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Psalm 107:

²Let the redeemed of the LORD say so, whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy;

³And gathered them out of the lands, from the east, and from the west, from the north, and from the south.

Tell a Neighbour

Can you see it?Will you do it?You are useful where you are.And may be a living witnessTo the bright and Morning Star;With a harvest just as precious,As on mission fields afar.Share the Gospel,

Tell a neighbour – Jesus came.

Many suffer

Without knowing

That there is a ready cure,

For the discontent they’re feeling,

And the guilt they can’t endure.

Once they cleave unto the Saviour,

He gives peace, complete and sure.

Share the Gospel,

Tell a neighbour – Jesus saves.

There is Good News

In this message.

He has risen Lord and King;

With the strength and right and wisdom

To unravel anything.

Priest Eternal, He still bids us

All our prayers and praise to bring.

Share the Gospel,

Tell a neighbour – Jesus reigns.

But be gentle

With the message,

Lest a hardening set in.

Do not hurt them in your boldness.

Do not judge them in their sin.

Meekly, show the Lord’s compassion,

That disciples He might win.

Share the Gospel,

Tell a neighbour – Jesus cares.

Palm Tree Gospel

John Williams was dispatched by the London Missionary Society to French Polynesia in the Pacific (@1827). Eventually he died at the hands of cannibals.He relates one incident where he came across a farmer peasant, named Buteve, who through trauma had lost both his legs. Garden farming was a tedious matter of crawling around with the aid of some rudimentary assist. When assemblies were called by Williams, Buteve could only make it as far as the pathway by his lot, where he would inquire of passers-by as to a song, a scripture or any short message shared.

Williams heard of this simple, devoted man and paid him a visit in which he asked of the nature of his faith exercises:

Answer: “Oh yes, I very frequently pray as I weed my ground and plant my food, but always three times a day, besides praying with my family every morning and evening.”

Question: “What do you say when you pray?”

Answer: “I say, Oh Lord, I am a great sinner; May Jesus take my sins away by His good blood; Give me the righteousness of Jesus to adorn me, and give me the good spirit of Jesus to instruct me and make my heart good, to make me a man of Jesus, and take me to Heaven when I die.” (John Williams, The Martyr Missionary of Polynesia, by James J. Ellis, 1889, S.W. Partridge and Company)

The gardener got it! Simply by prayer, song, bits of scripture, meditation and dialogue. How much other “stuff” seems to occupy our pulpits these days. How many commentaries, testimonies and DVD’s keep us from the purity of this man’s experience of Christ?

The Gospel of John (narrated by Christopher Plummer)

http://youtube.com/watch?v=z7INnvnHrlg

This Man Receiveth Sinners

Luke 151.Then drew near unto him all the publicans and sinners for to hear him.2.And the Pharisees and scribes murmered saying, This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.That's just it. The Lord has come to minister to those who have a real sense of their deficit. If they attempt to bluff and claim self-righteousness, then He moves on. He says that the Physician has come to minister to the sick, and to those who will acknowledge that they are sick.Consider how Jesus dealt with the woman who came to the well in mid-day heat as recorded in John 4. Presumably she chose that time to avoid numbers of other women. She had had many husbands and was the subject of much gossip. Presently she was living common-law. All this Jesus knew by the gift of knowledge. When he stated these facts to her, there did not seem to be condemnation in his countenance or a roadblock to the interview. He was there to dispense "living water" regardless. He was there for her alone.

There is a famous painting of this incident showing the Lord seated by a small well-lid at the base of a flight of stairs. His head appears cocked to hear the sound of one approaching from above. It is this woman of shame. He is there for her. He knows that she is coming.

The woman is so impressed with his willingness to bless that she accepts what he is there to offer. She runs off to tell neighbours that she has found the "promised One". A revival ensues in the community. Many come and listen to His teaching for themselves. He does receive sinners. They sense that he holds a certain optimism for their redemption.

If you can come to some quiet place, and lay yourself bare for His healing, and welcome Him to make His presence known, you will not be disappointed. You will find Him friendly, and more than a match for your sin. A new life awaits.

John 6:

37 All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.

(Painting by William Hole)

A Most Needful Message

To Him That Believeth

The note read briefly, "Pastor Keith, may I see you in your study for a few moments at 5:00 P.M. on Monday? Bruce Benton" It had been given to Keith by staff on Monday morning. Dropped into Sunday's collection plate.Keith had spent a most painful twenty-four hours since his rebuke from the pulpit. Imagine, calling out luke-warmness; the crippling routine; denouncing many programs; turning a good forty percent of his responsibilities back over to the congregation. Wow! Had he heard God accurately on all of this?But he had not been able to get an image out of his thoughts. It was in Mark's Gospel. Jesus coming into Jerusalem on the Monday morning of Passion Week. Hungry, and seeing a fig tree in His path. Although this tree showed leaves, it bore no fruit. To the surprise of His disciples Jesus cursed the tree. Later that same day he whipped the sellers and money-changers out of the temple. Two seemingly destructive acts ...by Jesus. Keith had examined the church for days in light of this image.

Throughout the day, Keith had imagined many troubling scenes. His associate pastor asking if he had really meant all of that. Fred and Sarah, co-chairs of the Board of Elders, meeting him with pained looks after their many hours of organization and stirring up the people. Martin, the Missions chair, reminding him of the big cheque recently sent to field workers at the school in Kenya. Harvey the Pre-teen Sunday School Superintendent coming in for another Saturday afternoon of preparation, laden down with children's magazines, videos and felt-board figures. His own wife shaking her head at his discounting of his own tireless service to date. He was, in a word...miserable.

And it was ten minutes until Bruce's hastily called visit. But here is what Keith did not know. Bruce had been with the church some eighteen months. A corporate accountant transferred from Mississauga. His wife, Karen, once an elementary school teacher, had been staying at home recently for the benefit of eight year-old daughter Martha and four year-old Brendon. The couple were still sensing something missing in the oft-repeated term "church family". They had attended programs, received smiles and small-talk and offered some efforts in last year's Easter Pageant. But they were dissatisfied with the lack of real engagement with other parishioners, the lack of transparency, the handicap to real burdened prayer one for the other, the low-bar messages of basic redemption time and again from the pulpit, the evident spiritual gifts in the pews lying dormant, while staff did it all and grew weary.

After much consideration and talk, Bruce and Karen had decided to leave the fellowship, and Bruce felt strongly that he should give an account. But then Keith had dropped the bomb on Sunday in his remarks. That sounded like real church, real growth, real forward movement into Christian maturity, real burden bearing, real evangelism, real service in-house and at large. Could the people be ignited in this fashion? A desperate call indeed, but a worthy call.

The intended ten minute apology blossomed into an hour's talk between brothers of the faith, stirred with the same vision and hope, zealous for the glory of the same Saviour.

Bruce's parting words: "Thanks Keith for all of this. Consider my thoughts. Get back to us...and soon. We really want to help. This thing will work!"

(Taken from the ebook "Church on the Hoist".)

http://issuu.com/dewane/docs/church_on_the_hoist?mode=window&backgroundColor=%23222222

Mutual Congratulation...Watch Out

There are pastors who feel compelled to remind their flock of how well they are doing in the means of Grace. Oh we have a good handle on corporate prayer or on testimony time, etc. This unfortunate self confidence does away with the sense of dependence and vulnerability that births and sustains every blessing form Jesus. We come as beggars and we ought to remain happily in that posture. Ransomed. Indwelt by the Spirit. Healed. Restored in a healthy self-image and assurance. But such things are gifted.

Watch it Pastor, how you are buttering up the people . Frankly you might be setting them up for a great fall in the very area in which you had given them praise and a back patting. Such politically correct stuff is not of the Lord.

An Ounce of Heart

(Today's entry in Come Ye Apart by J. R. Miller)Finding Christ“We have found the Messias.”John 1:41We must notice the kind of argument Andrew used with his brother. He just went to him with a great joy in his heart, ‘the joy of discovery and of satisfaction,’ and told him about it. An English preacher gives in a sermon this illustration, showing how much more convincing power there is in a little bit of real Christian life than there is in a large amount of apologetics.

A minister delivered in his pulpit a very fine course of lectures in refutation of some form of infidelity. He delivered the course chiefly for the benefit of one man that attended his place of worship. The man was sceptical, and the preacher hoped to remove his doubts. Shortly after the close of the lectures this man came and declared himself a Christian. The minister was very glad, and said to him, “Which of my discourses was it that removed your doubts?” The answer was, “Oh, it was not any of your sermons that influenced me. The thing that set me to thinking was a poor woman that came out of the chapel beside me one night and stumbled on the steps. I reached out my hand to help her, and she said, ‘Thank you;’ then she said, ‘Do you love Jesus Christ, my blessed Saviour?’ I did not, and I went home and thought about it; and now I can say, I love Jesus.”

An ounce of heart is worth more than a ton of head in winning souls.

When we have really found Christ ourselves, the best way to bring others is just to tell them what Christ is to us. One word of genuine and hearty confession of Christ by a person whose soul is full of the new-found joy, is worth more than the most eloquent sermons to lead others to believe in Christ. Let us be sure that people know from us that we have really found Christ; then they cannot but be impressed. It will surely be a sad pity if we should so live that they will not suspect that we are Chrstians.

Note: I have received much benefit from a year's study of the life of Christ in J. R. Miller's devotional "Come Ye Apart". It is shown in the sidebar as a Helpful Link.

Resoundingly

Thanks for the flag, saints.You ran once with Him.Touched His clothes.Placed hands of camaraderieUpon those shoulders.Saw the lame walk,The outcast relieved,

The fretful calmed,

The dead raised,

The deaf ears opened.

To His message of love

And of Father's

Constant reaching.

Of the prize in

Absorbing the blow;

Going two miles;

Listening with grace;

Facing the grave.

Proclaiming at hand-off,

'Him, Risen Indeed!'

To other keen runners,

In different times,

In different struggles,

In different climes.

But all with

The Spirit and

Joy reinforced,

To herald the message

And finish their course.

The flag still clean.

And true to its purpose.

No never gone stale,

Nor broken, nor bested,

Nor picayune, nor pale.

Maintaining rich colour,

Its drapery white,

And crimson its message,

'Begone dreadful night

Of death and despairing.

Our Lord makes things right!'

So carry the standard

When passed on to you.

Its olive-wood handle

So straight and so true.

And look for new runners

Who reverence God's Son,

Who range to the by-ways

As you just have done.

Carry it high, saints.

For soon He will come

The quivering age rings of doubt;The fuzzy aura of social norm;Of grandmother’s fablesOn how good comes;Of past hurts and yearningsWrenching head and heartPeriodically upward.Now collect and condense intoA single point of certaintyAnd gladsome focus.

Christ has come.

Christ has served,

And brought the good report.

Blood and death have served their purpose.

His Father…Our Father.

Is love.

Entirely to be trusted.

And oh, how the good comes!

Hallelujah!

The World's Laughter

Move of God

I remember seeing a painting of George Whitefield (1714 - 1770) preaching to a crowd in an English village. The faces of those in attendance registered every possible reaction – mild interest, polite boredom, awkward smirks, heckling, distraction toward the activity of others and some in heavy conviction and mourning for sin.The face of the preacher showed only severe focus on the Word being preached. He was not scanning the crowd for their reaction or trying to tailor his presentation for sake of persuasiveness. He modeled the dedicated, humble messenger of the simple seed of the Word. I saw nothing of debater, salesman or distinguished celebrity.

How often do we hear of the ministries of “great men or women of God” wielding some “mighty anointing”. It is as if the sweet ministry of the Holy Spirit and His fruit have been reduced to a commodity like baking powder available for better effect.

I am convinced that we are seeing the eclipse of “great personalities” in ministry. God is jealous for His glory. One of a messenger’s greatest fears in service or testimony should be the fear of the praise of men and its debilitating effect. The sower simply, obediently and faithfully scatters the seed. God gives the increase.

I am expecting a groundswell of grass-roots love and sharing to be in the next outbreak of revival. We must all be prepared to give the glad report and to offer hands of help.

Valley of Tears Beatitude

Again yesterday I received a blessing from Psalm 84:5Blessed is the man whose strength is in thee; in whose heart are the ways of them. 6Who passing through the valley of Baca make it a well; the rain also filleth the pools. 7They go from strength to strength, every one of them in Zion appeareth before God.Apparently there is a community of faithful ones who have encountered the valley of Baca (tears) for whatever reason, and have come through victoriously, and have stored up in their heart empathy for the suffering ones, and resources and encouragement for these fellow pilgrims. They understand the ways of those who traverse that Vale. Their faith, example and counsel provide supernatural refreshment and "wells" long before God sends relief in the natural realm with the "rains". They appropriate joy in all circumstances because their inevitable destination is Zion.

Are there tears in your present or past? Have you come THROUGH that valley? Are you endued with a resource and audacity not acquired by the untried, by the ones who appear always to breeze through? Thank God for such a blessing, such a resource, which may very soon become a "well" for others.

Always be on the lookout, and prepared to be surprised by simple opportunities to minister. This was Jesus' way from day to day. He too was a "man of sorrows" and "acquainted with grief".

Ready to Give the Reason

Allan needed this break. Time to stretch. Check the tires. Load security. Last time here was about six weeks ago. Good food. Always full of drivers. Probably would recognize some. First name basis. Easy discussion about loads. Different fleets and working conditions. Police from jurisdiction to jurisdiction.This part of Pennsylvania was beautiful...particularly in autumn. Rolling hills. Small well-kept farms. But treacherous with the lowering of the sun. Lengthening shadows. Sudden steep down-slopes or curves. He felt his eyes strained and his frame tense.Thankfully no bothersome "lot lizards" getting in his way as he did his walk-around (pathetic young prostitutes cruising the service stops in vans).

Once inside he immediately appreciated the warm lighting, cozy temperature and delightful smells. Waitress with the poofy hair and knowing smile gave him a grin and pointed to a few empty tables in the far corner by the mural with all those beautiful painted Kenworths.

What would it be this time? Breakfast? Hearty dinner? On the road daily regimen was cast aside when it came to eating or sleeping. Sleeping. Yeah, that had been the topic of conversation last time here, with a couple of drivers from Quebec. They had heard of a casual acquaintance who had fallen asleep at the wheel on these hills and missed a hazardous turn. Dead. Perhaps the trucker's greatest enemy. That and the usual squeeze faced by broker drivers in their company arrangements. Mileage allowances. Weight and hazard adjustments. Inter-state licencing. Fines. Fuel prices. Maintenance and repairs. The little guy's tab seemed endless.

Waitress with a badge stating "Marge" arrived offering menus. "Good evening Stretch. Haven't seen you for a while. Where you from again?"..."Kingston. Got a big load of steel coils coming back from the mill. Been hittin' the stop-and-go pretty heavily on these hills of yours."... "Yeah, but they're beautiful, aren't they?"

"I guess I'll have your hot roast beef sandwich with mashed, mixed vegetables, side salad with French and a pot of tea."

"Right away Stretch, uh Allan. I'll bring that tea and a paper."

Allan rubbed his eyes. He knew that he wouldn't be straining at the newsprint. Most of the drivers had teamed up in twos or threes at the tables. Craving company. Conversations were up and running on the Penguins, local election issues, activities of sons and daughters, gadgets and equipment to help with the job.

From behind and above he heard a familiar voice: "Allan. Remember me? Jerry?"

Allan did remember. Two visits ago they had sat and talked. "Hey Jerry. Sit down I've just ordered." Marge was quick on the uptake. Jerry opted for breakfast and coffee.

Their previous encounter was sifting through Allan's memory. Jerry was driving a loaner. His rig was in the shop. Serious accident in a light snowfall. Problems with insurance adjustment. Loan payments. Imposing fuel bills lingering on. Company threatening to replace him. Not enough time at home. Tension developing with his wife Stacy. One boy starting high school and getting grades well below his potential.

Yep, Jerry had really wanted to unload. And he had chosen Allan.

Good choice. For years Allan had been a member of Transport for Christ. Monthly meetings. Phone network. Frequent literature. Women's groups for the wives left at home. Allan had even considered chaplaincy work full-time, but eventually opted to stay in the field "speaking words in season to those who were weary".

Again Allan could remember his part of the conversation. "Jerry, I've seen a lot of it. Booze. Pills to keep awake. Crazy scheduling. Picky highway officials. Tricky loads. Expenses juggled frantically. A mess once with another woman. Near divorce...I finally had to concede that I did not have all the answers. At a certain point I had to let go. I needed a steady helper. I needed Jesus. I was never going to be perfect. Jesus didn't expect that, or wait for it. He just wanted a partner. I have become that partner, and prayer and study of the Bible have taken on a completely new place in my life. Jesus is close. I know it. These battles I continue to encounter are the Lord's battles."

Jerry had been quiet, respectful and appearing somewhat puzzled. They had talked back and forth for a good ninety minutes.

And now, here was Marge arriving with the food. From the look on Jerry's face and the tone of his voice, Allan expected that he was about to hear something good...

(1 Peter 3:

15But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear:)

Tucked in Starched Sheets

Beth awoke with a yelp. What a horrible nightmare! She longed to reach over to Keith for a comforting hug. But no, she was in a hospital, remember? The doctor had told her that the recent trauma might produce some crazy things in the sub-conscious. Not to mention the drugs for pain. She felt that she must present an odd picture. Upper body casts. Unsightly purple bruise on the left temple. Stitches at the eyebrow. The young woman in the bed opposite had been trying to hide the fact that she was staring. From what Beth had gleaned, Crissy was in for a broken hip from a fall from a second story balcony. Standing on a chair to water some plants. Lost her balance, or so the official story went. Beth suspected that there was some other real scenario.

"Must have had a bad one, eh?" Crissy looked genuinely concerned, but conversation had been strained. In the two days of Beth's treatment thus far Crissy had had only one visitor, a boyfriend named Steve. He had brought her up-to-date on his employment search. Presumably they shared the apartment and things were strained financially. Her parents were out of province and had phoned twice offering small comfort.

"Yes Crissy I don't usually have nightmares. This one was a doozy. Lost and alone in a strange community. People suspecting that I had done something terribly wrong. Nightfall setting in. The rest is kinda fuzzy."

"Nurse popped in about twenty minutes ago with those flowers on your table."

They were a beautiful surprise. The card was from Bruce and Karen Benton. For some reason she opted to read it aloud: "Hang in there Girl. We are so thankful that you were spared any greater danger. Pretty sore now though, right?"

A scripture portion had also been included:

When you pass through the waters,

I will be with you;

and when you pass through the rivers,

they will not sweep over you.

When you walk through the fire,

you will not be burned;

the flames will not set you ablaze.

For I am the LORD your God,

the Holy One of Israel, your Savior;

Crissy did not respond to that, but looked down at the movie magazine in her lap. Thirty seconds later: "What's it like...being a preacher's wife I mean?"

"Oh it's not so very different. Two kids. School. Shopping. In-laws. House work. A lot of phone calls for my husband from people I hardly know. Two weeks' holidays in the summer. We like to camp. Endless laundry. Women and kids needing a friend to talk to or to pray. And some of the wildest ideas right out of the blue in my conversations with Keith. New ways formulated to express rich timeless truths. In short. I love it. I love him, and I love God for His constant goodness. Every now and then we feel that we make a difference."

"That all doesn't sound too unusual. My parents were Catholic. Gradually slipped right out of the routine. My boyfriend thinks the churches are all about getting your money."

"Perhaps he'd be interested in a place like ours. We are presently finding ways to turn things back over to the people. That they might have the joy of discovery, of testifying, of helping in simple ways. Sometimes, though, it feels as if we are going one step at a time through the darkness."

"Really? A preacher and his wife who don't have all the answers. I kinda like that."

With God, Enough...

The stakes had been driven in Karl's field following a paltry yield of barley. The benches had come from the assembly hall down the town-line road. The posters had been tacked to the post office bulletin board. The preachers in no less than four denominations had announced the special week from their pulpits. And now Brother Fuller was in town, and the opening Friday night just hours away.That afternoon Fuller had brought together two dozen pillars of prayer in the tent and for 90 minutes they had importuned God's visit and power upon their struggling, recession-weary community. He said that the Master in Mark 6 had called His followers out of the everyday into a desert place, a dry place, and there He had performed the miracle of the loaves and fishes. Not in the city but out in the desert places. And this is where these faithful people of Oklahoma had found themselves for the last four years.

Dusk with its cooling realization had come, and my wife and I, together with another young couple, had secured seats in the front third of the benches under the canvas. All of us felt the weariness of the day drifting away in the anticipation and good cheer of the gathering. The sawdust was underfoot. The banners on the tent wall: "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Our friends were new to this experience, but it had not taken much courteous coaxing. A poor second crop. A part-time job disappearing with the closing of the lumber yard in town. A teen-age son in rebellion and mixing with some undesirables after school.

The music began complete with fiddles, banjo, drums, accordian and trombone. The old favourites brought a comfort and an encouragement. "Got Any Rivers? You think are uncrossable. Got any Mountains? You can't tunnel through. God specializes in things thought impossible. He'll do for you what none other can do."

And then the message from Brother Fuller. Parts of it remain still now, clear in the memory, filled with promise, and filled with the thrill of our young friends stepping forward in response to the call of Jesus:

"Enough, friends, to be in His family;

To relish in the engagement of real, caring prayer;

To know that His Testament bequeathes us

Life, unburdened conscience and new spiritual power.

To sense foretastes of Heaven.

Enough, to see His artistry at break of day;

To hear His serenade in the turtledove;

His optimism in a youngster's laugh.

To thrill at His power in the thunderbolt,

In the stinging wind over dry fields,

In the deluge that fills the watercourses

In mere minutes.

Enough, to hear his words of rebuke

To the Enemy, the Slanderer,

And his underlings who whisper, threaten or foreclose;

To understand His assurance that no man, no devil

Shall take a child out of His hand.

This is our Father,

As represented by our Elder Brother.

This is salvation, and

This is forever."

The gathering and the ushering away of new converts. The singing of "Just a Closer Walk with Thee". The dismissal of the assembly out from the tent to the clarity of a sparkling late-summer night sky. The scenes remain vivid and awe-inspiring to us, some thirty years later.

The Shantyman

It is good to toilWith the men I know;And to trim the treesAnd to lay them low;And to haul their bulkTo the stream below;I am glad that the Lord sent me here.And from time to timeWhen the mood is right,In the vaulted woodWith its dappled light;

Where the blue-jay’s flash

Quickens shrill and bright;

I can sense that the Lord meets me here.

There’s a constant strain

From the whistle call;

As we scale the heights

Making giants fall;

And we swing our steel

And our chain and maul.

And I know that the men test me here.

But the dusk does come,

And the campfires burn;

And the grub is good,

And our thoughts will turn

To the ones at home,

And for those we yearn;

But for weeks we must still labour here.

Yet another time

The alarm will sound;

That a trunk has split;

That a man is downed.

And like mother birds

We all gather ‘round.

And I sense they are glad I am here.

Then the Sabbath day

Brings some extra rest;

And a few will come,

And by that I’m blessed;

And we search the Book,

And I share Christ’s best;

For the Lord of the harvest is here.

Oh shantymen sing!

In the golden field;

In the fishing hull;

In the mineshaft’s yield;

In the factory’s pulse;

Sing of grace revealed;

And the joy of the Lord finds us here.

Note: Canada recalls many work situations in which humble servants of the Gospel got into the workplace, rubbed shoulders, earned trust and simply prayed and helped.

Incredible Journey

Call her "Joyce". I met her while visiting a chapel service at the Senior's Home. Well preserved. Beautiful skin. Firm, controlled posture and movements. Standing with others in conversation after the service, smiling and apparently enjoying the day.At one point she piped up to me, "I know Dad and the kids are really going to enjoy what I tell them about all of this."(Dad and the kids? Am I missing something here?)Deb, the part-time chaplain, just looked at me and shook her head. Alzheimers. Lost in the loops of the past."Joyce" became interested in our little Monday night reading and discussion group. I would often find her seated at table in the dining room on her floor with friend "Pauline", smoothing down the corners of a magazine, or patting her upper legs with both hands in nervous habit. But the face remained poised and youthful. "Pauline" had taken up the practice of bossing her around, but clearly enjoyed the company. Not every time was I successful in enticing her to come to our little talk.

But last week was different. The book which met with general approval in the group was "The Incredible Journey" by Sheila Burnford. It would take several sessions to be digested. Many remembered the Disney movie of decades ago. Three pets are separated from their cottaging novelist caregiver. Weeks are spent in rugged wilderness experience in far northwestern Ontario. A Lab retriever, strong but somewhat agitated. A battle-worn slant-faced old bull terrier. A sleek Siamese.

I am told by staff at the home that residents will be stressed by long sessions. It was apparent however that my friends were traveling with the pets. Living it all in their mind's eye. Escaping the monotony of their environment and condition. Such is the blessing of a "good read".

And no one getting more out of it, or more appreciating the nuances of fine writing than "Joyce". For a little while back with us.

In retrospect I suppose that I see in her a bit of the lab; in "Pauline" a bit of the bull terrier; and perhaps in Lynn, in wheelchair, a hint of the Siamese.

Lynn is, after all, the one who feeds the residence cat "Little Friskies".

On My Case

I remember a night in early summer when I was called as a solicitor to meet with a number of men at a Board meeting for a Christian retreat property near Wallaceburg.The facility had a large main lodge and dining hall, numerous cabins, playing fields, expansive grounds and boat docks for small craft looking out toward Mitchell's Bay (some of the best bass fishing in all of Canada).They were considering a change in day-to-day leadership of the camp and some of the outgoing participants had gotten legal counsel, so my friends thought that they should follow suit.

The issues at the meeting were pretty straight-forward and business was concluded early. Discussion soon turned to men's topics and got 'round to Christian faith. I was involved in the Anglican Church. Most of these men were Baptists.

I remember the Treasurer, an acountant by profession, and seemingly proficient in business, bringing it to the topic of the Second Coming of Christ. This surprised me, a successful businessman with a beautiful young family apparently eager to leave a promising known present set of circumstances for something unknown and mystical. Or did he know about it?

In my church the Bible books of Ezekiel, Daniel, First and Second Thessalonians and Revelation were considered to be mostly symbolic. I had never once heard a homily on the return of Jesus to this planet. These men went on to use terms like "saved" and "born-again". I was dumbfounded.

Then the accountant turned to me and used words something like the following:

"Doug, I love my family and want only the best for them. If God bestows blessings in this life, and he certainly does, then I have been richly favoured in home, privileges and loved ones. But it is still a fallen world reeling in pain, violence and disappointment stemming from Adam's rebellion in the Garden of Eden way back at creation. The ultimate community which God promises has no strife, sickness, death, loneliness or fear. The Heavenly City will be full of purpose, love and praise. I would go tonight if He called. I pray that my family would be included."

This dear friend had taken a risk. He had spoken the seemingly ridiculous to his lawyer acquaintance. But his earnest face and words, and the picture which he painted accompanied me all the drive home down Highway 40 under a beautiful starlit summer country sky.

This is one of the many influences then turning my attention toward Jesus. The Holy Spirit has been crudely described as "the hound-dog of Heaven" giving people a convicting sense of their sin and need. He was working on me. I cannot give reasons. I can only give thanks. (for another incident read the post entitled, "He Comes Near")

My friend had heeded the words of Peter in his First Epistle, chapter three:

15But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear:

Eugene Peterson in "The Message" puts it as follows:

Through thick and thin, keep your hearts at attention, in adoration before Christ, your Master. Be ready to speak up and tell anyone who asks why you're living the way you are, and always with the utmost courtesy.

The Man with the Book

I remember borrowing from the University of Waterloo a tiny, dusty volume entitled “The Man with the Book: John Ross of Brucefield” (1821 to 1887).Brucefield is little more than a rural corner in Huron County west of Seaforth. This citizen was a hard working, neighbourly son of Scotland whose family had emigrated to Ontario after the Great Disruption which birthed the Free Presbyterian Church of Scotland.His was an agrarian life with many a hike or buckboard ride down long country roads in all sorts of weather to help neighbours. He was known for always carrying with him a pocket New Testament and Psalms. He would often stop to ask a stranger whether he might offer a word of scripture providing special blessing. The testimonies of hearts touched by such simple witness were numerous.

John Ross was privileged to offer homespun sermons in many country churches. One quote of his I copied in the margin of my Bible:

“The Lord was heard to say, ‘This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased.’ What are you thinking about this free gift? What is the answer you are sending back to Heaven about Him? Here is the answer the Father is watching to hear from every one of us: 'This is my beloved Saviour (Jesus) in whom I am well pleased.' Can you say it? Will you say it? He is God’s free gift to the world. If you will have Him as your Saviour, take up God’s words and send them back to Him...God and you are at one; You have come to an agreement about the most important matter in the universe; You are both well pleased with the Son of God; There is peace between you.”

John Ross, rugged forefather, perhaps another wandering soul will hear your words today.

Scripture portion offered______________________________________

Note: This posting is meant as a tract to be freely distributed. Doug Blair. http://momentsmidstream.blogspot.com/

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