Romans 12: 6 - 8 (New International Version)
6We have different gifts, according to the grace given us.
If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith.
7If it is serving, let him serve;
if it is teaching, let him teach;
8if it is encouraging, let him encourage;
if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously;
if it is leadership, let him govern diligently;
if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Guarding Our Hearts
The Greenhouse of the Mind
By Max Lucado
A Pure Heart
Suppose you come to visit me one day and find me working in my greenhouse. (Neither my house nor thumb is green, but let’s pretend.) I explain to you that the greenhouse was a gift from my father. He used state-of-the-art equipment to create the ideal structure for growth. The atmosphere is perfect. The lighting exact. The temperature is suited for flowers, fruit, or anything I want, and what I want is flowers and fruit.
I ask you to join me as I collect some seeds to plant. You’ve always thought I was a bit crazy, but what I do next removes all doubt. You watch me walk into a field and strip seeds off of weeds. Crab grass seeds, dandelion seeds, grass burr seeds. I fill a bag with a variety of weed seeds and return to the greenhouse.
You can’t believe what you’ve just seen. “I thought you wanted a greenhouse full of flowers and fruit.”
“I do.”
“Then don’t you think you ought to plant flower seeds and fruit seeds?”
“Do you have any idea how much those seeds cost? Besides, you have to drive all the way to the garden center to get them. No thanks, I’m taking the cheap and easy route.”
You walk away mumbling something about one brick short of a load.
The Greenhouse of the Heart
Everybody knows you harvest what you sow. You reap what you plant. Yet strangely, what we know when we develop land, we tend to forget when we cultivate our hearts.
Think for a moment of your heart as a greenhouse. The similarities come quickly. It, too, is a magnificent gift from your father. It, too, is perfectly suited for growing. And your heart, like a greenhouse, has to be managed.
Consider for a moment your thoughts as seed. Some thoughts become flowers. Others become weeds. Sow seeds of hope and enjoy optimism. Sow seeds of doubt and expect insecurity. “People harvest only what they plant” (Gal. 6:7).
The proof is everywhere you look. Ever wonder why some people have the Teflon capacity to resist negativism and remain patient, optimistic, and forgiving? Could it be that they have diligently sown seeds of goodness and are enjoying the harvest?
Ever wonder why others have such a sour outlook? Such a gloomy attitude? You would, too, if your heart were a greenhouse of weeds and thorns.
Perhaps you’ve heard the joke about the man who came home one day to a cranky wife. Arriving at 6:30 in the evening, he spent an hour trying to cheer her up. Nothing worked. Finally he said, “Let’s start over and pretend I’m just getting home.” He stepped outside, and when he opened the door, she said, “It’s 7:30, and you’re just now getting home from work?”
The wife was reaping the harvest of a few weedy thoughts. Let’s pause and make an important application. If the heart is a greenhouse and our thoughts are seeds, shouldn’t we be careful about what we sow? Shouldn’t we be selective about the seeds we allow to come into the greenhouse? Shouldn’t there be a sentry at the door? Isn’t guarding the heart a strategic task? According to the Bible it is: “Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life” (Prov. 4:23 niv). Or as another translation reads: “Be careful what you think, because your thoughts run your life.”
What a true statement! Test the principle, and see if you don’t agree.
Two drivers are stuck in the same traffic jam. One person stews in anger, thinking, My schedule is messed up. The other sighs in relief, Good chance to slow down.
Two mothers face the same tragedy. One is destroyed: I’ll never get over this. The other is despondent but determined: God will get me through.
Two executives face the same success. One pats himself on the back and grows cocky. The other gives the credit to God and grows grateful.
Two husbands commit the same failure. One bitterly assumes God’s limit of grace has been crossed. The other gratefully assumes a new depth of God’s grace has been discovered.
“Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.”
Let’s look at it from another angle. Suppose I ask you to take care of my house while I’m out of town. You pledge to keep everything in great shape. But when I return, I find the place in shambles. The carpet is torn, walls are smeared, furniture is broken. Your explanation is not impressive: some bikers came by and needed a place to stay. Then the rugby team called, looking for a place for their party. And of course there was the fraternity—they wanted a place to hold their initiation ceremony. As the owner, I have one question: “Don’t you know how to say no? This is not your house. You don’t have the right to let in everyone who wants to enter.”
Ever think God wants to say the same to us?
By Max Lucado
A Pure Heart
Suppose you come to visit me one day and find me working in my greenhouse. (Neither my house nor thumb is green, but let’s pretend.) I explain to you that the greenhouse was a gift from my father. He used state-of-the-art equipment to create the ideal structure for growth. The atmosphere is perfect. The lighting exact. The temperature is suited for flowers, fruit, or anything I want, and what I want is flowers and fruit.
I ask you to join me as I collect some seeds to plant. You’ve always thought I was a bit crazy, but what I do next removes all doubt. You watch me walk into a field and strip seeds off of weeds. Crab grass seeds, dandelion seeds, grass burr seeds. I fill a bag with a variety of weed seeds and return to the greenhouse.
You can’t believe what you’ve just seen. “I thought you wanted a greenhouse full of flowers and fruit.”
“I do.”
“Then don’t you think you ought to plant flower seeds and fruit seeds?”
“Do you have any idea how much those seeds cost? Besides, you have to drive all the way to the garden center to get them. No thanks, I’m taking the cheap and easy route.”
You walk away mumbling something about one brick short of a load.
The Greenhouse of the Heart
Everybody knows you harvest what you sow. You reap what you plant. Yet strangely, what we know when we develop land, we tend to forget when we cultivate our hearts.
Think for a moment of your heart as a greenhouse. The similarities come quickly. It, too, is a magnificent gift from your father. It, too, is perfectly suited for growing. And your heart, like a greenhouse, has to be managed.
Consider for a moment your thoughts as seed. Some thoughts become flowers. Others become weeds. Sow seeds of hope and enjoy optimism. Sow seeds of doubt and expect insecurity. “People harvest only what they plant” (Gal. 6:7).
The proof is everywhere you look. Ever wonder why some people have the Teflon capacity to resist negativism and remain patient, optimistic, and forgiving? Could it be that they have diligently sown seeds of goodness and are enjoying the harvest?
Ever wonder why others have such a sour outlook? Such a gloomy attitude? You would, too, if your heart were a greenhouse of weeds and thorns.
Perhaps you’ve heard the joke about the man who came home one day to a cranky wife. Arriving at 6:30 in the evening, he spent an hour trying to cheer her up. Nothing worked. Finally he said, “Let’s start over and pretend I’m just getting home.” He stepped outside, and when he opened the door, she said, “It’s 7:30, and you’re just now getting home from work?”
The wife was reaping the harvest of a few weedy thoughts. Let’s pause and make an important application. If the heart is a greenhouse and our thoughts are seeds, shouldn’t we be careful about what we sow? Shouldn’t we be selective about the seeds we allow to come into the greenhouse? Shouldn’t there be a sentry at the door? Isn’t guarding the heart a strategic task? According to the Bible it is: “Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life” (Prov. 4:23 niv). Or as another translation reads: “Be careful what you think, because your thoughts run your life.”
What a true statement! Test the principle, and see if you don’t agree.
Two drivers are stuck in the same traffic jam. One person stews in anger, thinking, My schedule is messed up. The other sighs in relief, Good chance to slow down.
Two mothers face the same tragedy. One is destroyed: I’ll never get over this. The other is despondent but determined: God will get me through.
Two executives face the same success. One pats himself on the back and grows cocky. The other gives the credit to God and grows grateful.
Two husbands commit the same failure. One bitterly assumes God’s limit of grace has been crossed. The other gratefully assumes a new depth of God’s grace has been discovered.
“Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.”
Let’s look at it from another angle. Suppose I ask you to take care of my house while I’m out of town. You pledge to keep everything in great shape. But when I return, I find the place in shambles. The carpet is torn, walls are smeared, furniture is broken. Your explanation is not impressive: some bikers came by and needed a place to stay. Then the rugby team called, looking for a place for their party. And of course there was the fraternity—they wanted a place to hold their initiation ceremony. As the owner, I have one question: “Don’t you know how to say no? This is not your house. You don’t have the right to let in everyone who wants to enter.”
Ever think God wants to say the same to us?
Guarding Our Hearts
You’ve got to admit some of our hearts are trashed out. Let any riffraff knock on the door, and we throw it open. Anger shows up, and we let him in. Revenge needs a place to stay, so we have him pull up a chair. Pity wants to have a party, so we show him the kitchen. Lust rings the bell, and we change the sheets on the bed. Don’t we know how to say no?
Many don’t. For most of us, thought management is, well, unthought of. We think much about time management, weight management, personnel management, even scalp management. But what about thought management? Shouldn’t we be as concerned about managing our thoughts as we are managing anything else? Jesus was. Like a trained soldier at the gate of a city, he stood watch over his mind. He stubbornly guarded the gateway of his heart. Many thoughts were denied entrance. Need a few examples?
How about arrogance? On one occasion the people determined to make Jesus their king. What an attractive thought. Most of us would delight in the notion of royalty. Even if we refused the crown, we would enjoy considering the invitation. Not Jesus. “Jesus saw that in their enthusiasm, they were about to grab him and make him king, so he slipped off and went back up the mountain to be by himself” (John 6:15 msg).
Another dramatic example occurred in a conversation Jesus had with Peter. Upon hearing Jesus announce his impending death on the cross, the impetuous apostle objected. “Impossible, Master! That can never be!” (Matt. 16:22 msg). Apparently, Peter was about to question the necessity of Calvary. But he never had a chance. Christ blocked the doorway. He sent both the messenger and the author of the heresy scurrying: “Peter, get out of my way. Satan, get lost. You have no idea how God works” (Matt. 16:23 msg).
And how about the time Jesus was mocked? Have you ever had people laugh at you? Jesus did, too. Responding to an appeal to heal a sick girl, he entered her house only to be told she was dead. His response? “The child is not dead but sleeping.” The response of the people in the house? “They laughed at him.” Just like all of us, Jesus had to face a moment of humiliation. But unlike most of us, he refused to receive it. Note his decisive response: “he put them all outside” (Mark 5:39–40 rsv). The mockery was not allowed in the house of the girl nor in the mind of Christ.
Jesus guarded his heart. If he did, shouldn’t we do the same? Most certainly! “Be careful what you think, because your thoughts run your life” (Prov. 4:23). Jesus wants your heart to be fertile and fruitful. He wants you to have a heart like his. That is God’s goal for you. He wants you to “think and act like Christ Jesus” (Phil. 2:5). But how? The answer is surprisingly simple. We can be transformed if we make one decision: I will submit my thoughts to the authority of Jesus.
It’s easy to overlook a significant claim made by Christ at the conclusion of Matthew’s gospel. “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me” (Matt. 28:18 niv). Jesus claims to be the CEO of heaven and earth. He has the ultimate say on everything, especially our thoughts. He has more authority, for example, than your parents. Your parents may say you are no good, but Jesus says you are valuable, and he has authority over parents. He even has more authority over you than you do. You may tell yourself that you are too bad to be forgiven, but Jesus has a different opinion. If you give him authority over you, then your guilty thoughts are no longer allowed.
Jesus also has authority over your ideas. Suppose you have an idea that you want to rob a grocery store. Jesus, however, has made it clear that stealing is wrong. If you have given him authority over your ideas, then the idea of stealing cannot remain in your thoughts.
See what I mean by authority? To have a pure heart, we must submit all thoughts to the authority of Christ. If we are willing to do that, he will change us to be like him. Here is how it works.
A Guard at the Doorway
Let’s return to the image of the greenhouse. Your heart is a fertile greenhouse ready to produce good fruit. Your mind is the doorway to your heart—the strategic place where you determine which seeds are sown and which seeds are discarded. The Holy Spirit is ready to help you manage and filter the thoughts that try to enter. He can help you guard your heart.
He stands with you on the threshold. A thought approaches, a questionable thought. Do you throw open the door and let it enter? Of course not. You “fight to capture every thought until it acknowledges the authority of Christ” (2 Cor. 10:5 phillips). You don’t leave the door unguarded. You stand equipped with handcuffs and leg irons, ready to capture any thought not fit to enter.
For the sake of discussion, let’s say a thought regarding your personal value approaches. With all the cockiness of a neighborhood bully, the thought swaggers up to the door and says, “You’re a loser. All your life you’ve been a loser. You’ve blown relationships and jobs and ambitions. You might as well write the word bum on your résumé, for that is what you are.”
The ordinary person would throw open the door and let the thought in. Like a seed from a weed, it would find fertile soil and take root and bear thorns of inferiority. The average person would say, “You’re right. I’m a bum. Come on in.”
But as a Christian, you aren’t your average person. You are led by the Spirit. So rather than let the thought in, you take it captive. You handcuff it and march it down the street to the courthouse where you present the thought before the judgment seat of Christ.
“Jesus, this thought says I’m a bum and a loser and that I’ll never amount to anything. What do you think?”
See what you are doing? You are submitting the thought to the authority of Jesus. If Jesus agrees with the thought, then let it in. If not, kick it out. In this case Jesus disagrees.
How do know if Jesus agrees or disagrees? You open your Bible. What does God think about you? Ephesians 2:10 is a good place to check: “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (niv). Or how about Romans 8:1: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (niv)?
Obviously any thought that says you are inferior or insignificant does not pass the test—and does not gain entrance. You have the right to give the bully a firm kick in the pants and watch him run.
Let’s take another example. The first thought was a bully; this next thought is a groupie. She comes not to tell you how bad you are but how good you are. She rushes to the doorway and gushes, “You are so good. You are so wonderful. The world is so lucky to have you,” and on and on the groupie grovels.
Typically this is the type of thought you’d welcome. But you don’t do things the typical way. You guard your heart. You walk in the Spirit. And you take every thought captive. So once again you go to Jesus. You submit this thought to the authority of Christ. As you unsheathe the sword of the Spirit, his Word, you learn that pride doesn’t please God.
“Don’t cherish exaggerated ideas of yourself or your importance” (Rom. 12:3 phillips).
“The cross of our Lord Jesus Christ is my only reason for bragging” (Gal. 6:14).
As much as you’d like to welcome this thought of conceit into the greenhouse, you can’t. You only allow what Christ allows.
One more example. This time the thought is not one of criticism or flattery but one of temptation. If you’re a fellow, the thought is dressed in flashy red. If you’re a female, the thought is the hunk you’ve always wanted. There is the brush of the hand, the fragrance in the air, and the invitation. “Come on, itall right. We’re consenting adults.”
What do you do? Well, if you aren’t under the authority of Christ, you throw open the door. But if you have the mind of Christ, you step back and say, “Not so fast. You’ll have to get permission from my big brother.” So you take this steamy act before Jesus and ask, “Yes or no?”
Nowhere does he answer more clearly than in 1 Corinthians 6 and 7: “We must not pursue the kind of sex that avoids commitment and intimacy, leaving us more lonely than ever…. Is it a good thing to have sexual relations? Certainly—but only within a certain context. It’s good for a man to have a wife, and for a woman to have a husband. Sexual drives are strong, but marriage is strong enough to contain them” (6:18; 7:1–2 msg).
Now armed with the opinion of Christ and the sword of the Spirit, what do you do? Well, if the tempter is not your spouse, close the door. If the invitation is from your spouse, then hubba hubba hubba.
The point is this. Guard the doorway of your heart. Submit your thoughts to the authority of Christ. The more selective you are about seeds, the more delighted you will be with the crop.
Let your hope keep you joyful, be patient in your troubles, and pray at all times.
Romans 12:12 tev
You’ve got to admit some of our hearts are trashed out. Let any riffraff knock on the door, and we throw it open. Anger shows up, and we let him in. Revenge needs a place to stay, so we have him pull up a chair. Pity wants to have a party, so we show him the kitchen. Lust rings the bell, and we change the sheets on the bed. Don’t we know how to say no?
Many don’t. For most of us, thought management is, well, unthought of. We think much about time management, weight management, personnel management, even scalp management. But what about thought management? Shouldn’t we be as concerned about managing our thoughts as we are managing anything else? Jesus was. Like a trained soldier at the gate of a city, he stood watch over his mind. He stubbornly guarded the gateway of his heart. Many thoughts were denied entrance. Need a few examples?
How about arrogance? On one occasion the people determined to make Jesus their king. What an attractive thought. Most of us would delight in the notion of royalty. Even if we refused the crown, we would enjoy considering the invitation. Not Jesus. “Jesus saw that in their enthusiasm, they were about to grab him and make him king, so he slipped off and went back up the mountain to be by himself” (John 6:15 msg).
Another dramatic example occurred in a conversation Jesus had with Peter. Upon hearing Jesus announce his impending death on the cross, the impetuous apostle objected. “Impossible, Master! That can never be!” (Matt. 16:22 msg). Apparently, Peter was about to question the necessity of Calvary. But he never had a chance. Christ blocked the doorway. He sent both the messenger and the author of the heresy scurrying: “Peter, get out of my way. Satan, get lost. You have no idea how God works” (Matt. 16:23 msg).
And how about the time Jesus was mocked? Have you ever had people laugh at you? Jesus did, too. Responding to an appeal to heal a sick girl, he entered her house only to be told she was dead. His response? “The child is not dead but sleeping.” The response of the people in the house? “They laughed at him.” Just like all of us, Jesus had to face a moment of humiliation. But unlike most of us, he refused to receive it. Note his decisive response: “he put them all outside” (Mark 5:39–40 rsv). The mockery was not allowed in the house of the girl nor in the mind of Christ.
Jesus guarded his heart. If he did, shouldn’t we do the same? Most certainly! “Be careful what you think, because your thoughts run your life” (Prov. 4:23). Jesus wants your heart to be fertile and fruitful. He wants you to have a heart like his. That is God’s goal for you. He wants you to “think and act like Christ Jesus” (Phil. 2:5). But how? The answer is surprisingly simple. We can be transformed if we make one decision: I will submit my thoughts to the authority of Jesus.
It’s easy to overlook a significant claim made by Christ at the conclusion of Matthew’s gospel. “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me” (Matt. 28:18 niv). Jesus claims to be the CEO of heaven and earth. He has the ultimate say on everything, especially our thoughts. He has more authority, for example, than your parents. Your parents may say you are no good, but Jesus says you are valuable, and he has authority over parents. He even has more authority over you than you do. You may tell yourself that you are too bad to be forgiven, but Jesus has a different opinion. If you give him authority over you, then your guilty thoughts are no longer allowed.
Jesus also has authority over your ideas. Suppose you have an idea that you want to rob a grocery store. Jesus, however, has made it clear that stealing is wrong. If you have given him authority over your ideas, then the idea of stealing cannot remain in your thoughts.
See what I mean by authority? To have a pure heart, we must submit all thoughts to the authority of Christ. If we are willing to do that, he will change us to be like him. Here is how it works.
A Guard at the Doorway
Let’s return to the image of the greenhouse. Your heart is a fertile greenhouse ready to produce good fruit. Your mind is the doorway to your heart—the strategic place where you determine which seeds are sown and which seeds are discarded. The Holy Spirit is ready to help you manage and filter the thoughts that try to enter. He can help you guard your heart.
He stands with you on the threshold. A thought approaches, a questionable thought. Do you throw open the door and let it enter? Of course not. You “fight to capture every thought until it acknowledges the authority of Christ” (2 Cor. 10:5 phillips). You don’t leave the door unguarded. You stand equipped with handcuffs and leg irons, ready to capture any thought not fit to enter.
For the sake of discussion, let’s say a thought regarding your personal value approaches. With all the cockiness of a neighborhood bully, the thought swaggers up to the door and says, “You’re a loser. All your life you’ve been a loser. You’ve blown relationships and jobs and ambitions. You might as well write the word bum on your résumé, for that is what you are.”
The ordinary person would throw open the door and let the thought in. Like a seed from a weed, it would find fertile soil and take root and bear thorns of inferiority. The average person would say, “You’re right. I’m a bum. Come on in.”
But as a Christian, you aren’t your average person. You are led by the Spirit. So rather than let the thought in, you take it captive. You handcuff it and march it down the street to the courthouse where you present the thought before the judgment seat of Christ.
“Jesus, this thought says I’m a bum and a loser and that I’ll never amount to anything. What do you think?”
See what you are doing? You are submitting the thought to the authority of Jesus. If Jesus agrees with the thought, then let it in. If not, kick it out. In this case Jesus disagrees.
How do know if Jesus agrees or disagrees? You open your Bible. What does God think about you? Ephesians 2:10 is a good place to check: “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (niv). Or how about Romans 8:1: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (niv)?
Obviously any thought that says you are inferior or insignificant does not pass the test—and does not gain entrance. You have the right to give the bully a firm kick in the pants and watch him run.
Let’s take another example. The first thought was a bully; this next thought is a groupie. She comes not to tell you how bad you are but how good you are. She rushes to the doorway and gushes, “You are so good. You are so wonderful. The world is so lucky to have you,” and on and on the groupie grovels.
Typically this is the type of thought you’d welcome. But you don’t do things the typical way. You guard your heart. You walk in the Spirit. And you take every thought captive. So once again you go to Jesus. You submit this thought to the authority of Christ. As you unsheathe the sword of the Spirit, his Word, you learn that pride doesn’t please God.
“Don’t cherish exaggerated ideas of yourself or your importance” (Rom. 12:3 phillips).
“The cross of our Lord Jesus Christ is my only reason for bragging” (Gal. 6:14).
As much as you’d like to welcome this thought of conceit into the greenhouse, you can’t. You only allow what Christ allows.
One more example. This time the thought is not one of criticism or flattery but one of temptation. If you’re a fellow, the thought is dressed in flashy red. If you’re a female, the thought is the hunk you’ve always wanted. There is the brush of the hand, the fragrance in the air, and the invitation. “Come on, itall right. We’re consenting adults.”
What do you do? Well, if you aren’t under the authority of Christ, you throw open the door. But if you have the mind of Christ, you step back and say, “Not so fast. You’ll have to get permission from my big brother.” So you take this steamy act before Jesus and ask, “Yes or no?”
Nowhere does he answer more clearly than in 1 Corinthians 6 and 7: “We must not pursue the kind of sex that avoids commitment and intimacy, leaving us more lonely than ever…. Is it a good thing to have sexual relations? Certainly—but only within a certain context. It’s good for a man to have a wife, and for a woman to have a husband. Sexual drives are strong, but marriage is strong enough to contain them” (6:18; 7:1–2 msg).
Now armed with the opinion of Christ and the sword of the Spirit, what do you do? Well, if the tempter is not your spouse, close the door. If the invitation is from your spouse, then hubba hubba hubba.
The point is this. Guard the doorway of your heart. Submit your thoughts to the authority of Christ. The more selective you are about seeds, the more delighted you will be with the crop.
Let your hope keep you joyful, be patient in your troubles, and pray at all times.
Romans 12:12 tev
Letter from India
A prayer request was received from India. Please pray for our brothers there.
-----Original Message-----
From: lata lincoln [mailto:fcmlata@yahoo.co.in]
Sent: Sunday, May 29, 2005 12:17 AM
To: Ruth; T W
Subject: need prayers
Dear friends and prayer partners,
Within a week's time another tragedy struck our city. A pastor named Isaac Raj working in the outskirts of the city has gone missing since 3 days. His whereabouts are still not known.
About eight days ago an independent church pastor from our city was missing and two days later his dead body fully doused in acid was found in the outskirts of the city. Body was nothing but a lump of flesh and it was beyond recognition. Acid was poured in his mouth too. This pastor went out of home distributing gospel tracts and that was the last time his wife saw him.
Only after another few days the news papers came out with the news of another pastor missing and this time it was a different a story. Pastor Isaac was not there at home when three unknown people visited his family and talked to his old parents and went away. Then after two days he receives a phone call from one Mr. Vinod(name may be created) who is not known to pastor, but he was requesting Pastor to come home and pray for his sick mother and the Pastor agreed. After an hour he received another call saying that he is standing outside the house. And that is the last time the family has seen the Pastor. Even after three days he has not returned home and the family has lodged a complaint with the police. Still it is not known what has happened to him.
Let's pray that God will keep him safe and deliver him safely out of the situation he is in. We pray that God sends His angels to protect his child. Also pray especially for the covering over all the Pastors and Churches of our city for special protection and wisdom.
Abraham and Lata Lincoln
For perishing souls
-----Original Message-----
From: lata lincoln [mailto:fcmlata@yahoo.co.in]
Sent: Sunday, May 29, 2005 12:17 AM
To: Ruth; T W
Subject: need prayers
Dear friends and prayer partners,
Within a week's time another tragedy struck our city. A pastor named Isaac Raj working in the outskirts of the city has gone missing since 3 days. His whereabouts are still not known.
About eight days ago an independent church pastor from our city was missing and two days later his dead body fully doused in acid was found in the outskirts of the city. Body was nothing but a lump of flesh and it was beyond recognition. Acid was poured in his mouth too. This pastor went out of home distributing gospel tracts and that was the last time his wife saw him.
Only after another few days the news papers came out with the news of another pastor missing and this time it was a different a story. Pastor Isaac was not there at home when three unknown people visited his family and talked to his old parents and went away. Then after two days he receives a phone call from one Mr. Vinod(name may be created) who is not known to pastor, but he was requesting Pastor to come home and pray for his sick mother and the Pastor agreed. After an hour he received another call saying that he is standing outside the house. And that is the last time the family has seen the Pastor. Even after three days he has not returned home and the family has lodged a complaint with the police. Still it is not known what has happened to him.
Let's pray that God will keep him safe and deliver him safely out of the situation he is in. We pray that God sends His angels to protect his child. Also pray especially for the covering over all the Pastors and Churches of our city for special protection and wisdom.
Abraham and Lata Lincoln
For perishing souls
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Prayer Meeting
Prayer Meeting
The usual Saturday prayermeeting was held at Helen's place last 28 May, 2005.
These are the photos taken at that meeting.
http://photos.yahoo.com/aliza33
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Be joyful, pray & give thanks.
1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 (New International Version)
New International Version (NIV)
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by
International Bible Society
New International Version (NIV)
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by
International Bible Society
16Be joyful always; 17pray continually;
18give thanks in all circumstances,
for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Jesus Lights The Way
He Lights The Way
Read:Psalm 112
Unto the upright there arises light in the darkness. —Psalm 112:4
A missionary in Peru went to visit a group of believers one evening. She knew that the house where they were meeting was located on a cliff and the path would be treacherous. She took a taxi as far as it could go, and then she began the hazardous ascent to the house on foot. The night was dark and the way was very difficult. As she rounded a bend, she suddenly came upon several believers carrying bright lanterns. They had come out to light the way. Her fears were relieved, and she ascended the path easily.
In a similar way, God lights our path. When we trust Jesus as our Savior, He who is the Light of the world enters our lives and removes the darkness of our sin and despair. This light continues to comfort us through times of sorrow. In the midst of sadness, trouble, illness, or disappointment, the Lord brightens the way and encourages His children by giving hope.
This may come through a word of exhortation from a fellow believer. It may be the illumination of God's Word by the ministry of the Holy Spirit. It may be calm reassurance in response to heartfelt prayer. Or it may be the miraculous supply of a specific need. Whatever the case, God sends light when we are engulfed in darkness. Jesus gives light in the darkest night! —Dave Egner
Read:Psalm 112
Unto the upright there arises light in the darkness. —Psalm 112:4
A missionary in Peru went to visit a group of believers one evening. She knew that the house where they were meeting was located on a cliff and the path would be treacherous. She took a taxi as far as it could go, and then she began the hazardous ascent to the house on foot. The night was dark and the way was very difficult. As she rounded a bend, she suddenly came upon several believers carrying bright lanterns. They had come out to light the way. Her fears were relieved, and she ascended the path easily.
In a similar way, God lights our path. When we trust Jesus as our Savior, He who is the Light of the world enters our lives and removes the darkness of our sin and despair. This light continues to comfort us through times of sorrow. In the midst of sadness, trouble, illness, or disappointment, the Lord brightens the way and encourages His children by giving hope.
This may come through a word of exhortation from a fellow believer. It may be the illumination of God's Word by the ministry of the Holy Spirit. It may be calm reassurance in response to heartfelt prayer. Or it may be the miraculous supply of a specific need. Whatever the case, God sends light when we are engulfed in darkness. Jesus gives light in the darkest night! —Dave Egner
No darkness have we who in Jesus abide—
The Light of the world is Jesus;
We walk in the Light when we follow our Guide—
The Light of the world is Jesus. —Bliss
God sometimes puts us in the dark to show us that Jesus is the light.
May 9, 2005
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
La Llave de David (The Key of David) - Spanish
LA LLAVE DE DAVID: ADORACIÓN CONTINUA
"Escribe al ángel de la Iglesia en Filadelfia: esto dice el Santo, el verdadero, el que tiene la llave de David, el que abre y ninguno cierra y cierra y ninguno abre" Apocalipsis 3:7.
Mucho se ha escrito sobre el Apocalipsis y mucho sobre la llave de David. Yo sólo daré un enfoque o apreciación particular. Mi opinión personal es que Dios le entregó a David una llave de sabiduría que le abrió puertas enormes de autoridad espiritual.
David fue rey de Israel por aproximadamente 40 años. En este largo reinado, ningún enemigo por numeroso o fuerte que fuera, pudo hacerle frente. David fue sentado en niveles muy altos de autoridad y poder terrenal. Creo que todo esto fue posible sólo porque él como vidente (profeta de Dios), aprendió a influenciar el ámbito espiritual, el cual posteriormente afectaría el mundo natural (las circunstancias que le rodeaban).
David tenía un secreto revelado por Jehová que le garantizaba en sus batallas la intervención divina y por ende, la derrota de sus adversarios.
Su secreto movía a Dios; activaba el ejército celestial y destruía la fuerza contraria. David tenía una llave por gracia. El Padre Dios le había revelado que las batallas las gana Dios. El rey debía afectar el mundo espiritual y sus enemigos caerían. El rey David aprendió a enternecer a Dios y mover Su corazón a favor de Su pueblo. El rey tenía una llave; la llave de David. Esa llave o secreto davídico asentó el trono de Dios por años en Israel y lo envolvió con Su gloria. Esa llave abrió la puerta de la victoria y de la prosperidad. Atrajo hacia él fama, renombre y honor entre los pueblos. En realidad, el Señor le dio todo esto al activar la llave, "la llave de David".
Cuando el Espíritu de Dios impulsó a Juan a escribir la carta a la Iglesia de Filadelfia, presentó al Señor como el dueño de la llave de David. Desde luego que David sólo fue un receptor de la revelación divina; pero es Dios quien tiene la llave en Su mano santa. Es obvio que con esa llave se abren puertas que nadie puede cerrar. Esa puerta son bendiciones divinas, influencias sobre ciudades y naciones y el poder apostólico para hacer la tarea misionera en los confines de la tierra.
Dios dijo a Filadelfia, a su Iglesia establecida en esa ciudad: "Yo conozco tus obras; he aquí, he puesto delante de ti una puerta abierta, la cual nadie puede cerrar" (verso 8a).
La Iglesia de Filadelfia recibió de manos del Poseedor de la llave de David; de Aquel que abre y ninguno cierra y cierra y ninguno abre, la protección y unción para las misiones en el mundo. Aunque ésta fue una Iglesia humilde y sin muchos recursos económicos, guardó la Palabra y el testimonio. Esa Iglesia, Filadelfia, guardó la Palabra y la practicó; por ello Dios la ungió. Aleluya.
Cada iglesia en las naciones puede recibir incrementos impresionantes en sus niveles de autoridad, cuando Dios abra la puerta a través de la llave de David.
Esa bendita llave es la "Alabanza de Alto Nivel" o la "adoración de Excelencia" al Gran Rey. Como profeta, David fue ministrado profundamente por el "Espíritu de Sabiduría" en lo concerniente a la adoración celestial, la cual activaría la mano de Dios a su favor y atraería Su Presencia.
Dios puso en su mano una llave. Si aprendía a usarla, Jehová estaría siempre en su reinado y edificaría su reino, David fue diestro en usar la llave; de él aprendimos los principios más sencillos pero trascendentes de la exaltación de la Divinidad.
En el Tabernáculo de Moisés se ofrecía cada tarde y cada mañana holocausto a Jehová. Estas ofrendas se conocían como el "Sacrificio continuo". Era necesario a través de esta práctica ceremonial mantener el fuego y la ofrenda constantemente. Este seria un anuncio profético de la perpetuidad del sacrificio de Cristo y su extraordinada eficacia.
David, bajo "el manto de la revelación profético", entendió el simbolismo y recibió del Espíritu que estos sacrificios u holocausto continuo (de animales) dejarían de ser para dar paso a otro tipo de sacrificio continuo: el de la alabanza y la adoración al Dios Viviente.
David descubrió que estableciendo una alabanza continua, adoración verdadera al Señor las 24 horas del día, era como llevar a la esfera del cumplimiento profético todo lo anunciado en las ofrendas y ceremonias de Moisés. Esa adoración continua, durante todo el día, atraería la Presencia Divina entre el pueblo de Israel. David estableció turnos sacerdotales para llenar la nación y el santuario de alabanza . Instituyó el servicio de músicos y cantores para ministrar continuamente ante el Arca del Señor.
Este adorar de continuo entronizó a Jehová en el Campamento de Israel. Dios quiso estar allí; David y su pueblo le ganaron el corazón. Jehová gozaba de estar allí ante un pueblo contrito y humillado. La adoración fue la llave de David. Su meta era el Arca del Pacto. Solo anhelaba a Dios en Israel. Aleluya.
Después de 15 años de haber escrito el libro titulado "El Tabernáculo caldo de David", he visto con honda tristeza a miles de creyentes caminar ignorando la verdad de la revelación dada al profeta y rey.
El Tabernáculo de David, lamentablemente, ha terminado siendo interpretado como un simple modelo de alabanza, un manual de música y canto.
No y mil veces no. David nunca quiso establecer un molde rígido de alabanza o una única forma de dañe canción y música a Dios.
No. La meta de David no eran formas de alabanza o estilo de música o tipo de instrumentos. Su meta era más elevada; era elevadísimo. Su meta era Dios mismo.
David sólo escudriñó la Escritura; sólo buscó sabiduría en el secreto del Señor para acercar a Dios y perpetuar Su Presencia en Israel.
Bajo esa búsqueda ferviente de Él y bajo ese anhelar continuo de Su Presencia, el rey se encontró con la llave que desató sobre él la más elevada autoridad delegada.
Esa llave, la adoración en espíritu y verdad, lo llevó a proclamar que hay un sin fin de formas a través de las cuales yo puedo glorificar al Padre. Su intención era practicarlas todas con tal de que Jehová viniera a Sión. Aleluya.
David nos dio el mensaje: lo más importante de todo es tener a Dios con uno; hagan todo lo que deban hacer para atraer Su Presencia y cuando la tengan, no lo dejen irse, denle alabanza continua cada hora del día. Túrnense, organícense y tome cada uno su instrumento y el corazón en la mano y mantengan con su alabanza y ofrendas de adoración, el fuego encendido en el altar.
Esa es mi llave, nos enseñó David. Si quieren victoria continua, renombre, bendición, prosperidad y unción, úsenla de inmediato.
Esa es la llave; actívenla. Reconozcan su grandeza entre los pueblos Amén.
"Escribe al ángel de la Iglesia en Filadelfia: esto dice el Santo, el verdadero, el que tiene la llave de David, el que abre y ninguno cierra y cierra y ninguno abre" Apocalipsis 3:7.
Mucho se ha escrito sobre el Apocalipsis y mucho sobre la llave de David. Yo sólo daré un enfoque o apreciación particular. Mi opinión personal es que Dios le entregó a David una llave de sabiduría que le abrió puertas enormes de autoridad espiritual.
David fue rey de Israel por aproximadamente 40 años. En este largo reinado, ningún enemigo por numeroso o fuerte que fuera, pudo hacerle frente. David fue sentado en niveles muy altos de autoridad y poder terrenal. Creo que todo esto fue posible sólo porque él como vidente (profeta de Dios), aprendió a influenciar el ámbito espiritual, el cual posteriormente afectaría el mundo natural (las circunstancias que le rodeaban).
David tenía un secreto revelado por Jehová que le garantizaba en sus batallas la intervención divina y por ende, la derrota de sus adversarios.
Su secreto movía a Dios; activaba el ejército celestial y destruía la fuerza contraria. David tenía una llave por gracia. El Padre Dios le había revelado que las batallas las gana Dios. El rey debía afectar el mundo espiritual y sus enemigos caerían. El rey David aprendió a enternecer a Dios y mover Su corazón a favor de Su pueblo. El rey tenía una llave; la llave de David. Esa llave o secreto davídico asentó el trono de Dios por años en Israel y lo envolvió con Su gloria. Esa llave abrió la puerta de la victoria y de la prosperidad. Atrajo hacia él fama, renombre y honor entre los pueblos. En realidad, el Señor le dio todo esto al activar la llave, "la llave de David".
Cuando el Espíritu de Dios impulsó a Juan a escribir la carta a la Iglesia de Filadelfia, presentó al Señor como el dueño de la llave de David. Desde luego que David sólo fue un receptor de la revelación divina; pero es Dios quien tiene la llave en Su mano santa. Es obvio que con esa llave se abren puertas que nadie puede cerrar. Esa puerta son bendiciones divinas, influencias sobre ciudades y naciones y el poder apostólico para hacer la tarea misionera en los confines de la tierra.
Dios dijo a Filadelfia, a su Iglesia establecida en esa ciudad: "Yo conozco tus obras; he aquí, he puesto delante de ti una puerta abierta, la cual nadie puede cerrar" (verso 8a).
La Iglesia de Filadelfia recibió de manos del Poseedor de la llave de David; de Aquel que abre y ninguno cierra y cierra y ninguno abre, la protección y unción para las misiones en el mundo. Aunque ésta fue una Iglesia humilde y sin muchos recursos económicos, guardó la Palabra y el testimonio. Esa Iglesia, Filadelfia, guardó la Palabra y la practicó; por ello Dios la ungió. Aleluya.
Cada iglesia en las naciones puede recibir incrementos impresionantes en sus niveles de autoridad, cuando Dios abra la puerta a través de la llave de David.
Esa bendita llave es la "Alabanza de Alto Nivel" o la "adoración de Excelencia" al Gran Rey. Como profeta, David fue ministrado profundamente por el "Espíritu de Sabiduría" en lo concerniente a la adoración celestial, la cual activaría la mano de Dios a su favor y atraería Su Presencia.
Dios puso en su mano una llave. Si aprendía a usarla, Jehová estaría siempre en su reinado y edificaría su reino, David fue diestro en usar la llave; de él aprendimos los principios más sencillos pero trascendentes de la exaltación de la Divinidad.
En el Tabernáculo de Moisés se ofrecía cada tarde y cada mañana holocausto a Jehová. Estas ofrendas se conocían como el "Sacrificio continuo". Era necesario a través de esta práctica ceremonial mantener el fuego y la ofrenda constantemente. Este seria un anuncio profético de la perpetuidad del sacrificio de Cristo y su extraordinada eficacia.
David, bajo "el manto de la revelación profético", entendió el simbolismo y recibió del Espíritu que estos sacrificios u holocausto continuo (de animales) dejarían de ser para dar paso a otro tipo de sacrificio continuo: el de la alabanza y la adoración al Dios Viviente.
David descubrió que estableciendo una alabanza continua, adoración verdadera al Señor las 24 horas del día, era como llevar a la esfera del cumplimiento profético todo lo anunciado en las ofrendas y ceremonias de Moisés. Esa adoración continua, durante todo el día, atraería la Presencia Divina entre el pueblo de Israel. David estableció turnos sacerdotales para llenar la nación y el santuario de alabanza . Instituyó el servicio de músicos y cantores para ministrar continuamente ante el Arca del Señor.
Este adorar de continuo entronizó a Jehová en el Campamento de Israel. Dios quiso estar allí; David y su pueblo le ganaron el corazón. Jehová gozaba de estar allí ante un pueblo contrito y humillado. La adoración fue la llave de David. Su meta era el Arca del Pacto. Solo anhelaba a Dios en Israel. Aleluya.
Después de 15 años de haber escrito el libro titulado "El Tabernáculo caldo de David", he visto con honda tristeza a miles de creyentes caminar ignorando la verdad de la revelación dada al profeta y rey.
El Tabernáculo de David, lamentablemente, ha terminado siendo interpretado como un simple modelo de alabanza, un manual de música y canto.
No y mil veces no. David nunca quiso establecer un molde rígido de alabanza o una única forma de dañe canción y música a Dios.
No. La meta de David no eran formas de alabanza o estilo de música o tipo de instrumentos. Su meta era más elevada; era elevadísimo. Su meta era Dios mismo.
David sólo escudriñó la Escritura; sólo buscó sabiduría en el secreto del Señor para acercar a Dios y perpetuar Su Presencia en Israel.
Bajo esa búsqueda ferviente de Él y bajo ese anhelar continuo de Su Presencia, el rey se encontró con la llave que desató sobre él la más elevada autoridad delegada.
Esa llave, la adoración en espíritu y verdad, lo llevó a proclamar que hay un sin fin de formas a través de las cuales yo puedo glorificar al Padre. Su intención era practicarlas todas con tal de que Jehová viniera a Sión. Aleluya.
David nos dio el mensaje: lo más importante de todo es tener a Dios con uno; hagan todo lo que deban hacer para atraer Su Presencia y cuando la tengan, no lo dejen irse, denle alabanza continua cada hora del día. Túrnense, organícense y tome cada uno su instrumento y el corazón en la mano y mantengan con su alabanza y ofrendas de adoración, el fuego encendido en el altar.
Esa es mi llave, nos enseñó David. Si quieren victoria continua, renombre, bendición, prosperidad y unción, úsenla de inmediato.
Esa es la llave; actívenla. Reconozcan su grandeza entre los pueblos Amén.
The Touch of God
The Touch of God
By Max Lucado
A Compassionate Heart
May I ask you to look at your hand for a moment? Look at the back, then the palm. Reacquaint yourself with your fingers. Run a thumb over your knuckles.
What if someone were to film a documentary on your hands? What if a producer were to tell your story based on the life of your hands? What would we see? As with all of us, the film would begin with an infant’s fist, then a closeup of a tiny hand wrapped around mommy’s finger. Then what? Holding on to a chair as you learned to walk? Handling a spoon as you learned to eat?
We aren’t too long into the feature before we see your hand being affectionate, stroking daddy’s face or petting a puppy. Nor is it too long before we see your hand acting aggressively: pushing big brother or yanking back a toy. All of us learned early that the hand is suited for more than survival—it’s a tool of emotional expression. The same hand can help or hurt, extend or clench, lift someone up or shove someone down.
Were you to show the documentary to your friends, you’d be proud of certain moments: your hand extending with a gift, placing a ring on another’s finger, doctoring a wound, preparing a meal, or folding in prayer. And then there are other scenes. Shots of accusing fingers, abusive fists. Hands taking more often than giving, demanding instead of offering, wounding rather than loving. Oh, the power of our hands. Leave them unmanaged and they become weapons: clawing for power, strangling for survival, seducing for pleasure. But manage them and our hands become instruments of grace—not just tools in the hands of God, but God’s very hands.
Surrender them and these five-fingered appendages become the hands of heaven.
That’s what Jesus did. Our Savior completely surrendered his hands to God. The documentary of his hands has no scenes of greedy grabbing or unfounded finger pointing. It does, however, have one scene after another of people longing for his compassionate touch: parents carrying their children, the poor bringing their fears, the sinful shouldering their sorrow. And each who came was touched. And each one touched was changed. But none was touched or changed more than the unnamed leper of Matthew 8.
When Jesus came down from the hill, great crowds followed him. Then a man with a skin disease came to Jesus. The man bowed down before him and said, “Lord, you can heal me if you will.”
Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man and said, “I will. Be healed!” And immediately the man was healed from his disease. Then Jesus said to him, “Don’t tell anyone about this. But go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded for people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done.” (vv. 1–4)
Mark and Luke chose to tell this same story. But with apologies to all three writers, I must say none tell enough. Oh, we know the man’s disease and his decision, but as to the rest? We are left with questions. The authors offer no name, no history, no description.
The Ultimate Outcast
Sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me, and I wonder out loud. That’s what I’m about to do here—wonder out loud about the man who felt Jesus’ compassionate touch. He makes one appearance, has one request, and receives one touch. But that one touch changed his life forever. And I wonder if his story went something like this:
For five years no one touched me. No one. Not one person. Not my wife. Not my child. Not my friends. No one touched me. They saw me. They spoke to me. I sensed love in their voices. I saw concern in their eyes. But I didn’t feel their touch. There was no touch. Not once. No one touched me.
What is common to you, I coveted. Handshakes. Warm embraces. A tap on the shoulder to get my attention. A kiss on the lips to steal a heart. Such moments were taken from my world. No one touched me. No one bumped into me. What I would have given to be bumped into, to be caught in a crowd, for my shoulder to brush against another’s. But for five years it has not happened. How could it? I was not allowed on the streets. Even the rabbis kept their distance from me. I was not permitted in my synagogue. Not even welcome in my own house.
I was untouchable. I was a leper. And no one touched me. Until today.
I wonder about this man because in New Testament times leprosy was the most dreaded disease. The condition rendered the body a mass of ulcers and decay. Fingers would curl and gnarl. Blotches of skin would discolor and stink. Certain types of leprosy would numb nerve endings, leading to a loss of fingers, toes, even a whole foot or hand. Leprosy was death by inches.
The social consequences were as severe as the physical. Considered contagious, the leper was quarantined, banished to a leper colony.
In Scripture the leper is symbolic of the ultimate outcast: infected by a condition he did not seek, rejected by those he knew, avoided by people he did not know, condemned to a future he could not bear. And in the memory of each outcast must have been the day he was forced to face the truth: life would never be the same.
One year during harvest my grip on the scythe seemed weak. The tips of my fingers numbed. First one finger then another. Within a short time I could grip the tool but scarcely feel it. By the end of the season, I felt nothing at all. The hand grasping the handle might as well have belonged to someone else—the feeling was gone. I said nothing to my wife, but I know she suspected something. How could she not? I carried my hand against my body like a wounded bird.
One afternoon I plunged my hands into a basin of water intending to wash my face. The water reddened. My finger was bleeding, bleeding freely. I didn’t even know I was wounded. How did I cut myself? On a knife? Did my hand slide across the sharp edge of metal? It must have, but I didn’t feel anything.
“It’s on your clothes, too,” my wife said softly. She was behind me. Before looking at her, I looked down at the crimson spots on my robe. For the longest time I stood over the basin, staring at my hand. Somehow I knew my life was being forever altered.
“Shall I go with you to tell the priest?” she asked.
“No,” I sighed, “I’ll go alone.”
I turned and looked into her moist eyes. Standing next to her was our three-year-old daughter. Squatting, I gazed into her face and stroked her cheek, saying nothing. What could I say? I stood and looked again at my wife. She touched my shoulder, and with my good hand, I touched hers. It would be our final touch.
Five years have passed, and no one has touched me since, until today.
The priest didn’t touch me. He looked at my hand, now wrapped in a rag. He looked at my face, now shadowed in sorrow. I’ve never faulted him for what he said. He was only doing as he was instructed. He covered his mouth and extended his hand, palm forward. “You are unclean,” he told me. With one pronouncement I lost my family, my farm, my future, my friends.
My wife met me at the city gates with a sack of clothing and bread and coins. She didn’t speak. By now friends had gathered. What I saw in their eyes was a precursor to what I’ve seen in every eye since: fearful pity. As I stepped out, they stepped back. Their horror of my disease was greater than their concern for my heart—so they, and everyone else I have seen since, stepped back.
The banishing of a leper seems harsh, unnecessary. The Ancient East hasn’t been the only culture to isolate their wounded, however. We may not build colonies or cover our mouths in their presence, but we certainly build walls and duck our eyes. And a person needn’t have leprosy to feel quarantined.
One of my sadder memories involves my fourth-grade friend Jerry. He and a half-dozen of us were an ever-present, inseparable fixture on the playground. One day I called his house to see if we could play. The phone was answered by a cursing, drunken voice telling me Jerry could not come over that day or any day. I told my friends what had happened. One of them explained that Jerry’s father was an alcoholic. I don’t know if I knew what the word meant, but I learned quickly. Jerry, the second baseman; Jerry, the kid with the red bike; Jerry, my friend on the corner was now “Jerry, the son of a drunk.” Kids can be hard, and for some reason we were hard on Jerry. He was infected. Like the leper, he suffered from a condition he didn’t create. Like the leper, he was put outside the village.
The divorced know this feeling. So do the handicapped. The unemployed have felt it, as have the less educated. Some shun unmarried moms. We keep our distance from the depressed and avoid the terminally ill. We have neighborhoods for immigrants, convalescent homes for the elderly, schools for the simple, centers for the addicted, and prisons for the criminals.
The rest simply try to get away from it all. Only God knows how many Jerrys are in voluntary exile—individuals living quiet, lonely lives infected by their fear of rejection and their memories of the last time they tried. They choose not to be touched at all rather than risk being hurt again.
Oh, how I repulsed those who saw me. Five years of leprosy had left my hands gnarled. Tips of my fingers were missing as were portions of an ear and my nose. At the sight of me, fathers grabbed their children. Mothers covered their faces. Children pointed and stared.
The rags on my body couldn’t hide my sores. Nor could the wrap on my face hide the rage in my eyes. I didn’t even try to hide it. How many nights did I shake my crippled fist at the silent sky? “What did I do to deserve this?” But never a reply.
Some think I sinned. Some think my parents sinned. I don’t know. All I know is that I grew so tired of it all: sleeping in the colony, smelling the stench. I grew so tired of the damnable bell I was required to wear around my neck to warn people of my presence. As if I needed it. One glance and the announcements began, “Unclean! Unclean! Unclean!”
Several weeks ago I dared walk the road to my village. I had no intent of entering. Heaven knows I only wanted to look again upon my fields. Gaze again upon my home. And see, perchance, the face of my wife. I did not see her. But I saw some children playing in a pasture. I hid behind a tree and watched them scamper and run. Their faces were so joyful and their laughter so contagious that for a moment, for just a moment, I was no longer a leper. I was a farmer. I was a father. I was a man.
Infused with their happiness, I stepped out from behind the tree, straightened my back, breathed deeply … and they saw me. Before I could retreat, they saw me. And they screamed. And they scattered. One lingered, though, behind the others. One paused and looked in my direction. I don’t know, and I can’t say for sure, but I think, I really think, she was my daughter. And I don’t know, I really can’t say for sure. But I think she was looking for her father.
That look is what made me take the step I took today. Of course it was reckless. Of course it was risky. But what did I have to lose? He calls himself God’s Son. Either he will hear my complaint and kill me or accept my demands and heal me. Those were my thoughts. I came to him as a defiant man. Moved not by faith but by a desperate anger. God had wrought this calamity on my body, and he would either fix it or end it.
But then I saw him, and when I saw him, I was changed. You must remember, I’m a farmer, not a poet, so I cannot find the words to describe what I saw. All I can say is that the Judean mornings are sometimes so fresh and the sunrises so glorious that to look at them is to forget the heat of the day before and the hurt of times past. When I looked at his face, I saw a Judean morning.
Before he spoke, I knew he cared. Somehow I knew he hated this disease as much as, no more than I hate it. My rage became trust, and my anger became hope.
From behind a rock, I watched him descend a hill. Throngs of people followed him. I waited until he was only paces from me, then I stepped out.
“Master!”
He stopped and looked in my direction as did dozens of others. A flood of fear swept across the crowd. Arms flew in front of faces. Children ducked behind parents. “Unclean!” someone shouted. Again, I don’t blame them. I was a huddled mass of death. But I scarcely heard them. I scarcely saw them. Their panic I’d seen a thousand times. His compassion, however, I’d never beheld. Everyone stepped back except him. He stepped toward me. Toward me.
Five years ago my wife had stepped toward me. She was the last to do so. Now he did. I did not move. I just spoke. “Lord, you can heal me if you will.” Had he healed me with a word, I would have been thrilled. Had he cured me with a prayer, I would have rejoiced. But he wasn’t satisfied with speaking to me. He drew near me. He touched me. Five years ago my wife had touched me. No one had touched me since. Until today.
“I will.” His words were as tender as his touch. “Be healed!”
Energy flooded my body like water through a furrowed field. In an instant, in a moment, I felt warmth where there had been numbness. I felt strength where there had been atrophy. My back straightened, and my head lifted. Where I had been eye level with his belt, I now stood eye level with his face. His smiling face.
He cupped his hands on my cheeks and drew me so near I could feel the warmth of his breath and see the wetness in his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone about this. But go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded for people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done.”
And so that is where I am going. I will show myself to my priest and embrace him. I will show myself to my wife, and I will embrace her. I will pick up my daughter, and I will embrace her. And I will never forget the one who dared to touch me. He could have healed me with a word. But he wanted to do more than heal me. He wanted to honor me, to validate me, to christen me. Imagine that … unworthy of the touch of a man, yet worthy of the touch of God.
The Power of The Godly Touch
The touch did not heal the disease, you know. Matthew is careful to mention that it was the pronouncement and not the touch of Christ that cured the condition. “Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man and said, ‘I will. Be healed!’ And immediately the man was healed from his disease” (Matt. 8:3).
The infection was banished by a word from Jesus. The loneliness, however, was treated by a touch from Jesus. Oh, the power of a godly touch. Haven’t you known it? The doctor who treated you, or the teacher who dried your tears? Was there a hand holding yours at a funeral? Another on your shoulder during a trial? A handshake of welcome at a new job? A pastoral prayer for healing? Haven’t we known the power of a godly touch?
Can’t we offer the same?
Many of you already do. Some of you have the master touch of the Physician himself. You use your hands to pray over the sick and minister to the weak. If you aren’t touching them personally, your hands are writing letters, dialing phones, baking pies. You have learned the power of a touch.
But others of us tend to forget. Our hearts are good; it’s just that our memories are bad. We forget how significant one touch can be. We fear saying the wrong thing or using the wrong tone or acting the wrong way. So rather than do it incorrectly, we do nothing at all.
Aren’t we glad Jesus didn’t make the same mistake? If your fear of doing the wrong thing prevents you from doing anything, keep in mind the perspective of the lepers of the world. They aren’t picky. They aren’t finicky. They’re just lonely. They are yearning for a godly touch. Jesus touched the untouchables of the world. Will you do the same?
Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.
james 1:22–24 niv
By Max Lucado
A Compassionate Heart
May I ask you to look at your hand for a moment? Look at the back, then the palm. Reacquaint yourself with your fingers. Run a thumb over your knuckles.
What if someone were to film a documentary on your hands? What if a producer were to tell your story based on the life of your hands? What would we see? As with all of us, the film would begin with an infant’s fist, then a closeup of a tiny hand wrapped around mommy’s finger. Then what? Holding on to a chair as you learned to walk? Handling a spoon as you learned to eat?
We aren’t too long into the feature before we see your hand being affectionate, stroking daddy’s face or petting a puppy. Nor is it too long before we see your hand acting aggressively: pushing big brother or yanking back a toy. All of us learned early that the hand is suited for more than survival—it’s a tool of emotional expression. The same hand can help or hurt, extend or clench, lift someone up or shove someone down.
Were you to show the documentary to your friends, you’d be proud of certain moments: your hand extending with a gift, placing a ring on another’s finger, doctoring a wound, preparing a meal, or folding in prayer. And then there are other scenes. Shots of accusing fingers, abusive fists. Hands taking more often than giving, demanding instead of offering, wounding rather than loving. Oh, the power of our hands. Leave them unmanaged and they become weapons: clawing for power, strangling for survival, seducing for pleasure. But manage them and our hands become instruments of grace—not just tools in the hands of God, but God’s very hands.
Surrender them and these five-fingered appendages become the hands of heaven.
That’s what Jesus did. Our Savior completely surrendered his hands to God. The documentary of his hands has no scenes of greedy grabbing or unfounded finger pointing. It does, however, have one scene after another of people longing for his compassionate touch: parents carrying their children, the poor bringing their fears, the sinful shouldering their sorrow. And each who came was touched. And each one touched was changed. But none was touched or changed more than the unnamed leper of Matthew 8.
When Jesus came down from the hill, great crowds followed him. Then a man with a skin disease came to Jesus. The man bowed down before him and said, “Lord, you can heal me if you will.”
Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man and said, “I will. Be healed!” And immediately the man was healed from his disease. Then Jesus said to him, “Don’t tell anyone about this. But go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded for people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done.” (vv. 1–4)
Mark and Luke chose to tell this same story. But with apologies to all three writers, I must say none tell enough. Oh, we know the man’s disease and his decision, but as to the rest? We are left with questions. The authors offer no name, no history, no description.
The Ultimate Outcast
Sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me, and I wonder out loud. That’s what I’m about to do here—wonder out loud about the man who felt Jesus’ compassionate touch. He makes one appearance, has one request, and receives one touch. But that one touch changed his life forever. And I wonder if his story went something like this:
For five years no one touched me. No one. Not one person. Not my wife. Not my child. Not my friends. No one touched me. They saw me. They spoke to me. I sensed love in their voices. I saw concern in their eyes. But I didn’t feel their touch. There was no touch. Not once. No one touched me.
What is common to you, I coveted. Handshakes. Warm embraces. A tap on the shoulder to get my attention. A kiss on the lips to steal a heart. Such moments were taken from my world. No one touched me. No one bumped into me. What I would have given to be bumped into, to be caught in a crowd, for my shoulder to brush against another’s. But for five years it has not happened. How could it? I was not allowed on the streets. Even the rabbis kept their distance from me. I was not permitted in my synagogue. Not even welcome in my own house.
I was untouchable. I was a leper. And no one touched me. Until today.
I wonder about this man because in New Testament times leprosy was the most dreaded disease. The condition rendered the body a mass of ulcers and decay. Fingers would curl and gnarl. Blotches of skin would discolor and stink. Certain types of leprosy would numb nerve endings, leading to a loss of fingers, toes, even a whole foot or hand. Leprosy was death by inches.
The social consequences were as severe as the physical. Considered contagious, the leper was quarantined, banished to a leper colony.
In Scripture the leper is symbolic of the ultimate outcast: infected by a condition he did not seek, rejected by those he knew, avoided by people he did not know, condemned to a future he could not bear. And in the memory of each outcast must have been the day he was forced to face the truth: life would never be the same.
One year during harvest my grip on the scythe seemed weak. The tips of my fingers numbed. First one finger then another. Within a short time I could grip the tool but scarcely feel it. By the end of the season, I felt nothing at all. The hand grasping the handle might as well have belonged to someone else—the feeling was gone. I said nothing to my wife, but I know she suspected something. How could she not? I carried my hand against my body like a wounded bird.
One afternoon I plunged my hands into a basin of water intending to wash my face. The water reddened. My finger was bleeding, bleeding freely. I didn’t even know I was wounded. How did I cut myself? On a knife? Did my hand slide across the sharp edge of metal? It must have, but I didn’t feel anything.
“It’s on your clothes, too,” my wife said softly. She was behind me. Before looking at her, I looked down at the crimson spots on my robe. For the longest time I stood over the basin, staring at my hand. Somehow I knew my life was being forever altered.
“Shall I go with you to tell the priest?” she asked.
“No,” I sighed, “I’ll go alone.”
I turned and looked into her moist eyes. Standing next to her was our three-year-old daughter. Squatting, I gazed into her face and stroked her cheek, saying nothing. What could I say? I stood and looked again at my wife. She touched my shoulder, and with my good hand, I touched hers. It would be our final touch.
Five years have passed, and no one has touched me since, until today.
The priest didn’t touch me. He looked at my hand, now wrapped in a rag. He looked at my face, now shadowed in sorrow. I’ve never faulted him for what he said. He was only doing as he was instructed. He covered his mouth and extended his hand, palm forward. “You are unclean,” he told me. With one pronouncement I lost my family, my farm, my future, my friends.
My wife met me at the city gates with a sack of clothing and bread and coins. She didn’t speak. By now friends had gathered. What I saw in their eyes was a precursor to what I’ve seen in every eye since: fearful pity. As I stepped out, they stepped back. Their horror of my disease was greater than their concern for my heart—so they, and everyone else I have seen since, stepped back.
The banishing of a leper seems harsh, unnecessary. The Ancient East hasn’t been the only culture to isolate their wounded, however. We may not build colonies or cover our mouths in their presence, but we certainly build walls and duck our eyes. And a person needn’t have leprosy to feel quarantined.
One of my sadder memories involves my fourth-grade friend Jerry. He and a half-dozen of us were an ever-present, inseparable fixture on the playground. One day I called his house to see if we could play. The phone was answered by a cursing, drunken voice telling me Jerry could not come over that day or any day. I told my friends what had happened. One of them explained that Jerry’s father was an alcoholic. I don’t know if I knew what the word meant, but I learned quickly. Jerry, the second baseman; Jerry, the kid with the red bike; Jerry, my friend on the corner was now “Jerry, the son of a drunk.” Kids can be hard, and for some reason we were hard on Jerry. He was infected. Like the leper, he suffered from a condition he didn’t create. Like the leper, he was put outside the village.
The divorced know this feeling. So do the handicapped. The unemployed have felt it, as have the less educated. Some shun unmarried moms. We keep our distance from the depressed and avoid the terminally ill. We have neighborhoods for immigrants, convalescent homes for the elderly, schools for the simple, centers for the addicted, and prisons for the criminals.
The rest simply try to get away from it all. Only God knows how many Jerrys are in voluntary exile—individuals living quiet, lonely lives infected by their fear of rejection and their memories of the last time they tried. They choose not to be touched at all rather than risk being hurt again.
Oh, how I repulsed those who saw me. Five years of leprosy had left my hands gnarled. Tips of my fingers were missing as were portions of an ear and my nose. At the sight of me, fathers grabbed their children. Mothers covered their faces. Children pointed and stared.
The rags on my body couldn’t hide my sores. Nor could the wrap on my face hide the rage in my eyes. I didn’t even try to hide it. How many nights did I shake my crippled fist at the silent sky? “What did I do to deserve this?” But never a reply.
Some think I sinned. Some think my parents sinned. I don’t know. All I know is that I grew so tired of it all: sleeping in the colony, smelling the stench. I grew so tired of the damnable bell I was required to wear around my neck to warn people of my presence. As if I needed it. One glance and the announcements began, “Unclean! Unclean! Unclean!”
Several weeks ago I dared walk the road to my village. I had no intent of entering. Heaven knows I only wanted to look again upon my fields. Gaze again upon my home. And see, perchance, the face of my wife. I did not see her. But I saw some children playing in a pasture. I hid behind a tree and watched them scamper and run. Their faces were so joyful and their laughter so contagious that for a moment, for just a moment, I was no longer a leper. I was a farmer. I was a father. I was a man.
Infused with their happiness, I stepped out from behind the tree, straightened my back, breathed deeply … and they saw me. Before I could retreat, they saw me. And they screamed. And they scattered. One lingered, though, behind the others. One paused and looked in my direction. I don’t know, and I can’t say for sure, but I think, I really think, she was my daughter. And I don’t know, I really can’t say for sure. But I think she was looking for her father.
That look is what made me take the step I took today. Of course it was reckless. Of course it was risky. But what did I have to lose? He calls himself God’s Son. Either he will hear my complaint and kill me or accept my demands and heal me. Those were my thoughts. I came to him as a defiant man. Moved not by faith but by a desperate anger. God had wrought this calamity on my body, and he would either fix it or end it.
But then I saw him, and when I saw him, I was changed. You must remember, I’m a farmer, not a poet, so I cannot find the words to describe what I saw. All I can say is that the Judean mornings are sometimes so fresh and the sunrises so glorious that to look at them is to forget the heat of the day before and the hurt of times past. When I looked at his face, I saw a Judean morning.
Before he spoke, I knew he cared. Somehow I knew he hated this disease as much as, no more than I hate it. My rage became trust, and my anger became hope.
From behind a rock, I watched him descend a hill. Throngs of people followed him. I waited until he was only paces from me, then I stepped out.
“Master!”
He stopped and looked in my direction as did dozens of others. A flood of fear swept across the crowd. Arms flew in front of faces. Children ducked behind parents. “Unclean!” someone shouted. Again, I don’t blame them. I was a huddled mass of death. But I scarcely heard them. I scarcely saw them. Their panic I’d seen a thousand times. His compassion, however, I’d never beheld. Everyone stepped back except him. He stepped toward me. Toward me.
Five years ago my wife had stepped toward me. She was the last to do so. Now he did. I did not move. I just spoke. “Lord, you can heal me if you will.” Had he healed me with a word, I would have been thrilled. Had he cured me with a prayer, I would have rejoiced. But he wasn’t satisfied with speaking to me. He drew near me. He touched me. Five years ago my wife had touched me. No one had touched me since. Until today.
“I will.” His words were as tender as his touch. “Be healed!”
Energy flooded my body like water through a furrowed field. In an instant, in a moment, I felt warmth where there had been numbness. I felt strength where there had been atrophy. My back straightened, and my head lifted. Where I had been eye level with his belt, I now stood eye level with his face. His smiling face.
He cupped his hands on my cheeks and drew me so near I could feel the warmth of his breath and see the wetness in his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone about this. But go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded for people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done.”
And so that is where I am going. I will show myself to my priest and embrace him. I will show myself to my wife, and I will embrace her. I will pick up my daughter, and I will embrace her. And I will never forget the one who dared to touch me. He could have healed me with a word. But he wanted to do more than heal me. He wanted to honor me, to validate me, to christen me. Imagine that … unworthy of the touch of a man, yet worthy of the touch of God.
The Power of The Godly Touch
The touch did not heal the disease, you know. Matthew is careful to mention that it was the pronouncement and not the touch of Christ that cured the condition. “Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man and said, ‘I will. Be healed!’ And immediately the man was healed from his disease” (Matt. 8:3).
The infection was banished by a word from Jesus. The loneliness, however, was treated by a touch from Jesus. Oh, the power of a godly touch. Haven’t you known it? The doctor who treated you, or the teacher who dried your tears? Was there a hand holding yours at a funeral? Another on your shoulder during a trial? A handshake of welcome at a new job? A pastoral prayer for healing? Haven’t we known the power of a godly touch?
Can’t we offer the same?
Many of you already do. Some of you have the master touch of the Physician himself. You use your hands to pray over the sick and minister to the weak. If you aren’t touching them personally, your hands are writing letters, dialing phones, baking pies. You have learned the power of a touch.
But others of us tend to forget. Our hearts are good; it’s just that our memories are bad. We forget how significant one touch can be. We fear saying the wrong thing or using the wrong tone or acting the wrong way. So rather than do it incorrectly, we do nothing at all.
Aren’t we glad Jesus didn’t make the same mistake? If your fear of doing the wrong thing prevents you from doing anything, keep in mind the perspective of the lepers of the world. They aren’t picky. They aren’t finicky. They’re just lonely. They are yearning for a godly touch. Jesus touched the untouchables of the world. Will you do the same?
Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.
james 1:22–24 niv
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