and then smiled and stared at the seniors gathered in the retirement chapel. Some were alone. Some had a spouse or friend. Some in wheelchairs.

The next thing that they heard was a portion of a song. He presented it in a passable baritone:"Surely...Surely...He hath borne our grief...Surely...Surely...He hath borne our grief...He hath borne our grief and carried all our sorrows...Surely He hath borne our grief and carried all our sorrows."

That was familiar. That was Handel. The Messiah. Yeah, that's right.

The speaker continued, "That is the Good News, folks, for the taking. This is Easter Morning. The resurrection of Jesus Christ is fact in history. He has come through death and the worst that men and the devil could throw at him, and he will never again die. The established fact assures that this is God's appointed Servant-Messiah, the one who would defeat wickedness and death, and make things right. God assures a similar Exodus to those who trust His Son.

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Did I say Exodus? That's the Old Book isn't it, and Moses, or was it Charlton Heston, and the little lamb's blood over the door frame. Death escaped. Slavery ended. A new identity. A beautiful promised land to come. That's the story of the Jewish Passover. But then a verse in our New Testament says, "Christ our passover is sacrificed for us". Another innocent victim. Another blood-letting. Another mystical transaction called forth by God's say-so.

Jesus brings His very active ministry to a close. He allows Himself to become passive. Cruel ignorant men apply the manacles. Drag Him to several mock courts. Flay his back into a furrowed and bloody mass. Nail Him to a cross of shame. Gamble, laughing, for His only possessions. Watch Him die. This is His Passion. He doesn't do much. He doesn't say much. He simply obeys the eternal plan of the Father.

But maybe we should hear Jesus' words now. Maybe in their brevity they are filled with content:1. Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.2. Verily I say unto thee, Today shalt thou be with me in paradise.3. Woman, behold thy son...Behold thy mother. 4. My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?5. I thirst.6. It is finished.7. Into Thy hands I commend my spirit."

There was a pause between each statement from the Cross. The room was quiet.

"Listen dear friends, listen to the words. Look upon the suffering. Know that He will never again endure the sting of death. Take now His obedience and suffering to your credit. God has said that it is possible. Indescribable eternal life is being offered. If this is coming to you right now in a new light, simply accept the offer. The Passover. The Christ. Rejoice evermore.

May it never be said, The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved." (Jeremiah 9:20)

A songstress with lyrical voice and earnest heart concluded the service.

One of the men, a paraplegic, spoke out with a large breath preceding almost

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every word, wide eyes slightly out of kilter, "I love bolth... I love 'em bolth... I love Gawd. And I love DJesussss."

A Holy Presence was tangible.

Well said, Sir.

Baffled to Fight Better

Many in the Church have enjoyed the classic devotional "My Utmost for His Highest" by Oswald Chambers. But have they heard of the topical teaching texts from which the entries of the daily devotional were gleaned? All of such written material is available thanks to the widow of Chambers, Gertrude, who sorted through short-hand notes taken from teaching sessions and sermon outlines. It was a lasting tribute to a dear husband who had contracted a fatal illness at age forty-three while serving among the troops in Egypt in 1917.

Two particular favourites of mine were "The Psychology of Redemption" and "Baffled to Fight Better". The former compared the stages in the development of the faith life of a believer to those in the life of the Lord. The latter was a teaching on the Book of Job.

I remember well the impact which "Baffled" had upon me. It was a time of personal crisis back in Chatham referred to in some of the "Milestone" posts in this blog. It was a calm, overcast winter day in March and I had gone off to a quiet spot in the country to pray and to get some direction in my dilemma. Almost a sense of morbidity had caused me to take a copy of Chambers' book on one of the greatest sufferers in all of recorded history, the patriarch Job.

But that day I persevered through the entire volume , and heard words of encouragement from God, parked at a quiet spot by the icy Thames River.

At one point Chambers said the following:

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"The human problem is too big for a man to solve, but if he will fling himself unperplexed on God he will find Him to be the kind of Refuge Job is referring to. We know nothing about the Redemption or about forgiveness until we are enmeshed by the personal problem; then we begin to understand why we need to turn to God, and when we do turn to Him He becomes a Refuge and a Shelter and a complete Rest. Up to the present Job has had no refuge anywhere; now he craves for it. When a man receives the Holy Spirit, his problems are not altered, but he has a Refuge from which he can deal with them; before, he was out in the world being battered, now the centre of his life is at rest and he can begin, bit by bit, to get things uncovered and rightly related."

And elsewhere:

"The still small voice is an appeal not to superstitious belief in God, but to the actuality of God to man. God disposes altogether of a relationship to Himself born of superstitious dread- 'No, stand like a man, and listen to facts as they are'. God counsels Job- 'Don't come to too hasty a conclusion, but gird up your loins like a man and wait. You have done right so far in that you would not have Me misrepresented, but you must recognize that there are facts you do not know, and wait for me to give the revelation of them on the ground of your moral obedience'."

In a nutshell, I learned some things about God and His sovereign keeping care. I got no specific answers to specific problems. Rather, a settled peace and "starch" for the journey. I knew that in His hands I would "fight better".

Stephen’s Power

Acts 6:10And they were not able to resist the wisdom and the spirit by which he (Stephen)spake.

Conviction or contumely. Stephen's message and demeanour would provoke either one or the other.

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We know that he was one of the seven deacons chosen in Jerusalem for church administrative activity, but that his ministry was powerful in the fruit of conversions and healings.

What sort of man was this? Full of faith. Full of power. Full of the Spirit. Full of wisdom and the remarkable story of God's dealing with His people (see Acts 7). Of honest report.

I am particularly interested in the significance of stating that his spirit could not be resisted. Many preachers have the facts. They have the wisdom of scripture. But they lecture. The fervour is missing. The confidence of calling. The boldness to state the truth even though it chafes. The certainty of present spiritual warfare. The certainty of present spiritual power. The fisherman's zeal for souls.

Yesterday I uncovered some old cassette tapes of the preaching of R. W. Schambach of Tyler, Texas. Here also was irresistible spirit...

" We gotta have dances in the church to keep the young people together. Barbecues. Bowling leagues. Come on saints of God! They are the future hope of the Church. There is a devil out there. Get these young people full of the Holy Ghost and fire. Soak them in the Gospel account. Give them bottles of anointing oil and send them out to the hospitals to pray for the sick. Send them to the streets to talk to people. They will see Jesus at work. There will be no difficulty capturing their enthusiasm. Can you give me an amen, SOMEBODY?"

"Brother Schambach" was often heard saying, "Ah come to cut."

On Into the Evening

It took about another hour and three quarters for the praying, the hugging, the confessing and the tears to abate. About seventy-five of varying ages had stayed behind . The corporate movement had separated into little clusters of four or five seated around the sanctuary. Hearts were being opened. Stories and secrets were being told. Burdens were being relieved.

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Circulating among the groups Craig and his fiancee Michelle could be heard saying things like, "So you're tired of playing church"; "Jesus is really pleased with this"; "Don't hold back"; "He is sovereign"; "Come on back tonight for special Communion".

Something provoked Craig to call over one of the ushers and to tell him to get Phil the janitor to change the outdoor sign. "Let it read. Special Communion Tonight. Cleansing. Commissioning. Come."

Craig could already hear himself sharing with the people that famous exhortation of M'Cheyne's about Communion:

"Just such, beloved, is the meaning of receiving broken bread and poured-out wine at the Lord's table. It is the most solemn appropriating act of all your lives. It is declaring by signs, "I do enter into the ark; I flee into the city of refuge; I lay my hand on the head of the Lamb; I do touch the hem of His garment; I do take Jesus to be my Lord and my God; I hold Him, and by grace I will never let Him go."...

The more you feel your weakness, the amazing depravity of your heart, the power of Satan and the hatred of the world, the more need you have to lean on Jesus, to feed on this bread and wine-you are all the more welcome...

It is a solemn declaration that you are one with all true Christians, one in peace, one in feeling, one in holiness; and that if one member suffer, you will suffer with it, or if one member be honoured, you will rejoice with it. You thereby declare that you are branches of the true Vine, and are vitally united to all the branches-that you wish the same Holy Spirit to pervade every bosom. You declare that you are lamps of the same golden candlestick, and that you wish the same golden oil to keep you and them burning and shining as lights in a dark world."

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The Message at the Meal

A hymn they sang to finishTheir last meal with the Lord;A time of blessing hiddenFrom threat of scribe or sword.

An upper room was furnishedFor what had proved to beTheir place of richest teaching Ere Jesus faced the tree.

As other families gathered,So he with his reclined.The Vine with his dear branches,By love so intertwined.

In bitter-sweet remembranceOf Israel’s darkest hour,When lamb’s blood o’er the door-frameAssured redeeming power.

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And as no other memberWould stoop to washing feet,Christ took the soothing laverAnd made the feast complete.

With bread and wine he showed themThe brotherhood’s new fare;Those broken, poured-out tokens,His life and love to share.

Then startling words were uttered,Their peace abruptly cleft;That one would soon betray him,And Judas, strangely, left.

The stillness now arresting,With his departure near,The Master seized the momentTo overcome their fear.

And spoke of how the SpiritWould soon be at their door,To strengthen them and comfort themAnd teach them more and more.

While he would be in GloryPreparing them a place,Whence he would come to take themTo see the Father’s face!

How thrilling was this teaching!How strangely pulled their love!The times with him so precious;Still grander times above?

And lastly, he allowed themTo hear his priestly prayer;That Father would sustain themThrough all life’s toil and care.

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A hymn they sang to finish,That wondrous Hallel Psalm, (PSALM 118)Portraying the MessiahAt death’s dark door, yet calm.

This meeting, how exquisite!This Master, how sublime!This message meant to strengthenTil Resurrection Time!

JOHN 15: 5I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.

Don’t Bring a Thing

Craig Randall was looking forward to his guest spot in the pulpit of his cousin’s church. Already that week he had enjoyed a Men’s Study Group with about nine in attendance around the table. A few of those familiar faces were before him now as he began…

"So it's settled," the hostess said. "We'll see you guys at 6:30 on Saturday. Everything will be ready. Don't bring a thing. Just your appetites. We look forward to a really good evening together."

Perhaps you have had such a conversation, and then on the way over stopped for flowers, some drinks or an interesting treat to take along. Just common etiquette isn't it? Or is it that you don't want to be beholding to another?

I have been studying one of Jesus' more forceful parables - the wedding feast in Matthew 22. A prince is to be married, and extensive invitations have gone out. Surprisingly, the majority of the invitees offered feeble excuses to stay away. This provoked the host, the King, to send messengers into remote places, to encourage as many as would come, good and bad, to attend. He was fixing to have a good celebration and to be unrestrained in his generosity.

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Obviously those listening to Jesus' story got the impression that the disinterested first group were the organized Jews of that day. The second group simply said "yes" and came. Such is grace. "Come. All is provided. My Son deserves an uninhibited, eager response."

But there was also disturbing news. One of the guests had refused to don the wedding garment as was customarily offered by the host. Certainly his own apparel was good enough, and it had served him well on other occasions. But the prince's wedding required the prescribed garments and the man's stubborn refusal was immediately noticed by the King. "Remove such an insolent and unappreciative one to a place of darkness and weeping!"

The old Scottish preachers were quick to chastise wilful members of their flock: "You are too stubborn to trust in the righteousness of another. To don His robe as your own. You must do your little bit, as pathetic and pointless as it is. You seek to add to the Cross. Stop your foolishness while there is still time. The way of grace is the only way."

"I have thought a lot about this parable. We as Christians are constantly reminded that fruit-bearing must come out of our relationship with Christ. Sadly many still see this as a requirement of duty. A weight comes with the consideration of doing good. But the real path of service is forged in love which cannot be suppressed as it pours out almost spontaneously and thankfully. The love response is the ticket to effective Christian living, and not the sense of duty or conformity. So, culture a familiarity with the episodes of Jesus' patience, mercy and strength. Read those Gospels. Get alone enough with Him in prayer. Say your piece briefly, and then wait in respectful silence for His input. It will come. You are developing friendship with the King of Kings. Hearts beat in unison. Watch what happens next..."

Dass Good, Dass Rill Good

Some time back 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

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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 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,

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turned and staggered away.

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

Tale from Another Passover

(As it might have occurred in Luke 2:41-51)

"I tell you, Husband, I can hardly believe it! There is a tremendous lesson here.

We were so caught up in the custom of the Feast. The trek from Nazareth. The camp. The friends and relatives along the way. The singing. The stories. The meals en route. The glory of the Holy City. The Temple with the smoke and smell and noise of sacrifice. It was all over so quickly.

But we lost track of our son. Lost sight of Jesus. And we KNOW who He is.

And where was He to be found after all our panic? In the midst of the Doctors of the Law. Sacred scriptures. Holy Doctrine. He had been poking and prodding and marveling with them. Just the same sort of wonder and enthusiasm which we have seen in the boy in the fields outside Nazareth. Examining the creatures, the plants and flowers. The sights, sounds and smells.

He puts me to shame. He even put some of the teachers to shame. His love for God's Word so far exceeding His need for ceremony and even fellowship. Oh Jesus, our sterling young man. What lies ahead for you?"

Psalm 119:

97O how love I thy law! it is my meditation all the day.

98Thou through thy commandments hast made me wiser than mine enemies: for they are ever with me.

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99I have more understanding than all my teachers: for thy testimonies are my meditation.

100I understand more than the ancients, because I keep thy precepts.

101I have refrained my feet from every evil way, that I might keep thy word.

102I have not departed from thy judgments: for thou hast taught me.

103How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!

Word by Revelation

Peter in his First Epistle said something that caught my attention. Look in the first chapter:

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23Being born again, not of corruptible seed, but of incorruptible, by the word of God, which liveth and abideth for ever.

24For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away:

25But the word of the Lord endureth for ever. And this is the word which by the gospel is preached unto you.

Were not the word and the gospel the same thing? No, it would appear that the gospel includes something about the way the message is rendered and something about the experiences, character and personal illumination of the speaker. By the time of Peter's writing the correspondents knew of his challenges, victories and shortcomings in the Galilean ministry and in the darkening final year leading to Christ's passion. They also knew or would soon know something of the transformation in the Big Fisherman - from impetuous, self assured, quick-fused to humble, longsuffering and persevering. This gave real veracity to the "born-again" message of which he spoke. This was a new man on fire with the revelation given to him from the Lord.

And this should be the power of our testimony, a revealed word, and not An apologetic word;An anecdotal word;An allegorical word;An alliterated word;A systematized word;A chain-referenced word;An inductive word;A histrionic word;A contemporary word;A moralizing word.

We have all heard teachers use these styles to pleasing effect, but the messages we really remember as impacting our spiritual growth are the ones in which the speaker's heart, struggle and mettle are involved. As we leave the gathering we are heard to say, "He really got into that one didn't he?"

No pastor or teacher can have such insight or verve for every message. It

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should not be expected of him. You will notice the dip in impact, when in the teaching series he comes to the place he has not traversed. Sad that he must forge ahead when perhaps someone else in the room has placed a milestone of life experience on that very passage of God's truth.

We expect too much of "Pastor So-and-So", and perhaps miss some of the real gems remaining un-noticed and unheard from the pews. But convention has always required the staff-speaker and lay-audience format. Pity.

Easy Sundays

Are you caught in the snareOf the preacher?In the logical loopOf his art?In the comfort and easeOf the teaching?In the flow of hisOverhead chart?

Is the God you now serveProving pliant?Are His ways now withinMortal span?Has the Bible becomeLess a mainstay.As you harvest the truthFrom one man?

Will it prove your escapeFrom the struggle?From the bleary nightsGiven to prayer?

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From the battle withConcepts of scripture?And the sense you areGetting nowhere?

Does the Cross now appearIsolated?And “reproach” just a wordFrom the past?As you perch on theThreshold of victory,Reassured current clearSkies will last?

Such a joyful, new-foundRevelation.And a quicker ascentTo the height.And a confidence oneNow is certainBoth in grasp of theGood and the right.

But I doubt such convenienceIs Holy.Nor the path which, before,Saints have trod.For the trials which they boreIn the night-time,Brought a richer sun- riseWith their God.

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