Best Place for Me

 

The Tale of the Pig and the Sheep

 As I followed a country trail that winds its way across the vast expanse of Southern Ontario, I came to a river crossing and sat in the shade for a time to rest and to catch my bearings. A man soon happened by and, after we exchanged polite greetings, he told a curious tale.

He explained that he owns a nearby farm and that one of his sheep and one of his pigs had recently escaped. Together they had found a weak rail in the fence and had pressed upon it until it broken under their weight. Seeing their opportunity, they quickly bolted from the field and began to explore their new and unfamiliar surroundings.

It did not take long for the farmer to notice that two of his animals were missing and to set out to find them. He came across the broken-down section of fence and launched his search efforts from that area. But the animals had wandered far and had not left much of a trail behind them. Day soon turned to night and after resting fitfully, he resumed his search in the morning. The animals had now been gone for more than 24 hours and he began to wonder what could possibly have happened to them.

It was in the afternoon of the second day that he began to hear a distant bleating, the sound of his sheep crying out. He listened carefully, then began to follow the sound as it led toward a nearby bog. And it was there that he found his missing sheep and his missing pig. Both had fallen into a deep ditch, both had become coated in muck, both were unable to scramble out. But where the pig had been content to wallow in the mud, the sheep had known to bleat pathetically until the farmer had come to rescue it, to lift it out, and to cleanse it.

Then, said the farmer, “If you are ever deceived into a sin and overtaken by a weakness, don’t lose heart. Go at once to your compassionate Savior. Tell Him in the simplest words the story of your fall and the sorrow you feel. Ask Him to wash you at once and to restore your soul, and, while you are asking, believe that it is done. For if a sheep and a sow fall into a ditch, the sow wallows in it, but the sheep bleats pathetically until she is cleansed by her master. Be the sheep, my friend, and not the pig.”

Leaders Should Listen More

 

A challenging Reflection

 The Great Amnesia

"Abide in me."     John 15:4

Here is simplicity. When considering the words of Christ, we hear this simple invitation. "Abide in me." This is the rest the weary self has sought in an external world of experiences. This external world is the product of a body encasing a mind on the great adventure known as a human life.

It is this self which goes forth into time, who buds from a seed and an egg, into physical being. It separates from divine Union into a discrete "human being." What is in truth a portion of the Spirit of God adopts a separate self by "being human." It does this through physical incarnation, born of humans like itself.

During its great adventure into matter, space and time it leaves behind its memory of where it came from, and what it was before, and what it forever is and will be. A type of amnesia descends upon it. This is what Yeshua the Christ said to the Pharisees and Sadducees: "My testimony is valid because I know where I came from and where I am going. But you do not know where I came from or where I am going. You judge according to the flesh; I judge no one." (John 8:14-15)

What did Yeshua mean? He remembered "where he came from." He came from Spirit, from the eternal, immutable. Where was he going? He was after a brief instant "in matter and time" going right back into Spirit. In this, he contrasted his awareness of who he was and is with that of the Jewish teachers, who believed they had begun in matter, with bodies existing in space and time. They had in actuality descended from Spirit, forgotten their Source of origin, and entered the amnesia of the flesh.

Christ said here, "I judge no one." What he meant was that he continued to see all, despite their seeming physical, mental and moral differences, as Spirit. Because he did not forget who he was and where he came from and was going, he remembered for them, too. He saw no difference in the sons of men who plotted to kill him and those who embraced him. All were Spirit, acting out the roles they had adopted in their amnesia play.

His appeal was to those who had become weary. The suffering sought him out. The ones burdened by the despair of their amnesia, who had accepted the accusations of moral failure, and the ones afflicted by physical pain and illness; these were the ones who sought him out in crowds that nearly overwhelmed him. These were the ones whose amnesia had overwhelmed them, and they sought release. The forms of their amnesia varied, from physical illness, birth defects, emotional torment, guilt, fear, and even physical death. It was these who called out his name.

Later, when he had himself transcended physical death to show that none were bound by the limitations imposed by their amnesia, he returned for a brief period of visitation. He showed some his wounds, that they might see the invulnerability of the Spirit, something all share. He teleported from place to place, defying the laws of physicality, all the while being seemingly physical. When he disappeared into the clouds, all the while still in bodily form, he again showed that the Spirit overcomes all amnesia of true Being.

His invitation to "Abide in Me" is simply achieved. He never forgot he was Spirit and asks us to allow our awareness to embrace our own eternal Spiritedness. "The Father and I are One," he said. When we abide in Christ, we are joining him in rolling back the stone in front of our tomb of physicality. Physicality is not only the body but the brain-based mind that has believed it is matter, separated off into space and time. 

Glory of the Raised Soul

 

What Can God Do with Broken Hearts

 God has a special place in his heart for the weak, the weary, the downtrodden, the broken. “Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden,” he says, and “bring in the poor and crippled and blind and lame.” His special blessing is upon those who are poor in spirit, who are meek and mournful, who are reviled and persecuted. The faith that honors him is the faith of a child, and his power is made perfect in weakness more than in strength. He deliberately chooses what is foolish in the world to shame the wise and what is weak in the world to shame the strong. Where we tend to dispose of what has been broken, God treasures it. Where the human instinct is toward those who are confident, assertive, and self-sufficient, the divine eye is drawn to those who are humble, who are contrite in spirit, and who tremble at God’s Word. Where the world looks to those who are whole and strong, God looks to those who are weak and broken, for his specialty is bringing much from little, beauty from ashes, strength from weakness.

God does much with broken things. It was with broken leaves of sweet spices that the priests mixed the incense for the tabernacle, with broken clay jars that Gideon won his great victory over the armies of Midian, with the broken jawbone of a donkey that Samson triumphed over 1,000 Philistines, and with broken loaves and fishes that Jesus fed a crowd of 5,000. It was toward bodies broken by disease that the Lord displayed his miraculous power, and with a broken alabaster flask that Mary anointed him for his burial. It was through the breaking of bread that Jesus prophesied his suffering and death, for his body had to be broken for God to save the souls of his people. It was God’s will that the eternal Son would take on mortal flesh and his head be broken by sharp thorns, his back by brutal whips, his hands and feet by cruel nails, his side by a savage spear. His broken body was laid dead in a tomb, but through the shattering of rocks and tearing of a curtain God declared he had accepted the sacrifice. There would be no redemption, no salvation, without the broken body of the great Savior.

The history of the Christian church continues to display that God delights to use broken things. It was on broken pieces of a ship that Paul and his companions escaped to land and with a body broken by a “thorn” that Paul was saved from conceit. It was through persecution breaking a man from his congregation that the church was given Pilgrim’s Progress, through a shipwreck breaking parents from their children that worshippers were gifted with “It Is Well,” and through spears breaking men on an Ecuadorian beach that a generation of missionaries was rallied to the cause. It was through the ravaging of Helen Roseveare’s body, the paralyzing of Joni Eareckson Tada’s, the blinding of Fanny Crosby’s, the imprisoning of Marie Durand’s, the crippling of Amy Carmichael’s, the slaughtering of Betty Stam’s that countless Christians have received strength to sustain them through sorrow and suffering. The bones of Wycliffe were crushed to powder and thrown into the river Swift, but his translation lived on. The neck of Tyndale was crushed at the stake, but God answered his final prayer and soon even the lowly plowboy was reading God’s Word. The bodies of Ridley, Latimer, and Cranmer were broken and burned, but the flames that consumed them lit a fire for the gospel that has never been quenched.

And so it seems that God often prefers to use what has been broken over what has only ever been whole. He breaks our wills so we will turn away from ourselves and come to him in repentance and faith. He breaks our plans to redirect our ways and ensure that his much greater plan will go on not just around us, but through us. He breaks our bodies to display that his power is made perfect in weakness. And yes, he breaks our hearts. He breaks our hearts by loss to prove to us that the gospel truly is gain. He breaks our hearts by grief so he can increase our longing for the place where every tear will be dried. He breaks our hearts by disappointment to prove that this world can never truly satisfy. He breaks our hearts by bereavement to pry our fingers off a world that could otherwise allure and entrap us with its charms. No wonder, then, that so few of us make our way through life without some great trial, some great adversity, some circumstance in which we cry out “I am undone. I am broken.”

What can God do with broken hearts? Perhaps the better question is what can God do with unbroken hearts?, for God delights to use what has been broken. He delights to display his power through what is weak, to display his strength through what is small, to display his glory through what has been shattered. His breaking is never pointless, for he is neither arbitrary nor cruel. His breaking is never purposeless, for he is too wise to ever be wrong and too kind to ever be heartless. He breaks us to shape us. He breaks us to mold us. He breaks us to use us. It is through the breaking that he makes us suitable for his purposes. It is through the breaking that he makes us a blessing. It is through the breaking that he makes us whole.

I'm not that awesome

 It must be difficult to live out the gospel of self-esteem, the “gospel” that insists I’m nothing short of awesome. It is, however, delightful to live out the gospel of Jesus Christ that insists that I’m not all that awesome and don’t need to be. Here’s a short quote from Adam Ramsey that explains.

The gospel means that I’m not all that awesome. But I am loved. And that’s awesome. The gospel frees me to be honest about the ways I fall short instead of being crushed by them, because it reminds me that Jesus was crushed for me. The gospel means I don’t have to hide, because the good news of what the holy and all-knowing Savior on the cross is true for me too. The gospel means I don’t need to impress, because Christ has eternally secured for me the smile of my Maker. If that’s true, then let’s burn those useless fig leaves of our self-justifying excuses and lean wholly into the justification of God. As my friend Alex Early has written, “Jesus is not in love with some future version of you or what you used to be. He loves you right where you are, sitting in that chair.”

Do you hate your sin? Do you find yourself turning to Jesus again and again with cries of confession and desires for change? Then take heart, beloved struggler. You are undoubtedly a child of God. The fact that you are fighting sin is the evidence of spiritual life. Dead things don’t fight, only living things do. So press onward into the light of holiness.

God will not despise our honesty; he meets us in it with renewing tenderness; he rushes to us there and smothers our confessions with kisses of acceptance. We often think that honesty makes us poorer. But judging from the Father’s reaction to his prodigal son’s return, we could not be more wrong. He dignifies our repentance with the family ring, reminding us of our true identity. Honesty means exchanging the pig food of our sins for the banquet of God’s grace; the tattered clothes of our foolish decisions for the clean suit of Christ’s sinlessness; the cold loneliness of the mud, for the warm embrace of the Father. It is the way back home.

Drawn from Truth on Fire.