"One such child..."

Every "blood-bought, born-again" child of God desires to bring honor to Christ by serving Him with the gifts and callings they are graced with. Some are graced with many, some with few, but however many or few, those gifts call out from within the spirit to be active, and when quenched it grieves the Holy Spirit.

I'm reminded when the disciples were arguing among themselves about who was the greatest in Mark 9:34. Jesus overheard them and later asked them what they were talking about. They kept silent....

 So Jesus sat down, and called the twelve and said to them, 

“If anyone wants to be first, he shall be last of all and servant of all.”   

And He took a child and placed him among them, and taking him in His arms, He said to them, 

“Whoever welcomes 'one such child' like this in My name welcomes Me; and whoever welcomes Me does not receive Me, but Him who sent Me.”

 The Bible repeatedly and emphatically commands care for orphans, the fatherless, and vulnerable children— more than a hundred times! It is presented as a non-negotiable part of justice, pure religion, and reflecting God’s character. Neglecting them is equated with oppression and invites judgment, while caring for them brings blessing. This theme underscores humility and service, aligning with teachings like this one in Mark 9 (welcoming the child as welcoming Christ). 

In no way do I mean to diminish any act of kindness or charitable deed, gift or calling; whether it's sharing the gospel, caring for the widow, the downcast, the poor, educating the ignorant, medical aid to the afflicted, supporting those recovering from substance abuse or adverse childhood circumstances: or any of the acts of love described within the scriptures. But today, this morning, Jesus emphasized "One such child."

  

 

 I hesitated to post this because some churches tend to minimize the workings of the Holy Spirit, while other churches seem to overemphasize certain expressions of His work. My desire is not to lean toward either extreme, but simply to honor the Spirit as He is revealed in Scripture and experienced in a Christ-centered life.That being said, hopefully those that feel a call of God on their life may find this inspiring, that's my hope and purpose. 

"I'm sitting here in the afterglow of this morning's service at Union Gospel Mission. As unlikely as it may seem, Jesus called me to preach to the last, the least, and the lost.

The first step came back in the late seventies when we decided to become foster parents through the state. It was life-changing and birthed within me a hunger to experience more of what it means to have Jesus love others through me.

This intoxicating, compelling love defies explanation. Yet it overwhelms the soul and remains the clearest spiritual reality I have ever experienced. It compels me to seek out those who need Christ and help them cross over from darkness into His marvelous light. It has nothing to do with duty. It rises far above duty. It is like ascending the "mountain of spices"—that place of beauty, intimacy, fragrance, and sweet companionship between God and His people. It is the overflowing life Jesus spoke of in Luke 6:38: "Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap."

There are spiritual ecstasies of the heart that words cannot adequately define or express. One hesitates to speak of them because they are holy, private, and better felt than told. Yet there are times when heavenly raptures and gracious visitations come with such sweetness that they feel like a foretaste of paradise itself. They fill the soul with such joy that it becomes impossible to keep silent. The heart must let its praise ring out. Jesus loves us, and loves through us!" 

  

After the service at the jail, a young man of 35—let's call him Brad—approached me, eager to talk. He told me that just before he was transferred there, he had spoken with a fellow who had recently given his life to Christ.

The man was rough-cut and not an eloquent speaker, but the light in his eyes and the glow about him as he testified of how Jesus had saved him and filled him with such joy simply couldn't be denied.

Brad told me of a time, years ago, when he felt a touch of God that struck him to the core. But in the bustle of life, he didn't pursue it, and it faded into a distant memory. Hearing this man's testimony, however, rekindled a hunger and a fire within him to experience that reality again.

We talked at length, and I shared John 3:3 with him about the new birth and the joy of the Holy Spirit. He was eager to learn, and I have rarely seen a hungrier heart.

As I drove home, I couldn't help but think about the power of simply sharing one's testimony. In the space of a brief conversation with a stranger, Brad came face to face with "the ardent ecstasies and vital impulses" of the Holy Spirit.

 If you're a parent, scenes like this are commonplace; 

Jubilation in simple things,

Laughing freedom

Sunlit innocence

 Joyous abandon where imagination turns backyards into kingdoms and where childhood games played at the living room table turn simple pleasures into treasures; and so it should be for every child. 

Sadly, for this child they are absent...

But for the love of Christ that lives in my son and daughter in law, this little girl is welcomed in and cared for like one of their own. 

My heart bursts with pride, and I feel all the joy that all of heaven feels seeing my son and his wife offer this little doe, this little dove a place of refuge, safety and love, if only for a brief respite. 

This world has many orphans and children living without the stability and security every child should have. When we step in and offer the needs of a child's soul, for an hour, a day, month or season, we fulfill Christ's greatest commands, and is so doing, we gain His greatest blessings. 

"Give freely, and you’ll have plenty poured back into your lap—a good measure, pressed down, shaken together, brimming over. You’ll receive in the same measure you give." Luke 6:38

  

 

 

"It is a solemn thing to be married; to have to preach to a congregation from your own loins; to have God put the hand of ordination on you in the birth of your children, and say to you, “ Now art thou a priest unto those whom I have given thee.”

If ever the stream of life should flow like crystal water over shining stones, it should be the stream of daily life in the family. If God has taught us all truth in teaching us to love, then he has given us an interpretation of our whole duty in our own households. We thank him that we are not born as the partridge of the wood, or the ostrich of the desert, to be scattered every whither; but that we are grouped together and brooded by love, and reared day by day in that first of churches, the family." Henry W. Beecher. 

"I love the Church and honor what it has given the world — the comfort and strength it brought to countless struggling souls. But I have to ask: if a modern believer were transported back to the early Church, would their faith grow or shrink?

Today we see God as the Father of all humanity. Back then, His favor seemed reserved for church members only. Today we feel hope for all people. Back then, that hope stopped at the institution's walls.

Today we find God's glory in nature, in history, in the whole sweep of human experience. The old Church didn't deny this exactly — but it kept pushing you toward God in special places, special moments, and one narrow thread of sacred history.

In short, modern faith has gained a certain freedom and largeness. Carried back into the old Church, it would feel bound and artificial."

 As I was walking downtown Portland, in the darkest district, I couldn't help noticing a woman as busy as one could possibly be, sweeping the street vigorously with a single stick. There was no apparent debris, nothing I could see that she was accomplishing. I've become accustomed to seeing behaviors by souls held captive in  addiction doing the most bizarre, and sometimes alarming, things. But this woman wasn't disturbing anyone, and she carried out her activity with such detail, I left wondering what in the world she was doing?

As I looked back, I noticed a pile of sticks about 3 feet long, 1 foot high and 1 foot wide, stacked with such precision even an architect would be impressed! The row of sticks was stacked with such care it had a beauty about it, almost like a weaving? It was done so intricaly, I wished I had my phone to take a picture of the artful stack.  

As I sat here this morning thinking, 'What did she hope to  accomplish?'  I have no doubt she was homeless, had no job, and has probably lost everything. But here she was, busy as one can be, sweeping and stacking sticks. I had to wonder, was she adding some small degree of order into a life of chaos? Some little effort to add  beauty among such bleak darkness? 

It was a futile effort, but it showed a spirit that had not completely given up. And for that, I admired her, and felt a whelming flood of compassion for this unknown industrialist.