Hello, dear girls! [This is Day #150 of emailing daily, by the way!]
Tonight I'm reading from Psalm 69-71.
"O God, from my youth you have taught me,
and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds.
18 So even to old age and gray hairs,
O God, do not forsake me,
until I proclaim your might to another generation,
your power to all those to come."
You
and I have the immense privilege of being raised in Christian homes and
having been saved early in life. If only we fully understood and
appreciated the years of grief we've been spared by having such a
wonderful start! It is, of course, not a default that we can just "coast
along" through life on our parents' coattails of faith; no, we have to
sweat and bleed and work and feel the pain of claiming the cross of
Christ as our own. At the end of the day, it is each of us, alone, in
the Colosseum, dared to deny our Lord. No wimpy church-camp religion
here, girls. But at the same time, we have been given the gift of a Lamp
to our paths so early in the journey, the right Word of truth to guide
us from all lies--think of all those people out stumbling in the world,
unable to discern truth from error, unsure of which way is right, weak
and unfit for any battle! What a long road they have. And those who are
saved later in life, after sowing seeds of sin in their earlier years,
they reap the grievous harvest not only in this life, but the next:
think of the spouses or children who will not be among the redeemed.
Entire families who turn against the one believer and persecute their
own kin with a vengeance (think of the Christians who come to the truth
amidst a system like Islam!). Their lives are hard.
Be grateful for what
you have been given--a faith that claimed you while you were so young,
and a life that stretches out before you, even into your silver-haired
years, a life of joyful submission, service, freedom, comfort and
assurance beneath the banner of the salvation of God through Jesus
Christ. Use this gift wisely, and do not waste your young years in
comfort and indifference. Spend them stocking up on spiritual wisdom and
knowledge, cultivating the fruits of the Spirit, and learning more and
more about the character of God, that you may be able to withstand in
the evil day. Then go out into the fields, which are white for harvest.
Be strong. Strengthen yourselves, not bodily, for the body is wasting
away and growing older only to die and decay, but rather strengthen
yourselves spiritually--for your soul shall not die, but live eternally
in the presence of the great and wondrous King! Gloria!
Showing posts with label freedom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label freedom. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
This, This is Why
More thoughts for my girls, from my Bible reading this evening.
Tonight, I'm reading from Matthew 26 through Mark 2.
The end of Matthew chronicles the unjust trial, condemnation, persecution, crucifixion, death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. It's a powerful story, even more so this time of year, with Easter only a couple of weeks away. There is so much I could say; I don't know where to focus for just one thoughts for this email.
I suppose I want to draw your attention to the night Jesus prayed in the garden of Gethsemane, and his disciples (who were supposed to be praying and watching at the gate) repeatedly fell asleep and left him alone, unsupported, in his darkest hour. (See Matthew 26:36-46)
I have to confess; for a long time (and maybe even still), I really didn't understand Jesus' grief and despair at this time. I guess I thought, "Yes, definitely it would be somber to await one's executioners, even more so when you hadn't done anything wrong. How scary to be unjustly condemned, and how awful to await the dawn, knowing it would bring nothing but terror and, ultimately, a murderer's death by agonizing crucifixion." I didn't really get it. Jesus didn't sweat drops of blood and weep because he was afraid to die an agonizing death. (Which would be reason enough for me to sweat blood and cry, by the way. I'm terribly afraid of pain). He spent the night in total anguish because he knew that his death meant not merely excruciating physical pain, and total humiliation, but . . . he, the Holy, the Sovereign, the Son of the Father who knew God, loved God, and who was God, would become the recipient of the righteous, terrible wrath of a just and holy God. We cannot even begin to comprehend what kind of terror and anguish this is. The only Man who had ever lived in perfect obedience, total innocence, without one single sin against him, would become a blood-saturated substitute for all who were truly guilty. His holiness, cleanness, and perfect purity would bear the punishment deserved by all who were filthy, rotten, foul, debased, and evil to the core of their very beings. The punishment you and I deserve.
That is why he wept. Not for physical pain, but for spiritual anguish. The wrath of God is a crippling, terrible, frightening, killing kind of fear that cuts to the quick of all who understand its measure. It is this gasping, paralyzing, anguishing fear that drives foul sinners to repentance, that drives them to their knees, begging forgiveness from a Holy God before whom they have no reason to stand except for His grace. But, He cannot simply be gracious to wicked people and still be just; all sins have a just recompense, a wage that has been earned and must be paid. That wage is death. An agonizing, spiritual, separated-from-God death. A death you and I, by all rights, have earned for ourselves by our foul hearts.
And Jesus Christ, that loving, gentle, holy, perfect, beautiful Son of Man and Son of God, saw down the corridors of time and saw your face, your tear-filled eyes, your guilty sentence, your hopeless plight, your foul record of sins, and he stepped up to executioner's block, not only for a physical death, but for the full onslaught of the out-poured wrath of God. For you. For me. And it cost him, oh so dearly. Such anguish. Such grief. How he prayed in that garden that there might be some other way! "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will, Father."
Oh, how great is our God. How merciful. How slow to anger, abounding in mercy. What is man, that You are mindful of him? We are so small, so weak, so flawed, yet he loves us still. I cannot understand such love. And in its wake, as a recipient of such immeasurable graciousness, how can I possibly settle for a religion that is shallow, weak, apathetic, fleshly in its lusts, and requires me to give less than absolutely everything? Look at what He did for me! Would I insult him so, and disregard such love? What hypocrisy is such a pseudo-faith! Far be it from me, oh Lord. I am weak, but You are strong. Help me, Father, to live with urgency and a right perspective of my place: from whence I've come, by Your amazing grace.
"Who saved us and called us to a holy calling, not because of our works but because of his own purpose and grace, which he gave us in Christ Jesus before the ages began." (2 Tim 1:9)
All my love, sweet girls,
~Brenna
. . . Coram Deo . . .
"Living before the face of God"
Tonight, I'm reading from Matthew 26 through Mark 2.
The end of Matthew chronicles the unjust trial, condemnation, persecution, crucifixion, death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. It's a powerful story, even more so this time of year, with Easter only a couple of weeks away. There is so much I could say; I don't know where to focus for just one thoughts for this email.
I suppose I want to draw your attention to the night Jesus prayed in the garden of Gethsemane, and his disciples (who were supposed to be praying and watching at the gate) repeatedly fell asleep and left him alone, unsupported, in his darkest hour. (See Matthew 26:36-46)
I have to confess; for a long time (and maybe even still), I really didn't understand Jesus' grief and despair at this time. I guess I thought, "Yes, definitely it would be somber to await one's executioners, even more so when you hadn't done anything wrong. How scary to be unjustly condemned, and how awful to await the dawn, knowing it would bring nothing but terror and, ultimately, a murderer's death by agonizing crucifixion." I didn't really get it. Jesus didn't sweat drops of blood and weep because he was afraid to die an agonizing death. (Which would be reason enough for me to sweat blood and cry, by the way. I'm terribly afraid of pain). He spent the night in total anguish because he knew that his death meant not merely excruciating physical pain, and total humiliation, but . . . he, the Holy, the Sovereign, the Son of the Father who knew God, loved God, and who was God, would become the recipient of the righteous, terrible wrath of a just and holy God. We cannot even begin to comprehend what kind of terror and anguish this is. The only Man who had ever lived in perfect obedience, total innocence, without one single sin against him, would become a blood-saturated substitute for all who were truly guilty. His holiness, cleanness, and perfect purity would bear the punishment deserved by all who were filthy, rotten, foul, debased, and evil to the core of their very beings. The punishment you and I deserve.
That is why he wept. Not for physical pain, but for spiritual anguish. The wrath of God is a crippling, terrible, frightening, killing kind of fear that cuts to the quick of all who understand its measure. It is this gasping, paralyzing, anguishing fear that drives foul sinners to repentance, that drives them to their knees, begging forgiveness from a Holy God before whom they have no reason to stand except for His grace. But, He cannot simply be gracious to wicked people and still be just; all sins have a just recompense, a wage that has been earned and must be paid. That wage is death. An agonizing, spiritual, separated-from-God death. A death you and I, by all rights, have earned for ourselves by our foul hearts.
And Jesus Christ, that loving, gentle, holy, perfect, beautiful Son of Man and Son of God, saw down the corridors of time and saw your face, your tear-filled eyes, your guilty sentence, your hopeless plight, your foul record of sins, and he stepped up to executioner's block, not only for a physical death, but for the full onslaught of the out-poured wrath of God. For you. For me. And it cost him, oh so dearly. Such anguish. Such grief. How he prayed in that garden that there might be some other way! "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will, Father."
Oh, how great is our God. How merciful. How slow to anger, abounding in mercy. What is man, that You are mindful of him? We are so small, so weak, so flawed, yet he loves us still. I cannot understand such love. And in its wake, as a recipient of such immeasurable graciousness, how can I possibly settle for a religion that is shallow, weak, apathetic, fleshly in its lusts, and requires me to give less than absolutely everything? Look at what He did for me! Would I insult him so, and disregard such love? What hypocrisy is such a pseudo-faith! Far be it from me, oh Lord. I am weak, but You are strong. Help me, Father, to live with urgency and a right perspective of my place: from whence I've come, by Your amazing grace.
"Who saved us and called us to a holy calling, not because of our works but because of his own purpose and grace, which he gave us in Christ Jesus before the ages began." (2 Tim 1:9)
All my love, sweet girls,
~Brenna
. . . Coram Deo . . .
"Living before the face of God"
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