GODSPEED

GODSPEED

Having Him in the Boat. C. Doug Blair, 2011

I have often heard the good wish expressed, "God bless and Godspeed". Apparently the latter expression comes from the old English, "spede". It refers to having good success on a voyage or journey, initially a shipping term.

Think of the dynamic of the voyage at sea. Adequate supplies below decks. Rigid maintenance of all canvas, cables and tackle. Caulking and re-caulking. Thorough study of navigation maps. Thorough training in the tools of navigation and weather. Clear chain of command. Water supply rationed between stops. Manifest of payload checked and double-checked. Shifts on board assigned to crews. Pay and trouble-pay noted. Whistle signals and audible commands all memorized. The language of the flags. Optimal use of

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the tide heading from the estuary. Pilot commissioned for harbour and river negotiation. The open sea...

Crew members would remember the Captain's prayer before launch and the serious look to skies, clouds and horizon. Godspeed!

In spite of all these prudent measures and preparation, there was still so much of the unanticipated lying ahead. The stories of other near disasters were known. The missing names this trip. The brave and braced faces of the wives waving from dock of home port. Perhaps hostile ships of war. Perhaps a wringing-wet, bucking, wretching rounding of the Horn.

The sky. The elements. The capricious waves. The reeling accompaniment of gulls. The terror of the albatross appearing. The odds of a Jonah on board. The spume of the steaming, moaning humpback. How John Masefield could write of all these spectres in his poems! Or Melville or Conrad in the narrative.

Such is life. Godspeed.

James 4:

13Go to now, ye that say, To day or to morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell, and get gain:

14Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.

15For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that.

A WANDERER’S SONG

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A wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels,I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon-wheels;I hunger for the sea's edge, the limit of the land,Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the sand.

Oh I'll be going, leaving the noises of the street,To where a lifting foresail-foot is yanking at the sheet;To a windy, tossing anchorage where yawls and ketches ride,Oh I'll be going, going, until I meet the tide.

And first I'll hear the sea-wind, the mewing of the gulls,The clucking, sucking of the sea about the rusty hulls,The songs at the capstan at the hooker warping out,And then the heart of me'll know I'm there or thereabout.

Oh I am sick of brick and stone, the heart of me is sick,For windy green, unquiet sea, the realm of Moby Dick;And I'll be going, going, from the roaring of the wheels,For a wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels.

John Masefield

SOMETIMES, STRANGE HELP

Oh, I could not touch the processAs you neared the Living Fire,As He pained and purified you,As He raised your standards higher.Though I heard your cries of quandary,And I saw your tears of shock;It was clear you were His project.(I refrained from soothing talk.)

There was only my prayer corner

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Where I dared to let it out.Where I got beneath your burden,First with moaning, then with shout.And His Spirit reassured meThis was how it had to be,That you might receive your treasureAnd a gracious victory.

It must all be of His working,Measured out to challenged trust.Marvelous, such metallurgy!Making gold of baffled dust.Dare I frustrate such a Craftsman,As He works His glorious art?As He gives the form and purpose?As He re-creates the heart?

No, I could not, and I would not,For I had my times alone.When the arm of flesh was absentAnd I had to storm His throne.And the bounty from the battleSeems my richest gain to date,Which the Living Fire had purposedIn His mercy, as my fate.

Oh, I love you brother, love you,And it hurts so much to standAt the outskirts of your struggleClenching tight the helping hand.But the Master sits beside youAs your bark braves wind and wave;And the passage proves Him ableTo the uttermost to save.

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JAMES’ FAREWELL SONG TO THE SEA

Galilee,A strange new urge sweeps over meA pull now stronger than the sea,And I a son of Zebedee,With ships and gear reserved for me,With knowledge of rich fishery,Through years of wooing azure sea,Now casting off my bark for freeTo follow Christ who beckons me …Oh Galilee.

Galilee,The gentle hills surrounding theeResound with news of folk set free;Of sicknesses healed instantly,Of torment turned to sanity,Of guilt and shame absolved for free;All this our privilege to see,And Christ reserves a job for me?And to his course I will agree.Have you now lost your hold on me,Oh Galilee?

Galilee,Your moods can change so suddenly,One moment calm as calm can be,The next one pitching dreadfully,Our small craft swamped with foaming sea,While Jesus sleeps aft peacefully.We’ve reefed and bailed in vain ‘gainst thee,Safe harbour but a reverie.Has Christ’s call brought this storm to me?Is this your plan to reclaim me,Oh Galilee?

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Galilee,What strange deep evil lurks in thee,Provoking now to jealousy?What raging winds and waves I see,Where once you rolled so peacefully.At last, Christ rises to our pleaAnd mounts the prow where all might see;Commanding you to let us be!Commanding such tranquility!Displaying his supremacy!Oh Galilee.

Galilee,For years you lured me out to sea,Bewitching inconsistency;Your song, your spray, your scent to meWere tokens of some deity,Some Mother Nature thought to beThe essence of eternity,Yet somehow fickle, fancy-free.But now I see, Christ masters thee, oh Galilee;No other helmsman now for me, oh Galilee;And from your charms I am set free, oh Galilee.

FORTY-SIX DAYS: WATER ONLY

They had intended to row in a 12 foot aluminum boat between two islands in the New Zealand territory of Tokelau. Instead they were launched on a 50 day ordeal lost in the South Pacific. Three teenagers ages 14 and 15. Presumed dead. Eulogized in their home village. Then surprisingly discovered on the horizon by a New Zealand tuna boat taking an uncommon hurried trip home.

The aluminum hull was right on the course set by the fishing boat. No

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diversion for rescue. The boys appeared sound of mind but extremely emaciated. They advised the crew that they had consumed coconuts for the first two days and a captured sea bird for the last two days. Nothing but rain water in between. Forty-six days!

A total of some 1300 kilometres traversed in the drifting.

The father of one of the boys related: "It's a miracle, it's a miracle. The whole village, the whole village. They were so excited and cried and they sang songs and hugging each other, yeah, on the road. Everybody was yelling and shouting the good news."

Already I have heard comments around town about the "good luck" of these teens in the news item. Luck, or the providential purposes of God?

SHIPWRECKED

(Taken from the narrative poem Enoch Arden by Alfred Lord Tennyson)

No want was there of human sustenance,Soft fruitage, mighty nuts, and nourishing roots;Nor save for pity was it hard to takeThe helpless life so wild that it was tame.There in a seaward-gazing mountain-gorgeThey built, and thatch'd with leaves of palm, a hut,Half hut, half native cavern. So the three,Set in this Eden of all plenteousness,Dwelt with eternal summer, ill-content.

For one, the youngest, hardly more than boy,Hurt in that night of sudden ruin and wreck,Lay lingering out a three-years' death-in-life.They could not leave him. After he was gone,The two remaining found a fallen stem;And Enoch's comrade, careless of himself,

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Fire-hollowing this in Indian fashion, fellSun-stricken, and that other lived alone.In those two deaths he read God's warning `wait.'

The mountain wooded to the peak, the lawnsAnd winding glades high up like ways to Heaven,The slender coco's drooping crown of plumes,The lightning flash of insect and of bird,The lustre of the long convolvulusesThat coil'd around the stately stems, and ranEv'n to the limit of the land, the glowsAnd glories of the broad belt of the world,All these he saw; but what he fain had seenHe could not see, the kindly human face,Nor ever hear a kindly voice, but heardThe myriad shriek of wheeling ocean-fowl,The league-long roller thundering on the reef,The moving whisper of huge trees that branch'dAnd blossom'd in the zenith, or the sweepOf some precipitous rivulet to the wave,As down the shore he ranged, or all day longSat often in the seaward-gazing gorge,A shipwreck'd sailor, waiting for a sail:No sail from day to day, but every dayThe sunrise broken into scarlet shaftsAmong the palms and ferns and precipices;The blaze upon the waters to the east;The blaze upon his island overhead;The blaze upon the waters to the west;Then the great stars that globed themselves in Heaven,The hollower-bellowing ocean, and againThe scarlet shafts of sunrise--but no sail.

There often as he watch'd or seem'd to watch,So still, the golden lizard on him paused,A phantom made of many phantoms movedBefore him haunting him, or he himselfMoved haunting people, things and places, knownFar in a darker isle beyond the line;The babes, their babble, Annie, the small house,

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The climbing street, the mill, the leafy lanes,The peacock-yewtree and the lonely Hall,The horse he drove, the boat he sold, the chillNovember dawns and dewy-glooming downs,The gentle shower, the smell of dying leaves,And the low moan of leaden-color'd seas.

Once likewise, in the ringing of his ears,Tho' faintly, merrily--far and far away--He heard the pealing of his parish bells;Then, tho' he knew not wherefore, started upShuddering, and when the beauteous hateful isleReturn'd upon him, had not his poor heartSpoken with That, which being everywhereLets none, who speaks with Him, seem all alone,Surely the man had died of solitude.

Thus over Enoch's early-silvering headThe sunny and rainy seasons came and wentYear after year. His hopes to see his own,And pace the sacred old familiar fields,Not yet had perish'd, when his lonely doomCame suddenly to an end. Another ship(She wanted water) blown by baffling winds,Like the Good Fortune, from her destined course,Stay'd by this isle, not knowing where she lay:

LIFE PRESERVER

Out of curiosity and nostalgia Zeke had signed on for the final South Pacific voyage of the three-masted tall ship "Providence". Other members of the crew shared a similar background and desire. The Captain had been seasoned by many outings and testings over the years at sea.

There had been some concern over the sea-worthiness of the vessel this time

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round and the Captain had given extra attention to all abandon-ship procedures. Newcomers to the brine, the few novice adventurers had been most attentive. Some of the old salts, Zeke included, had simply chuckled at the exercises.

Thirty days out and with fewer islands sighted, the "Providence" encountered a storm which would have challenged its younger constitution. The Captain insisted that all passengers don their life-jackets and that preparations be made for the few landing craft to accommodate the elderly and sick. Come midnight the word was whispered round that the old hull was failing and taking in water at an alarming rate.

Zeke was not alarmed. He had seen it all before. He did not comply with the Captain's orders. By two A.M. the ship was lost, and crew and passengers disembarked on command in a given direction. Somewhere out in the darkness the Captain knew that there was one island capable of supporting community; probably four miles out.

When all appeared cast off the Captain lept to the waves and swam alongside some of the stragglers. In the darkness they called out encouragement to each other. The Captain was able to fix a star above as their directional guide. And so it went, some rowing, some flutter-kicking while holding buoyancy aids, some being towed by hardier swimmers.

Zeke in his eagerness to appropriate some of the valuables left on board, had missed the exodus. He had no life preserver. About seventy feet out he could see reflected in the waning light of the ship a white item which proved to be a decorative ring-buoy. It had been mounted over the mess-hall door. He dived for this assist and pleased himself with the realization that now his life had been spared. He would simply float for awhile. He could still hear some of the others at a distance making the best of a strenuous passage.

The first shark arrived half an hour after sun-up. Previous experience had taught Zeke that sharks will pass by an intended victim, giving a test-bump with their snout. If the victim were to respond with sufficient energy and apparent confidence; perhaps a blow landed; the shark would move on for easier prey.

Zeke used this knowledge to good avail in the next three encounters over a two hour period. With the sun and heat rising, it was abundantly clear that he

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could not continue simply to float around. His salvation and the use of his remaining energy would have to be dedicated, late as it was, to obeying the Captain's orders, as fully as possible.

He suspected that the rest of the crew and passengers were already ashore and taking advantage of the resources promised to be available there for more abundant living. Adding to their bank of skills with each new lesson. Their obedience and awkward flutter-kicking no longer provoked laughter.

Zeke had been too self-confident, too smugly content to float around in his life preserver, too flippant to render obedience in full. Truly, it was questionable now whether he would make land at all.

BRING ON THE BILLOWS

(A memorable entry in Streams in the Desert by Mrs. Charles Cowman)

A noted scientist observing that "early voyagers fancied that the coral-building animals instinctively built up the great circles of the Atoll Islands to afford themselves protection in the inner parts," has disproved this fancy by showing that the insect builders can only live and thrive fronting the open ocean, and in the highly aerated foam of its resistless billows. So it has been commonly thought that protected ease is the most favorable condition of life, whereas all the noblest and strongest lives prove on the contrary that the endurance of hardship is the making of the men, and the factor thatdistinguishes between existence and vigorous vitality. Hardship makes character. --Selected

"Now thanks be unto God Who always leads us forth to triumph with the Anointed One, and Who diffuses by us the fragrance of the knowledge of Him in every place" (2 Cor. 2:14, literal translation).

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THAT JONAH, NEWTON

"I tell ya Chester, that Newton's a Jonah, he is. Temper quick as mercury. Wicked tongue ta shame even my drunken Uncle Tammas. He's no good for tha ship, I fear. Be lookin' fer whales, boy. Be lookin' fer this storm to roise."

The other, moving his pipe to the opposite side of the large jaw, mumbled, "Mmmm... Why is it d'ya think that Captin shows 'im such peticular favour? Even afore I came belowdecks he had turned over the helm to John. I've had no fearsome grief from the lad, ceptin' for his dour looks betimes. But still ye could be right, old friend."

And above, John Newton gripped the wheel these past forty minutes and noted the coming screech in the rigging. The plaintive growl and roll of the big hull. The wash of water being taken in. The pounding of his own heart.

He had overheard a litle of the "Jonah talk". Had seen the increasing scowls on the faces of men without guile. Men who were loyal and brave, but

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gravely superstitious. Was he near the end? Were all of them?

After ninety minutes, relief came to peel the rigid hands from the wheel and to slap the back and to push toward the staircase. A dozen paces from his station, a giant surge soaked the deck and hurled John to the rail.

He thought, 'Oh wretched, lost, vile, friendless man that I am'. Hurried below.

In the closeness of his bunk, the others elsewhere on duty, he felt as condemned as the black cargo of despairing souls he had sometimes transported; as far from the love of God or man as that rebellious prophet at the bottom of the sea. Though Newton had never received theretofore any message or mission from on high. But now words and petitions were issuing from his innermost person, and a sense of the presence of God was leading him on and driving the storm from his consciousness.

That night of May 10, 1748, one godless sea-farer received the quickening realization and release of "Amazing Grace". His subsequent message, music and ministry would help end the slave trade in the British Empire; would help many souls of all colours to cast off the shackles of unbelief and trespass.

Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,And grace my fears relieved.How precious did that grace appearThe hour I first believed.

IAN MCCORMACK VIEWS HEAVEN

The shiftless young man was on an island hopping tour of tropical waters, working at odd jobs, surfing, diving, fishing, sailing, doing drugs, taking in the fun spots.

Ian was a native of New Zealand and very comfortable in the water. He was visiting the island of Mauritius off the east coast of Africa (1980). Some new-found friends invited him for night snorkling and fishing.

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Unfortunately in his delightful wanderings underwater by flashlight, he was stung by a venomous box jellyfish, and then another and another...five in total. It is reported that one sting has the potential to kill. His mates gradually understood the cause of his falling behind and dragged him to the boat and headed to land.

The tale of his transport to medical care includes clumsiness, abandonment, misunderstanding and refusal to act on the part of several individuals who thought "that he was strung out on booze or drugs, or something. Why, look at the track marks in his arms!" (toxic stings)

Eventually at the hospital Ian was told that it was dangerously late for the anti-toxin. He dare not fall asleep. But the pain and the long night and the anxiety were taking their toll. Death was calling. Earlier in the ordeal he had struggled at prayer. But what to pray? He could only think of the Lord's Prayer taught to him by his Christian mother years before.

Starting with "Our Father, which art in heaven...", he immediately faltered, but then an image appeared before his inner eyes of the written text, "hallowed be thy name," and so on to the conclusion of the prayer. Was this God? Was he dying?

A liberty to plead had sprung out of the prayer. Now as he felt himself drifting away, he put his case before the Lord. "God I don't want to die. I don't want to go to hell." Then a voice, "I can save you son. Just ask me. But are you ready to forgive? You ask me for forgiveness. Will you forgive the ones who insulted and refused to help you this evening? Will you turn your life over to me?"

"Yes, Lord, definitely, yes!" Then darkness, and a knowing that he had died. For just an instant there was a sense of terror, of being lost, of being out of body, of being surrounded by miserable, hopeless prisoners of sin. But then a drawing light in the distance. He felt compelled to approach and the light and the warmth increased until he realized that he was in the presence of Jesus.

To hear Ian describe it now, you have to believe, you must believe, that in all sincerity of heart and joyful wonder he is relating a true encounter. The conversation is told in detail on the website.

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Jesus asked if Ian were ready to go to heaven. Would he like to see it? Most definitely. At that point Jesus simply stepped aside and a circular portal was visible. Did not Jesus call himself the door? (John 10). Ian looked at a verdant country scene with meadows and streams and mountains. It was wonderful and apparently meant for him. He enjoyed the assurance of salvation.

"Now Ian before you enter, can you honestly tell me that you will do so without regrets?"..."No sir I can't. I am concerned for my mother. She has been praying for me for years. This wild trip of mine was yet another disappointment for her. The news of my death, unsaved, would probably kill her. I can't have that."

"Very well son, you will return to tell your mother and others of your journey, and of your discovery of judgment, salvation, heaven and me. Go with my blessing. You will be back another day."

Then the hospital bed, the attending staff, the gradual recovery of consciousness and the beginning of the difficult trip home.

Thus began the new life of evangelist/teacher Ian McCormack. Visit his website at www.aglimpseofeternity.org

A SINGLE WORD FROM JESUS

I have noticed four occasions where Jesus has spoken a single word. Four words in red in the text. They are filled with significance:

"Go." (Matthew 8:32) The demon possessed man has crouched at the Lord's feet. He is at cross-purposes. Wanting to be free. Feeling the seductive draw of the numerous powerful evil spirits within. Jesus' single word sends the "Legion" into a herd of swine who scramble to their destruction. Jesus shows here His absolute authority over the dark world. Is anyone having difficulty with evil influences? Let him focus on the Lord and

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avail himself of "the expulsive power of an over-riding affection."

"Come." (Matthew 14:29) Jesus has just miraculously fed the five thousand and He dispatches the disciples by boat to the other side of the Lake. They encounter overwhelming stormy conditions and their master comes to them walking upon the water. Peter blurts out, "Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water." And he is doing it! Anything granted by the Lord pursuant to our plea is supernatural - salvation, healing, clean living, victory over adversity, equipment for service - all miracles, requiring nothing from us but the sincere appeal of a beggar. It is in coming to Jesus, not a creed or philosophy or force.

"Ephphatha" (Be opened-Mark 7:34) Ever the courteous Physician, Jesus has taken the deaf and dumb man away from the crowd and has tangibly touched his afflictions, importuned Heaven and sighed with great compassion. It is when He commands and enables eyes and ears and tongues to be opened that new life and liberty are realized. Until He gives such an enabling of the senses, understanding and confession - darkness and silence.

"Mary" (John 20:16) In the resurrection garden Jesus approaches Mary Magdalene in a form which she does not recognize until the gentle and much studied and loved voice pronounces her name. How she had hoped for a victory over death on this third day following the Cross. It had come faster and more intimately than ever she could have imagined. Beyond the pale of death Jesus knows the name and nature of each loved one and bids her or him to follow. His happy face will appear.

SERVING, RESTING

(I am thankful for today's prayer entry in Knocking at God's Door by Oswald Chambers)

"Lord, I thank Thee for the counsel in the text this morning ("And let it be ...that thou shalt do as occasion serves thee; for God is with thee") not to fret myself into conscious usefulness, but just do as the occasion Thou hast

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engineered shall serve."

Was this not the method of Jesus? There always seemed to be a relaxed manner in the way the Master traveled about and made Himself available to those in need. Many nights were given to prayer and He was able to say that He did and said only as instructed by the Father. But did those prayer times result in specific instruction to be at a certain place at a certain time to work the Father's will? Or, rather, were they simply times to get close to the Father's heart. To hear Him pour in the comfort and encouragement and re-assurance that He was present and His power available.

Such intimacy energized a daily walk in which the Holy Spirit would urge unmistakably, "yes, that one over there is in need, or is ready, or not today but simply a word of direction..." Jesus said that He operated by the "finger of God" (ie. the Holy Spirit)

He was able to go about with the confidence that He was called, clean, covered, committed and capable through God. So may we.

FLOODS COME

Matthew 7:

24Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock:

25And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock.

26And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand:

27And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it.

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Rains. Floods. Winds. Jesus is saying that in a fallen world such disasters may befall the careful or the careless, the faithful or the faithless, but the foundation will determine whether the man has truly won or lost.

There is no guarantee in his insightful ethic (Sermon on the Mount) that the obedient one will be spared trials or tempests. But eternally the "wise man" is secure.

The term "acts of God" would appear to place all natural disasters within His volition. But then I am reminded of something which Paul said in Romans 8:

21Because the creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God.

22For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now.

God wills it? God allows it? God trains through it in overcoming faith? God's goodness uses it to lead to repentance. Things get complicated.

DISCOURAGEMENT COMES TO THE FAITH

Don't tell me that you haven't experienced this! I remember one day traveling on the bus. It was hot. I was tired after a long day hauling steel in the open sun. I recognized a woman ahead of me as a member of the Baptist church around the corner. She was in good spirits and I recall her saying, "Doesn't the Lord just get better with each new day?"

I didn't want to hear that. I had worked hard for my pity party and was not going to have it de-railed so easily. I kept my conversation to a minimum. But upon stepping off the bus and finishing the last three blocks, I began to be puzzled by my condition.

Saints remember! Self-pity is a threshold to a host of sins and spiritual coolness. Also a sense of being the odd one out in a gathering because of

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standards set by the Word. Also a time of persistent reproach for righteousness sake. Also a period of physical weakness or ill health; unanswered prayer; or the sense of nothing new in the way of revelation or opportunity for service. Also overmuch time given to worldly diversions or recreation.

Surprisingly, you will find yourself in distinguished company. Moses was tired of the people's complaining and struck the Rock the second time contrary to God's instruction. David was disinclined to fulfil his kingly duty in battle one springtime, and found himself wandering the rooftop and spying out Bathsheba. Soloman felt the loneliness of his exalted position and the fruitlessness of worldly undertakings. Elijah had undergone a taxing competition with the priests of Baal. A wonderful victory at Carmel, but one which left him spent and fearful of Jezebel's recriminations. John the Baptist, having sustained the good report, found himself in Herod's prison wondering if Jesus were in fact the Messiah. Paul coming to Corinth, was overwhelmed by the predominance of idolatry and vice, and became timid and silent for a season.

But eventually God's word and re-assuring presence came to each one of these heroes; fresh commissioning and strength to continue.

The previous posting displayed some of the struggle of the Scottish preacher Rutherford. He realized that only God could rescue. Restore the wind. Fill the sails. But he also recognized that it was entirely healthy to lay his predicament before another trusted saint, asking for prayer and counsel. Too often we dismiss such a measure as "bad testimony".

But friends, our Lord wants us to tell the truth, in prayer, in confession before others, in thinking the situation through in one's private time. He will not allow you to be tested beyond that which you are able to bear. Don't let the ordeal tempt you to withdraw from spiritual exercise. Rather, intensify it. Not too long into the process, the Holy Spirit will bring the quickening. Only believe that God is love, and more than able, and intimately aware of your situation. Talk to Him about it.

And yes, today I am that dry leaf...

(Some help is found in Psalms 42 and 43 composed for the singing Sons of Korah)

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SPIRITUAL DRYNESS

(From the Letters of Samuel Rutherford)

To Lady Boyd

MADAM, -- I would have written to your Ladyship ere now, but people's believing there is in me that which I know there is not, has put me out of love with writing to any. My Lord seeth me a tired man, far behind. I have gotten much love from Christ, but I give Him little or none again. My white side cometh out on paper to men; but at home and within I find much black work, and great cause of a low sail, and of little boasting. I wish all professors to fall in love with grace. All our songs should be of His free grace. We are but too lazy and careless in seeking of it; it is all our riches we have here, and glory in the bud. I wish that I could set out free grace. I was the law's man, and under the law, and under a curse; but grace brought me from under that hard lord, and I rejoice that I am grace's freeholder. I pay tribute to none for heaven, seeing my land and heritage holdeth of Christ, my new King. Infinite wisdom has devised this excellent way of free-holding for sinners. It is a better way to heaven than the old way that was in Adam's days. It has this fair advantage, that no man's emptiness and want layeth an inhibition upon Christ, or hindereth His salvation; and that is far best for me. But our new Landlord putteth the names of devours, and Adam's forlorn heirs, and beggars, and the crooked and blind, in the free charters. Heaven and angels may wonder that we have got such a gate of sin and hell. Such a back-entry out of hell as Christ made, and brought out the captives by, is more than my poor shallow thoughts can comprehend. I hear that the prelates are intending banishment for me; but, for more grace, and no other hire, I would make it welcome. The bits of this clay house, the earth, and the other side of the sea, are my Father's. If my sweet Lord Jesus would bud my sufferings with a new measure of grace, I were a rich man. But I have not now, of a long time, found such high spring-tides as formerly. The sea is out, the wind of His Spirit calm; and I cannot buy a wind, or, by requesting the sea, cause it to flow again; only I wait on upon the banks and shore-side, till the Lord send a full sea, that with upsails I may lift up Christ. Yet sorrow for His absence is sweet; and sighs, with 'Saw ye Him whom my soul loveth?' have their own delights. Oh that I may gather hunger against His long-looked-for return! Well were my soul, if Christ were the element (mine own

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element), and that I loved and breathed in Him, and if I could not live without Him. Remember my service to my lord your son, who was kind to me in my bonds, and was not ashamed to own me. I would be glad that Christ got the morning service of his life, now in his young years. It would suit him well to give Christ his young and green love. Christ's stamp and seal would go far down in a young soul, if he would receive the thrust of Christ's stamp. I would desire him to make search for Christ; for nobles are now but dry friends to Christ. The grace of God our Father, and the goodwill of Him who dwelt in the Bush, be with your Ladyship.

ABERDEEN, 1637

WHAT THOSE STRAINED EYES STILL SEE

Thursday. Just after lunch. George Cromarty had navigated his chair on auto-drive down to the sun room. The warmth felt good.

His nephew Stewart was waiting for him there, just like clockwork. Every second Thursday.

"Hi Stu. Glad you could make it. How was traffic across town?

"Pretty much the same, old fellow. Krista sends her love. Wants you to know we will be up Sunday afternoon with something special. Pie. You already know the flavour."

"How is she keeping, Son? You know, the fibromyalgia?"

"It seems to be a little better with this spring. Doctor has some new twists with the treatment. But really, how little they know about this one. We pray, as always. We are thankful right now for the relief."

"I know Stu. Give her a kiss from me, will you? Until Sunday. Now I have the book. Same one as last time. A real personal favourite. Go to page 65. Dear old Rutherford. Transformed to poetry by Faith Cook. I have read it

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and re-read it for decades."

The selection was entitled An Absent Christ

Who can discern Christ's secret ways,For with love's chain He fettered meThen ran away and left my soulTo mourn in sweet captivity?I dare not call my Saviour harsh,Though He may come and go at will,Feed me with love, then clear the boardAnd leave my soul a-hungering still.

My tide is low, my sea is outWhen my Beloved goes away;Yet still I clamour at His doorNor give Him rest by night or day.In Christ's kind hand I place my needWhose bounty is my sole supply;For my best riches are those wantsThat Christ Himself must satisfy.

(To Lady Culross, Aberdeen, 1637, Letter 222)

THE CHILDREN’S BREAD

Stewart and Krista Cromarty had only been occasional attenders at Calvary Temple. But recently they had felt a greater compulsion to worship. Perhaps the cumulative effect of Uncle George's testimony for Christ and his recent stroke had impressed them with their need.

They heard of the movings and shakings at Crosspoints, but the development of friendships and providence had placed them elsewhere. A men's Bible study which Stewart attended had been investing time recently in new insights into Holy Communion. Both spouses were hoping to see it

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celebrated more frequently at Calvary.

Stewart had been particularly interested in Paul's teaching of blessings to health and body to be derived from the Sacrament properly taken (1 Corinthians 11). He could not shake the image of that little Gentile woman pleading with Jesus for the "children's bread" that her daughter might be healed (Matthew 15). Of course Krista's fibromyalgia was always on his mind. Pain in hips and lower back often made housework, walking and climbing the stairs intolerable. How could it not be Jesus' will to bring relief to his dear wife? Sunday evening found the two showing up early at the special Communion called for by Craig Randall; happily receiving his every word on the holy remembrance; delving deep into their hearts for cleansing and thanksgiving; sensing the world-wide reality of this family exercise of hope "til He come".

After receipt of the bread and wine the congregation stood for a special prayer of dedication and a hymn. When they took again their seats Krista remained standing for so long that all eyes turned toward her. Purposefully she excused herself down the pew and headed for the front steps. She climbed them with ease, turned to the congregation and announced, "It's gone...this fibromyalgia is gone. Pain free. Thank you Jesus!"

The response in the house was electric.

AS WITH MOSES

(Taken from Our Daily Homily by F. B. Meyer)

He Smote the Egyptian - Exodus 2:12

This was creature-strength, wrought on by creature-passion, and ending in creature-failure. Moses stood on an eminence, and reached down to these poor brethren of his with a passing spasm of pity. He was very careful to look this way and that, so as not to invalidate his own position at court. And

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fear for himself carried him swiftly from the scene of his people's woes. It was a brief effort to do the Divine work of redemption in his own energy. Long years must pass, during which God would drain away drop by drop his strength, his resolution, and his very desire to be an emancipator; that when he had become nothing, God through him might effect His almighty will.

We sometimes smite the Egyptian within. - We rise up against some tyrant passion, and strike two or three vigorous blows. Our efforts to rid ourselves of its thrall originate and are prosecuted in our own resolve. At first the conflict seems easily our own; finally the dead weight of all the Egyptians within is more than a match for us.

We often smite the Egyptian without. - We make an assault on some giant evil - drink, gambling, impurity. It seems at first as though we should carry the position by our sudden and impetuous rush. But Egypt conquers in the end, and we flee.

No: we need to learn for the inward and outward conflict the lesson that forty years in Midian taught Moses, that only the Spirit of God in man can overcome the spirit of the world. By disappointment and repeated failure, by the silence of the desert, we are taught that we are nothing - then God becomes our all in all: and all things become possible to us as we believe.

BAFFLED TO FIGHT BETTER

Many in the Church have enjoyed the classic devotional "My Utmost for His Highest" by Oswald Chambers. But have they heard of the topical teaching texts from which the entries of the daily devotional were gleaned? All of such written material is available thanks to the widow of Chambers, Gertrude, who sorted through short-hand notes taken from teaching sessions and sermon outlines. It was a lasting tribute to a dear husband who had contracted a fatal illness at age forty-three while serving among the troops in Egypt in 1917.

Two particular favourites of mine were "The Psychology of Redemption"

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and "Baffled to Fight Better". The former compared the stages in the development of the faith life of a believer to those in the life of the Lord. The latter was a teaching on the Book of Job.

I remember well the impact which "Baffled" had upon me. It was a time of personal crisis back in Chatham referred to in some of the "Milestone" posts in this blog. It was a calm, overcast winter day in March and I had gone off to a quiet spot in the country to pray and to get some direction in my dilemma. Almost a sense of morbidity had caused me to take a copy of Chambers' book on one of the greatest sufferers in all of recorded history, the patriarch Job.

But that day I persevered through the entire volume , and heard words of encouragement from God, parked at a quiet spot by the icy Thames River.

At one point Chambers said the following:

"The human problem is too big for a man to solve, but if he will fling himself unperplexed on God he will find Him to be the kind of Refuge Job is referring to. We know nothing about the Redemption or about forgiveness until we are enmeshed by the personal problem; then we begin to understand why we need to turn to God, and when we do turn to Him He becomes a Refuge and a Shelter and a complete Rest. Up to the present Job has had no refuge anywhere; now he craves for it. When a man receives the Holy Spirit, his problems are not altered, but he has a Refuge from which he can deal with them; before, he was out in the world being battered, now the centre of his life is at rest and he can begin, bit by bit, to get things uncovered and rightly related."

And elsewhere:

"The still small voice is an appeal not to superstitious belief in God, but to the actuality of God to man. God disposes altogether of a relationship to Himself born of superstitious dread- 'No, stand like a man, and listen to facts as they are'. God counsels Job- 'Don't come to too hasty a conclusion, but gird up your loins like a man and wait. You have done right so far in that you would not have Me misrepresented, but you must recognize that there are facts you do not know, and wait for me to give the revelation of them on the ground of your moral obedience'."

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In a nutshell, I learned some things about God and His sovereign keeping care. I got no specific answers to specific problems. Rather, a settled peace and "starch" for the journey. I knew that in His hands I would "fight better".

THE FEEL OF THE WOOD

We have just finished cleaning out the family homestead in London. Mom (Bev) is in a retirement home. Dad (Jack) rests in peace. Last Saturday I walked through empty room after empty room. Many rich memories. Fifty-six years of stuff accumulated there.

I took particular interest in the downstairs workshop where for years Dad had worked on his beloved carvings of birds. Much steadier hands then. Much clearer eyes.

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The shop had a wide variety of specialty saws, files, planes and wood-burning equipment. Items now for the enjoyment of grandchildren. Also many manuals on technique, many posters and photographs and volumes of the Ducks Unlimited subscription.

I found plugs of wood representing projects barely begun before macular degeneration did its ugly work. How he had prided himself in the detail of feathers and postures and distinctive markings. How he loved the scenery of loon on a lake, of Canada geese flocking into a freshly cut field, of wood ducks in a row on a submerged log displaying their overmuch colouration. (see the poems River Ducks and Northern Night)

The carved birds have now been distributed as family treasures. Others were gifted to friends long ago. With appreciative hands we explore the rich textures of the worked wood, even as Dad would have done, hour after hour.

But the time was now up. The woodcarving and the home no longer appropriate for a man in his eighty-ninth year; a woman in her eighty-fifth.

The empty rooms are just that...empty. The rich heritage, love and hope remain.

EXPLOSIONS OF ORANGE

Now (late September) is just about the time. Monarch butterflies by the hundreds of thousands will be arriving at Point Pelee near Leamington Ontario. Trees and structures will be covered in orange.

For the last two or three weeks it has been easy to spot isolated specimens with their beautiful patterns of orange and black doing a sort of procrastinator's dance throughout Southern Ontario. Lazy, unhurried, wandering circles, as the autumn sun brings on the richer hues and the cooler nights.

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The Park at Point Pelee, the southernmost part of Canada has been an age-old gathering place. If you time it right you will see the immense collections, and then the puff of wind, the unspoken signal and the shocking simultaneous release of the Monarchs to the air, their crossing of Lake Erie without food or rest and their subsequent miraculous excursion to Mexico.

The following spring a trip northward, a depositing of eggs and death.

We love our routines, don't we. To the little child they mean security. To the elderly they mean a discipline to hang on to sense and order. To those of us in the middle often an irritation in the way of innovation or ambition. But the planet is full of routines. They speak of the sovereignty of the Creator. They speak of His reliability. They speak of design working into diverse eventualities.

A little way down the road at Kingsville the Canada Geese are doing the same thing at the Jack Miner Bird Sanctuary. A large stocked field of grain hosts the gray, black and white beauties in the thousands. They need the coaxing of a staff person on a four-wheel drive land rover to take to the air southward. Again, when they lift in unison, a breathtaking shudder of large wings and excited honkings.

The robins, the salmon, the caribou...

They go, but then they come back. Do we not have the same assurance about life and loved ones?

TEMAGAMI LAKER

Hard to tell where Copper-tone rock- face endsAnd lake surface begins.Mirror image.Late afternoon sunBathing all in rust.

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Trolling thisFinger-arm of the lakeThese twenty-five minutes.The boy is intent.Line out a goodSeventy feet,And thirty feet beneath.Trusty RapalaDoing its lazy wiggle.Noticed a gullPlopping to surface.Feasting on small-fry.Same gull,Moments ago,Other end of the slip.Something beneath,Frightening up a schoolOf little ones.Perhaps a pattern?Will the hunterAgain harvestThe far end?“Doug, let’s quietlyPull in line,And scoot downHundred and fifty yards.See if He comes back.”Springbok delicatelyTraverses the fluid face.Fresh wind pleasantOn eyes and cheeks.“This should be right.Don’t cast. DropAnd play out someHundred and twenty feet.”Trolling motor Reduced to childish chug.Overhead, blue heronBats out his strangeAnti-flight.

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Waiting.Croaking sounds from tree-lineSuggest heron's nest.Fish-line quivers whereWave ringlets marSun-trail of gold.“Still, Doug. Wait.Don’t spook him.You’ll know whenThe real tug hits.”We watch that line.Almost hypnotic.Occasional wave Drums on hull.Rod tip jerksTo something lordly!“He’s yours Son.No slack.Now enjoy the play. We called his game!”

Note: This was a memorable afternoon’s prize from Lake Temagami shared with my Dad (Jack Blair) years ago. We have just moved my parents into a retirement home where mobility has become a daily issue (April 2010). They are together still after 63 years of marriage. In years in the past the vitality of the northland and its beauty were particular pleasures to them.

UNTIE THE ROPE!

Heard an excellent message this morning from evangelist Dave MacFarlane with the Billy Graham Association: "Love, Laugh, Live".

This English sounding man raised in South America gave a humorous but impactful sermon full of personal illustrations. The one which I shall remember involved his favourite sport on the tropical river - skulling. He

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painted a beautiful picture of coming down to the water in the mist of early morning, of delicately squatting and moving to the rower's position, of gripping the oars and willing tired muscles to begin. But it did not seem that he was making any progress. He pulled harder. Still no progress. No change of scenery. Again harder. Then through groggy eyes he looked down to the end of the boat to discover that he had not yet untied from the dock!

This was his illustration for "letting go". So many in the Church and indeed in the world row with the handicap of unforgiveness, of past abuse, of personal foul-ups and embarrassments, of confrontations not yet healed, of fears of recurring tragedy. Life will not change, dreams will not be realized until the rope is untied or cut.

The Apostle Paul, envoy extraordinaire, one time pursuer and killer of Christians could have been paralyzed by guilt and sordid memories. But what was his testimony?

Philippians 3:

12Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect: but I follow after, if that I may apprehend that for which also I am apprehended of Christ Jesus.

13Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those

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things which are before,

14I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.

HERE IS LOVE

I have somewhere outside my bedroom window a purple finch singing his alert, joyful, high-pitched "see-saw" spring tune. It is Good Friday. We have had an extraordinary week of warm weather. March retreated without incident. The community sheds a collective sigh of relief and casts off winter coats.

Facilities are closed for this statutory holiday, but I sense that largely the people do not get it. Certainly there is little decoration proclaiming the greatest day in the calendar. The hams, lambs and turkeys are in store for Sunday. The candy. The new spring clothes. But what of this day?

"Oh, you mean your morbid Christian day of brutal death on a hill?"

No, I mean the day where above all others God showed his love and opened a way for us for fellowship and mutual trust which could not have come about in any other fashion. I won't press theology here. I do enough of that in another blog.

But I will present one portion of scripture from 1 John 4:

9In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him.

10Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.

11Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love one another.

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A "propitiation" is an offering to make amends. The Father knew that it was necessary. The Son knew. Since before the foundation of the earth they had this plan. Then through thirty-three years of benevolent "earth-walk" the Son obediently progressed toward the inevitable blood-letting at Calvary. Noble. Brave. Selfless. Faithful.

It takes the Holy Spirit to show you how enormous this transaction is. Redemption. Canceling of a debt. Freedom to enter into the realm of an absolutely holy God.

Happy Easter. Beginning today. The finch has good reason to rejoice.

ZIKLAG

Pursuing AmalekitesWith the image of theirScorched villageStill fresh in their minds.And angry, so angryWith the leaderWho had bade them depart from Ziklag.Families left vulnerable.

Forgotten the timesOf his mastery,His music,His memories ofMeadow, stream and flock.Of how he gathered them,Some distressed, some in debtSome discontented.

The trail and the campHad knit them.He ever offering

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Counsel and courage,Just leadership,Command with example.Stores never failed.Their shield and portion.

Receiving their rebuke,He withdrew silently.Alone with theGod of his sheepfold.Gentle music perhaps.Refreshment arrives.Hope against hopeGlowing in his face.

There is nothingBut to follow him.(Though murder had beenIn their hearts.)He also sorely missesWives and loved ones."There might yet be victory.Let us be up and active."

1 Samuel 30:6 - And David was greatly distressed; for the people spake of stoning him, because the soul of all the people was grieved, every man for his sons and for his daughters: but David encouraged himself in the Lord his God.

ALLAH’S MARKETPLACE

The Arabic Christian, Hany, quietly looked for a corner in the busy Cairo market to set up his little table. This would be his second attempt at giving out free New Testaments. The pastor of his house church had given him the requisite warnings and advice. "Allah" was in charge of that place and all of

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the authorities.

For the first two hours no takers. Most women, with faces covered, breezed by without making eye contact. A couple of curious elderly men, and evidently quite poor, took copies. A couple of little boys headed in Hany's direction but were re-routed by their mothers.

Then a group of five young men approached. The evident leader stepped forward and asked what he was trying to sell.

"Not selling anything. I have Gospels of Jesus which I would like to give away."

The cynical Egyptian took a copy, flipped through some pages, then threw it down into a puddle. He stepped forward boldly right into Hany's face, paused and slapped him across the side of the head. The surprise and the impact of it put the Christian down on his backside. His face registered only disappointment. He picked himself up and slapped off the dust. Facing the other he could only respond, "So, I guess you are not interested for the time being?"

The Muslim spun around, robe swishing, and paced away, "Allah be praised".

The remaining two hours were uneventful. A couple of elderly women engaged in conversation, but no Gospels changed hands.

The next week, undeterred, Hany was back in the same spot. Who should appear in the second hour, alone? The same man with the same sour disposition toward Christian "crusaders". He walked briskly up to Hany, stared at him for a full moment, and said: " I had been told some very peculiar things about people like you. It was said that if you were struck, you were compelled to turn the other cheek and to invite another blow, if necessary. No retaliation. This was the word of your prophet Jesus. Sure enough, last week you obeyed!"

"I would like to take one of your books, please. I will look at it this week. Perhaps next market I will bring some of my friends here as well."

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GONE ON BEFORE

She had gone for a walkOn the country road;And the spring grass wavedAnd the sunshine glowed.And the horses pranced,And the ravens crowed;And my love simply followed the road.

She had said that she wouldn’tGo very far,As I stopped to read In our shaded car.And she sought the spotsWhere God’s blessings are.But it seemed she was going too far.

And her figure shrank as sheScaled the rise,To that wondrous line‘Twixt the road and skies.And the blue and white Were a sight for eyes,As my love vanished over the rise.

And I thought of herIn that distant place,Just beyond my viewBoth in time and space.And I guessed her thoughts.And I missed her face.And I longed just to share in that place.

Oh, it’s much the sameWith the ones we love,Who have gone before;Who have joy above;

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Who are lost to viewIn faith’s blissful grove.But in time we shall follow our love.

For assurance comes fromA risen Lord,Who endured the shame,And the cross and sword;But was seen againAnd by saints adored.And my love and I trust in this Lord.

THE NOTE

Frank had not had many days like this. Just six months into his new responsibilities at the firm, the announcement had hit like a thunder clap. Regional Branch Office closing after the amalgamation. Talk of redundancy and streamlining. His entire workplace had two months.

To make matters worse Sandy had accepted a nursing tenure in Moncton and it looked like the end of their two and a half year relationship. She had been the one hinting at marriage. He had remained somewhat cool for too long. This was only his second serious commitment at age twenty-six. He had watched his parents' marriage fade away after thirty years. Mom remained at City Hall in the Planning Department. Dad for the last three years in Northern Alberta in geological exploration. And that after nineteen years as a University Prof.

The car lease expired in a month and there would either be re-financing or a hefty payout of excessive mileage. Student loans weren't going to go away for another four years, and doubtless there would have to be re-structuring in light of the lay-off.

He sat at his desk after-hours deciding what to start to take back to the apartment. He did not relish the next two months. A couple of possible

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contacts, but then no one was really being honest about business conditions...press, local politicians, chamber of commerce. In the bottom left drawer under some performance reports he found that Book of Psalms which his sister had dropped off only two days before she left with her fiance for Northern Sudan. They were both para-medics with four years of all-purpose service in the big city, and they had decided upon a two year stint with a health agency in the refugee camps. A new country on the world scene. Many terrible stories of slavery and mayhem in the recent past. Both of them seeing an opportunity to manifest "Christ in shoe leather".

Terri had not been pushy with the Gospel these last three years since her "faith experience with Jesus". She knew that her brother had had a distasteful run-in with an on-campus fellowship. She had talked mostly about the prospects of her new assignment, the places she was likely to visit and the manner in which she would maintain communication. Her Mom was quite devastated by the decision, although there was possibly a new man in her life. Dad was effectively "gonzo".

The little Psalter had been given, and just as quickly buried at the bottom of that drawer. Frank smiled and opened it. He discovered a note on the last page not previously examined:

"Dear Frank: Take a look at these pages from time to time and realize that the writers experienced almost every human situation, good and bad. King David in particular knew how to talk with God, holding nothing back. God likes that kind of honesty. Things look pretty rosy for you at the firm, but life can never be a sure bet. Remember that Jesus shines through these Psalms, and also that He came through the very worst of treatment in victory (Psalm 69). He understands our condition. He will hear your honest prayers and go to work for you, making His presence known. He is love and He is God...Kisses...Terri."

As if by reflex Frank lifted up some simple requests for his sister and Clarke in that distant place of pain and hope.

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TWO BUILDERS

(With thanks for the images to Max Lucado, And the Angels Were Silent)

The first is a financial planner . All his career he has been helping himself and his acquaintances to amass wealth and security. Each downturn has been matched with a re-direct to a vehicle promising upturn. A never ending study and fretting in certificates, funds, securities, futures and currencies. Always one more move or twist in world market conditions. The man has had to be vigilant, constantly. He tells himself he has been building good packages which will never come to an end...But they do, and the mans finds himself alone, penniless and standing before some sort of admissions procedure: "What think ye of Christ? How have you measured Him?"

Another scenario. A little boy at the seashore with his Dad. He loves these sorts of holidays. Dad will have his book. He will have the sand, his imagination and the surf. All afternoon the child packs and grooves his creation. Turrets. Brickwork. Motes and bridge. But then a slight modification, partial knockdown and rework.

All the while the boy delights at the sound of gulls above and surf behind, the line of water drawing ever closer to his creation. He knows what is coming. He is not anxious. Intermittently Dad offers encouragement or

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suggestions. Eventually the tide overwhelms his little city, and it is gone.

The child takes a look at the leveled surface. Smiles. Turns to his father who is now standing. Puts his hand in Dad's and goes Home.

Note: I had a distant cousin, Paul. He was a professional sand castle creator. He traveled the globe, virtually, building and putting on display in public places the most intricate creations. But he too always had to move on.

PSALM 107

23They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters;

24These see the works of the LORD, and his wonders in the deep.

25For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof.

26They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble.

27They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end.

28Then they cry unto the LORD in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses.

29He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.

30Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven.

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