Prodigal: Sometimes we need to remember the gospel.
Me: Yes, it will stir our spirit.
This is from the book The Cross of Christ by John R. W. Stott
What we have been hearing throughout this passage is variations on the theme of the wisdom and power of God, his wisdom through human folly and his power through human weakness. The gospel of the cross will never be a popular message, because it humbles the pride of our intellect and character.
So when we look at the cross we see the justice, love, wisdom and power of God. It is not easy to decide which is the most luminously revealed, whether the justice of God in judging sin, or the love of God in bearing the judgment in our place, or the wisdom of God in perfectly combining the two, or the power of God in saving those who believe. For the cross is equally an act, and therefore a demonstration, of God’s justice, love, wisdom and power.
We remember the gospel to help humble our pride. We did not save ourselves. The Lord saved us. We did not figure out how to avoid sin. Jesus brought a replacement for our sin. The Lord is our savior and our redeemer. Let us praise together. Let us praise the one who is there for us in love and faithfulness.
I will give thee thanks in the great congregation: I will praise thee among much people.
This is from Time Out, Ladies by Dale Evans Rogers
Lord, thou knowest better than I know myself, that I am growing older, and will someday be old.
Keep me from getting talkative, and particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occastion.
Release me from the craving to try and straighten out everybody’s affairs.
Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details–give me wings to get to the point.
I ask for grace enough to listen to the tales of other’s point. Help me endure them with patience.
But seal my lips on my own aches and pains. They are increasing, and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.
I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others.
Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet. I do not want to be a saint–some of them are so hard to live with–but a sour old woman (man) is one of the crowing works of the devil.
Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy.
With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it;
but Thou knowest, Lord, I want a few friends at the end.
Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And give me, Lord, the grace to tell them so.
Micah 6:8
He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but do do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?
This comes from the book Angels Beside You by James Pruitt
On August 23, 1914, members of the British Expeditionary Force faced their first true test of battle in the great war to end all wars. It came at a place called Mons, the capital of Hainaut Province of Belgium.
The BEF had crossed the channel and landed at Le Havre, under the protection of the Royal Navy. They were deployed along a line behind the Mons-Conde Canal, which offered them some protection from German artillery. As the Germans pressed their attacks, the French, Britain’s ally on the right flank, began to suffer heavy casualties. Shortly thereafter, the French defenses began to crumble under the German onslaught. They had no alternative but to withdraw, leaving the British right flank unprotected and wide open to attack. Seeing this, the Germans were quick to take advantage of the situation and pressed their attack, swinging the German First Army headlong at the weakened flank of the British Expeditionary Force. It would prove to be a disastrous mistake.
British pride, guts, and superb rifle fire immediately took a deadly toll of the German attack force. The assault was shattered by the withering fire and broke, sending the survivors scurrying back to their own lines and the safety of the German trenches.
Once safely inside their own lines, German commanders of the attack force frantically called their higher command headquarters to explain their sudden retreat. They quickly explained that their German forces had been outnumbered ten to one by the British. On this point the German commanders of the First Army were somewhat incorrect. The odds had been ten to one, but it was the British who were outnumbered, not the Germans. The unit that had formed the nucleus of the British stand that day had been the Coldstream Guard.
For the British, however, this was a short-lived victory. As night descended over the battlefield, the Germans began a linkup maneuver in an effort to encircle the British force. Allied commanders, still reeling from the loss of the French positions, could not send reinforcements, and therefore ordered an immediate withdrawal of the British force. As expected, the Coldstream Guard would cover the retreat and would be the last unit out of the area.
A few hours before morning, the Coldstreamers were notified that all Allied units had escaped the rapidly closing German circle and were themselves ordered to withdraw as quickly as possible. In the half-light of a false dawn the lead element of the Coldstreamers became disoriented and wandered about in the semidarkness in an attempt to make contact with their main body. When it became painfully obvious that they were completely out of touch with any Allied forces, the Coldstreamers began to dig in, determined to make another heroic stand at dawn.
In the still darkness they could hear the rattling equipment of the enemy as they brought up reinforcements and began to close the circle more tightly around the Coldstreamers. The men of the Coldstream Guard continued to improve their positions. Their spirits were high, even though they had dug in the earth could well become their own graves.
One of the younger members of the guard spoke with a tone of hope, saying that possible Allied aid could reach them by dawn, but that idea was quickly dashed by the regimental color sergeant. No one knew where they were. There was no need to build false hopes.
At that moment another guardsman looked up from his digging and noticed a warm glow just beyond their position. For a second he thought someone was wandering about with a lantern. He quickly alerted the others. Everyone stopped digging and watched the light. Someone said it could be a farmer searching for his lost barnyard stock. Another joked that it was possible a ghost “No matter what it is,” said color sergeant, “wandering about a battlefield with a lantern is bloody suicide.”
As the light drew closer, the guardsmen began to see the dim outline of a female figure. As it came closer, it became more distinct. Every last man of the guard stood stock-still and stared in awe at the sight. “My word!” grasped the veteran color sergeant, rubbing his eyes, then staring again at the approaching light.
The figure looked remarkably like one of the many representations of angels they had seen numerous times in the regimental chapel: tall, slim, and wearing a flowing white gown. She had a gold band around her hair and sandals on her feet. A pair of white wings were folded against her slim back.
“She’s beckoning to us,” muttered one of the guardsmen. There was no doubt about it, the angel was holding out her arm and with a motion of her hand was beckoning them to follow her. Not one member of the guard moved. She drew closer and her signal became more insistent. Anxious looks were exchanged among the Coldstreamers. What were they going to do?
No one remembers who crawled out of their shallow battle position first, but one by one the Coldstreamers hauled out their weapons and equipment, lined up, and followed the glowing figure across an open field. Not a word was spoken by anyone.
The angel moved on, her right hand still inviting them to follow until she came to a halt on the upper rim of a sunken road. The guardsmen were astonished. Earlier they had sent out patrols in all directions to locate a road or path exactly like the one on which they were now standing, but the patrols had reported finding nothing, not even a cow path.
The color sergeant registered a blistering stare at a young guardsman whose patrol had been assigned to cover this very area earlier. The man was quick to defend himself, stating flatly that no such road had existed in the area only a few hours ago. True, one man could have possible missed finding the road, but not all ten men of the patrol. The others agreed.
Raising her hand again, the vision led the way until all the soldiers had reached the end of the sunken road, then she floated up the bank and pointed to a thicket of small trees only a short distance away. She turned, faced the men of the Coldstream Guard, smiled a warm, pleasant smile at the amazed men–then vanished before their very eyes.
Not questioning this strange visitation, the soldiers made their way to the thicket. Once there, they encountered two British sentries of a regimental forward observation post. They had found their main force. The sentries were equally excited to see the Coldstreamers. Headquarters had already written them off as destroyed in action, or, at the very least, as prisoners of the Germans.
When the story of the angel of Mons reached the high command, they pored over every available map and questioned numerous local residents in an attempt to locate the sunken road identified in the Coldstreamers’ highly unusual report, but no such road could be found on any map, nor had any resident ever seen or heard of such a road in that area.
The Coldstreamers, realizing that their honor was now in question, returned to the same area a few days later. In an effort to prove the existence of the road, they scrupulously searched the entire area. Starting at the site of the positions they had dug only a few nights before, the guardsmen fanned out in a search that covered nearly a mile in all directions. No road was ever found.
Psalm 18:3
I will call upon the LORD who is worthy to be praised: so shall I be saved from mine enemies.
Samuel F.B. Morse, the inventor of the telegraph, was once asked in a private interview, “Did you ever come to a point where you didn’t know what to do next?”
Morse replied, “Oh, yes, more than once.”
“And what did you do in those times?” the interviewer asked.
“I may answer you in confidence, sir,” said Morse, “for it is a matter of which the public knows nothing. I prayed for more light.”
“And the light generally came?” asked the interviewer.
“Yes, and may I tell you that when flattering honors came to me from America and Europe on account of the invention which bears my name, I never felt I deserved them. I had made a valuable application of electricity, not because I was superior to other men, but solely because God, who meant it for mankind, must reveal it to someone, and was pleased to reveal it to me.”
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.
Me: After you move off of them, I will share a story.
This is from the book Where Angels Walk by Joan Wester Anderson
Carol Toussaint was driving her large station wagon across Arlington Heights, Illinois, about 5:00pm one hot summer weekday. She was going to pick up one son from his guitar lesson, and her other youngsters, Dave and Katie, were in the backseat. It was past the time when she should have started dinner, and her mind was on getting home as soon as possible.
The traffic light was green. Carol turned left off the busy highway up a little incline and onto the railroad tracks that intersect the downtown area. But before she could complete her turn and travel through the railroad crossing, her engine suddenly died. She was stuck–blocking several lanes, with her front wheels resting in the track grooves.
Carol tried again and again to start the car, but the ignition wouldn’t catch. The traffic light changed, cars began to honk, brakes screeched as rush-hour travelers attempted to go around her and avoid plowing into one another. Dave and Katie, hot, confined, and sensing their mother’s distress, started to complain. It was a driver’s worst nightmare.
Suddenly a young man wearing a white shirt and tie loped casually over to Carol’s open window. Dave, then only about five, thinks the man got out of a small brown car before approaching them.
“Did you know that you’re in danger here?” the man asked softly, with an air of complete peace and tranquility–in the midst of the rapidly snarling traffic.
“I sure am,” Carol responded. “My husband’s going to kill me for being late and not having dinner ready! If one of these drivers doesn’t do it first….”
“No, I didn’t mean that,” the young man went on. “There’s a train due through the crossing at frequent intervals. Some stopped, others didn’t. And yes, now she noticed that there were several people standing at the station a block or two away. But even if this coming train was due to stop, it couldn’t avoid hitting her–at this point it would still be traveling too fast!
Carol isn’t sure what she did next–she was in such a panic that she can’t remember. But she’ll never forget the reaction of the serene young man. Nonchalantly he walked to the front of her car and gave it a little one-handed push. The huge station wagon dislodged easily from the track grooves, and as the crossing gates came down and warning bells began to clang, it rolled back across the tracks and safely over the little incline, where it again came to a stop.
Almost immediately, the train roared past. Stunned, Carol realized that , without the young man’s help, her family would have been hit and killed. But where was he? The train had blocked her view for only a moment. How could he have disappeared in this open area without her seeing him?
By this time several passers-by and commuters were approaching Carol’s car. “Need help, lady?” they asked. “Maybe we can push the car across the street to the gas station…”
One commuter stood n the middle of the intersection and directed cars around the scene, while another went to alert the gas station. Mechanics and others pushed Carol’s car down he rest of the incline to the station. Although the man in the white shirt had dislodged the large vehicle with one hand, it took eight people to move it all the way across the highway.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
This is from the book Stories Behind Men of Faith by Ace Collins
At the heart of most of his sermons were stories of Newton’s own battles with sin. He used examples of his own pre-salvation experiences to highlight the power of God to lift a man out of hell and into the light. Week in and week out he used the word grace in letters and sermons as he tried to explain God’s greatest and most amazing gift.
As he set aside his Bible, Newton glanced over to a stack of hymns he had recently written with William Cowper. Cowper was a genius, a man who could compose lyrics that resonated stronger than any sermon the preacher had ever penned. His songs, such as “Light Shining out of the Darkness,” were dynamic in their scope and power, and hundreds of people had been saved simply by hearing the Lord’s call in Cowper’s words. Yet the grace he wrote about was lost on the man. The songwriter was deeply troubled, often spiraling into the depths of depression, constantly moaning in spiritual pain and crying for hours on end.
A few days before, Cowper had tried and failed to end his life. This attempt was another in a long line of failed suicide attempts. Now living with Newton and his wife, the songwriter spent as much time pleading for death as he did trying to fight for life. The spiritual battle being waged over the talented man’s soul was one of the few negative elements in Newton’s world. He simply could not understand how his friend could write so brilliantly about the light but not see it in his own world. If only he could find a way to present the story of grace in a fashion that would touch Cowper’s heart and mind. The pastor attempted to tailor a message that would bring a peace to the distressed man. In truth, Cowper could not fathom the depth of Newton’s words, but the message found on that New Year’s Eve would resonate with hundreds of millions in a way nothing ever had.
Picking up a pen. Newton focused on what had become a familiar theme and direction for his sermons. First he told a home spun parable of the fall from grace and redemption.
“A company of travelers fall into a pit: one of them gets a passenger to draw him out. Now he should not be angry with the rest for falling in; nor because they are not yet out, as he is. He did not pull himself out: instead, therefore, of reproaching them, he should shew them pity…..A man, truly illuminated, will no more despise others, than Bartimeus, after his own eyes were opened, would take a stick, and beat every blind man he met.
Rereading his words, Newton wondered if Cowper or others would see themselves in the pit. Would anyone feel the need to accept God’s love and be pulled from his or her lowly state? Would this story provide the insight a soul needed to accept Christ and walk in faith?
After he finished his text, the clergyman reviewed his sermon, only to discover that while his message of salvation was strong, it was still missing something. Newton glanced back over the songs he had been writing with Cowper, then pulled out a piece of blank paper. Using his own redemptive experience, he carefully crafted lyrics that reflected his message for the January 1 service.
Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
‘Twas race that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev’d;
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believ’d!
Thro’ many danger, toils and snares,
I have already come;
‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.
The Lord has promis’d good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.
Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.
The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who call’d me here below,
Will be forever mine.
1 Corinthians 10:13
No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide they way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.
This is from the book The Pursuit of God by A.W. Tozer
Many have found the secret of which I speak and , without giving much thought to what is going on within them, constantly practice this habit of inwardly gazing upon God. They know that something inside their hearts sees God. Even when they are compelled to withdraw their conscious attention in order to engage in earthly affairs, there is within them a secret communion always going on. Let their attention but be released for a moment from necessary business and it flies at once to God again. This has been the testimony of many Christians, so many that even as I state it thus I have a feeling that I am quoting, though from whom or from how many I cannot possibly know.
My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O LORD; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.
