Conversation: Forbear

Colossians 3: 13

Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye.

Forgiveness, But Only If...

Just hanging like a spectacle

And lonely beyond words

And seeing false religion strut

With all their venom heard

And He a Teacher full of hope

With gentle hands to heal

Not judging every trip and fall

But offering comfort real.

He prayed as if the Sky could hear

'Might you forgive their doubt

And cruelty based on ignorance

Oh Father help them out

But only if they turn to me

Like John with Mother below

And drop right now all hateful spite.'

Did Christ pray thus? Lord NO!

But rather He held hope sublime

That light would come and love

And grace and mercy take the place

Of bloody push and shove.

Nasty Christians Need to Learn

I shouldn’t need to change you

I shouldn’t need to pound.

Perhaps you’ve been mistreated

And left with hurts profound

Perhaps you met a Christian

Who cut you to the core

Or left you feeling dirty

And second-rate for sure.

My job is not the doctrine

To cram into your heart.

My job is dauntless loving

That sets His Church apart.

The kind that walked the seaside

And bid the hurting near

The kind that healed the wounded

And took away death’s fear.

He didn’t need agreement

He didn’t need to win

He simply showed a kindness

That made men loathe their sin.

And He is all my pattern

And He is all my pride.

And He is waiting near you

To put His Love inside.

Forgiveness: A Must

http://issuu.com/deedub51/docs/forgiveness

Among the Hogs

Came to myself

And the sight was not pretty

Came to myself

In a mud-spattered mess.

Father had rendered

My share in the family

Knowing full well

That it scarcely could bless.

Friends had been fast

As I opened the purse-strings

Life had seemed sweet

In the dark rooms of sin

Wine is a mocker

And strong drink is raging

Feeling a king-pin

I sauntered right in.

Now I am working

A stranger’s foul homestead

Feeding his swine

This, a Jew’s strangest thought

Missing my Father

And joys at the Home-Farm

Cursed this condition

My own lusts had wrought.

Might I go back

And appeal now for mercy?

Yes, it seems wiser

Than all else around

Sensing a hope

That defies all description:

Dead might be raised

And the lost might be found.

Note: In my estimation the story of the Prodigal Son is the best in all of human invention. But of course it is Jesus’ story and transcends the images of limited, sinful scribes. A young man comes to himself; stops at “Wit’s End Corner” and sees the wreckage. He finds out that his Father/God loves to restore broken things; loves to hear the words “I am so sorry. You were right all along. Please forgive me Father.”

I don’t care where we are in our Christian walk, there is always one more thing for which we must repent. If you visit a church and over the front door see a sign which reads “Got-It-All-Together Assembly”, turn around (repent) and flee that place as if it held the plague. Better you kneel alone in a quiet room with Bible opened. And do real business and see real truth and gain real currency for use in a fallen world reeling from pain, unbelief and self-will…Doug

New Weapons

You have become my gladiators, gladiators of steadfastness, patience, mercy, long-suffering, prayerfulness, watching and waiting. You did not choose me but I chose you, and ordained you that you might go forth and bear fruit and that your fruit might remain.

Once gladiators faced their king affirming, "We who are about to die salute you." But you the new gladiators have the privilege of saying, "We who are never going to die will salute You forever with thankful hearts."

And this is the weapon I give you to defeat the devices of the enemy; it is thanksgiving. You will recall past mercies and deliverances and will go forward with confidence to do my work, partnering with me and bringing me glory.

And in this service there will be times when you will be acted upon, when you will be passive, when adverse circumstances and coarse people will refine the ore. But was this not the place of my Son's greatest work? His Passion? The power is spelled out in a peculiar way in the Beatitudes (hungering, thirsting, mourning, making peace, being pure, meek, choosing not to retaliate, being persecuted for righteousness etc.)

Of Fathers and Forgiveness

In a chat with a friend earlier today the topic got around to the Prodigal Son in Luke 15. We were agreed that the dark cloud in the story was not the returning wastrel but rather the self-righteous elder brother, who confirmed that he had always operated out of painful duty to honour his father (not out of love or thankfulness).

I would suggest that the story infers another dark image; the farm neighbour down the road who earlier saw the boy hiking in rags and filth and a hang-dog countenance, and got “on the telephone” to forewarn the Father:

“Chester, it’s Lloyd. How ya doin’? Say, Chester I want you to know that that no-good boy of yours Flip is about five minutes from your front door. He looks awful. He must have really blown whatever opportunities he thought that he might have had. Has nothing to show for it. Probably frittered away a lot of your hard earned cash in the process. I wouldn’t blame you man if you refused him into your house. Thankless young punk. Just like so many of them today. My eldest Roger included. Haven’t seen him in nine years. Rumour has it he is hooked up with some divorcee on the Coast. Might never see him again. No loss.

Well I thought I should give you the heads-up. After all, what are neighbours for? Hopefully he won’t hang around for long. Talk to ya soon.” Click.

Art by Clark Kelly Price

But we all know what the Father in the parable did do at the earliest possible opportunity. Read it once a month and for so long as it takes you to get a true look at the eager, loving heart of our Heavenly Father. You will cherish that Heart. You will draw close. (Luke 15:11-32)

Corrie ten Boom on a Death-bed

Yes I could feel it

Third day now and flat on the bed

Strange tightening under the left breast

Friend and nurse fussing about me so.

But I had my ticket for the next trip

Folks wanted to hear my saga from the Camp.

They would accept prayer.

They would countenance healing and forgiveness.

Nope, my mission was not yet done.

I started to offer thanks.

In my heart’s voice

I told God of my love for Him

Told Jesus of my thanks to him.

For an instant I saw my Father

Happy Dutch watchmaker

And then the Camp

And my last earthly look upon his face

As they led him off.

With some dear Jews.

He would be waiting

Also my princess sister Betje.

She had been stacked like so much cordwood.

Shocking, undeserved translation.

And all those precious women

Bunk-mates, fighting

The monotony and humiliation.

Gathering, at night, together

‘Round the one hidden New Testament.

But not yet…not yet.

And the peace came

And the chest settled.

I could almost spot the time

When the blood flow smoothed.

When my own clock turned the corner

Unto recovery and renewed vigour.

I slept, contentedly.

In the morning my Friend bathed me.

And I put on that new dress

Heading for the Sun Porch.

Nope, mission not finished.

And so He tells me.

Ecclesia

Ecclesia: “An Assembly Summoned Out”

Out of what? The daily grind. The regimen of the working week. The common thoughts of everyday. The priorities and wanderings of the faithless. The push and pull of lusts. The debilitating fear of men. The never-ending agenda of serving self. The short-sighted attention to the now. The bondage of past hurts, disappointments and unforgiveness. The grim fascination with the sordid, violent and unlovely. The unpurified conceptions of love. The common talk of Jesus as past history and not as present friend and shepherd.

And what must pick us up and call us out? The incomparable love of God, His promises and warnings. His call that cannot be resisted. His filling that empty place in the heart.